“Angelina, what would life have been like for both of us if only we hadn’t been born as … Well, who we were born as? I would like to think you would be sledding right now,” I whispered to the air around me, smiling as I pictured a girl with similar features to me, laughing and carrying on as my stranger pulled her sled up a large hill for her. Closing my eyes, I allowed that little girl to become me going sledding with my stranger.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the door open to my room.
“Merry Christmas, Angel,” my stranger greeted from the entryway.
“Merry Christmas.” I smiled softly at him.
“Would you like to come open your presents now? Santa Claus visits all the good little girls and boys. Apparently, you were a very good girl this year.” He looked to the ground as if he was daydreaming for a moment.
I couldn’t help letting a small laugh escape me as he tried to give me what he probably found to be a “normal” Christmas.
“I know Santa isn’t real. I know there once was a Saint Nicholas who gave to the less fortunate. However, my mama made it very clear from as far back as I can remember that each and every gift I was given came from her and Father. Papa Valencia once tried to have ‘Santa Claus’,”—I used air quotes for emphasis—“visit his home for me, and Mama threw a huge fit, stating they would not allow me to believe such lies.”
My stranger shook his head before looking up at me. “They took away your Santa Claus,” he stated as if he could read my mind.
I only nodded in agreement because they had, but it had never bothered me until right then. Just like Papa Valencia had been trying to give me something innocent and sweet, so was my stranger; only, it was tainted by my past.
Would everything be this way for me forever?
Pushing my negative thoughts aside, I made my way out of my room and followed my stranger. For the first time, I got to see the true expanse of the home in which we shared.
I made my way down the hall where Christmas garlands adorned the walls. There was a smell of cinnamon in the air, and the rooms were dim enough to truly allow the Christmas lights to sparkle from the living area. The rooms around me were there, but the doors were shut, so I couldn’t see inside.
The living room filled my eyes with tears. Two stockings, filled to the brim with goodies, hung along the stone fireplace. A small train set ran in circles around the bottom of a short, fat tree. Its uneven sides were certainly something most would have shied away from, but much like me, Giano had given it a place in this home.
The multicolored lights seemed to dance as the jingles played softly in the background. The hodgepodge of ornaments adorning the awkward shrub called out to me. As I reached them, I could see they were the makings of a small child and her family. A paper wreath with macaroni noodles, painted in green and held to the branch with a yarn string, reminded me of all the ornaments I had made at school that Mama had easily discarded as waste. Everything I had ever wished to see in a Christmas tree sat before me in this very room.
Without a second thought, I turned to my stranger and wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him close. Ever so slowly, his arms wrapped around my back in the safest, most loving embrace I had ever felt in my entire life. Did he know he had made a wish come true?
Tenderly, I reached out and touched the many mismatched ornaments and thought about the love and attention that went into making each one. I felt him watching me, but I couldn’t tear myself away.
After allowing myself a moment, I glanced over my shoulder. Once again, he was off in his own world of thought. Was he, too, remembering Christmases past?
A pang punched me in the gut when I couldn’t help wondering if he was wishing it was his dear Angelina here with him and not me. Of course he was. She’d had parents who truly loved and adored her. She hadn’t merely been the next expected step in her parents’ life plans like I was for Father and Mama.
Fighting, I was successfully keeping the tears at bay when a hand suddenly gripped my shoulder. Looking up, my eyes met his dark brown ones, and the sadness I expected to see there wasn’t present. Instead, I found his eyes dancing with a quiet joy.
“Wanna open your presents?” he asked, rendering me speechless.
I never expected to have a “normal” Christmas morning. The only gifts I had ever been given by my parents were those the socialites my mother associated with would approve of.
Looking at my stranger, I wondered what he might have gotten me. Rather than try to form words, I simply nodded my head and moved away from the stumpy tree.
One by one, I opened each carefully wrapped package, finding surprise after surprise. From the art supplies to give me something to pass the time to the violin for me to learn music to the necklace of a bird symbolizing the chance to be free from my past, each and every gift had been bought with my needs in mind. He hadn’t given me the things he had planned to give his own daughter.
Although I had to be Angelina in public, he still found ways to remind me I wasn’t the replacement for his daughter. For the first time since Papa Valencia had died, my heart filled with happiness. For the first time since the loss of my grandfather, someone cared about me, not what I represented or could provide.
Once I had opened all of the gifts, we went to the kitchen for breakfast. I took in the granite countertops and the stainless-steel appliances and thought this was a kitchen much like my family had, only slightly smaller. It was all very clean, very contemporary.
My past was quickly forgotten when Giano opened the oven, revealing the cinnamon rolls I had been smelling. My stomach growled loudly in appreciation, and Giano smiled at me. Together, we spread the cream cheese frosting meticulously over each of the pastries before he served me mine then made a plate for himself.
Unsure of my place, I made a move to exit and retire to my room, but Giano surprised me.
“Stay,” he requested, and my heart raced. He sought out my company. It filled me with a happiness I hadn’t ever felt before.
I nodded and followed him to the table where we ate in silence other than my groan in delight at the deliciousness of the warm cinnamon bun. When we finished, I took both plates to the sink. I began to wash them, feeling like I needed to give back in any way I could, but Giano’s arm brushed mine as he stood beside me to rinse and dry.
He looked down at me, drawing my attention. “You are not alone, Angel, even if it seems that way sometimes.”
That statement alone was the best Christmas present anyone could have ever given me.
In this moment, thinking on my time with Giano, the memory gave me comfort rather than anguish. I truly felt like I wasn’t alone that he was still with me.
“What would you like for breakfast, Angel?” Shawn asked sliding out from under me.
“Cinnamon buns,” I said with a smile that lit up my whole face.
“Your wish is my command,” he teased, walking naked from the bed into the bathroom.
I took the moment of solitude to reflect. I was finally healing; at least a little bit.
Twelve
As I emerged from the shower, the smell of cinnamon hit my nose. It took me back to a happy time and made me focus on the good memories I would make with Shawn today. Quickly, I put on clothes and made my way to the kitchen.
Sitting at my table, I smiled as I lifted the sticky bun to my lips. The flavors exploded in my mouth and I moaned my pleasure.
“Well, damn if I knew cinnamon buns did that, I would have been baking them regularly,” Shawn teased.
“Uncle Zozo gets these shipped to me from a shop back home. They use the same recipe my dad used down to the cream cheese frosting he sends in the jars.”
“Seeing your appreciation, they are worth every penny he spends.”
I was gleeful as we both ate our breakfast and appreciated the tastes.
Appreciation.
The act of appreciating. The recognition and enjoyment of something good. A full understanding of a situation,
an acknowledgement, an awareness.
Losing Giano had taught me appreciation.
Picking myself up and getting through life had given me a profound appreciation for the things I had previously taken for granted … like Giano. Or the simple act of being comfortable in one’s skin.
Although, when I thought hard about it, I couldn’t help but wonder: was it really my skin when I was carrying on as Angelina, and not Fallyn? Really, who did I belong to, Angelina Nylene Diamante and the beautiful life I had been graciously given, or Fallyn Nicola Valencia, the little girl from the glass house that was filled with horrors. Who was I on the inside? The part no one knew about but me. The identity crisis still plagued me from time to time and I wondered if I would ever find the answers I sought.
I pushed the thoughts down and let my mind go back to appreciating those people who had cared for me—Giano, Shawn, and Alanzo.
Uncle Alanzo had done so much for me. I told him all the time I appreciated him, but when had I really shown it? The more I thought, the more guilt I felt.
Actions spoke louder than words and I made a mental note to do something special for Uncle Zozo in the near future.
“Do you have any family traditions?” I asked Shawn as I pulled another cinnamon bun onto my plate.
I had shared with him that Giano and I had cinnamon buns every Christmas for breakfast. It was our tradition. I thought it would feel weird or like a betrayal to share it with someone else, but the reality was this felt nice. With Shawn giving me this, I wanted to share one of his traditions as well.
His eyes hooded over and he grew distant. “I didn’t mean to pry,” I backtracked, feeling shame for upsetting him.
His hand reached out and cupped my chin. “You’re never prying. I didn’t mean to upset you or shut you out. I didn’t have the childhood most people do. I told you my family had ties. Those ties weren’t always good.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” I quickly recovered. Really, who was I to ask about family? When I thought back to traditions, the ones in my original home were horrific. Father felt I was his Christmas gift to unwrap over and over. It wasn’t something I wanted to share. So I understood Shawn not wanting to talk about family.
He blew out a breath. “No, I want to. It’s just been a long time since I’ve thought about my past. My dad was an old school Irishman. He was strict, but more than that, he was an alcoholic. He was great at his business, importing and exporting goods, but holidays meant family to most of his associates. With no work, he had to come home and face me and my mother. He hated us both. So he spent his time drowning in booze. When the buzz wore off, he found his high in beating on me.”
My heart broke for him. As he spoke of his father and the drinking, I could almost smell the booze on Father all over again. It was a trigger for some painful memories. I fought them down, wanting to hold onto this moment, hold onto the light.
“That couldn’t be easy,” I tried to keep my voice calm and light. After all, I couldn’t tell him I related. I couldn’t reveal that Giancarlo Diamante was not my actual father.
“My mother … she would try to shield me, take the blows when I was younger, but he would just hit her too. I left for college and didn’t look back. I figured Oregon put the right distance between us.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Do you still talk to them?”
He shook his head. “My mother checks in and I email her correspondence to affirm that I am indeed still alive. But no, I don’t actually speak with either of them. It’s for the best.”
“Why do you feel that is?”
Shawn gave me a sexy smirk, “My shrink today, huh? My mother chose to stay. I asked her to leave him, but she didn’t. If that’s the life she wants to live, so be it, but I don’t have to be a part of it.”
Shawn was so strong and had endured so much. He overcame it all to do what he wanted in life, rather than drown in the darkness.
“Is that why you don’t drink?” I asked, having noticed that when we went out he didn’t order alcohol. I didn’t drink since the night with Giano. I had abused alcohol, teasing him and seducing him. I swore I would never drink again and I hadn’t.
He nodded. The air felt heavy in emotions and I didn’t like it. I wanted Shawn to be at ease and happy on Christmas. This was a lesson learned to leave family out of holidays.
Leaning over, I pressed my lips to his.
Just as I was about to deepen the kiss and truly have a Merry Christmas morning, my doorbell rang. Surprised, I abruptly pulled away, looking at Shawn for some sign that who knew who was here. He shook his head and stood to go to the door.
I followed.
Shawn turned the lock and then the knob. I couldn’t hide my smile when he opened the door.
“Uncle Zozo,” I screamed and jumped into his arms. I had told Alanzo all about Shawn to which he never gave much of a reply. Seeing him, I was too happy to think about it right now though.
“Merry Christmas, Angel,” Alanzo said, carrying me almost like a child into the house. He was strong and carrying me didn’t shake him.
When I released him, I watched as his eyes went to stone and locked onto Shawn.
“Uncle Zozo, meet Shawn,” I tried to introduce. Neither man seemed to care. They were in a battle of wills, stares, macho power—I wasn’t really sure what. There was definitely a display of power and too much testosterone in the air.
“I know who he is,” Alanzo interrupted me.
Shit. This could be a good association or a bad one, but never somewhere in between. I knew Alanzo worked for families in the underworld business. I also knew he was trained and had the same flawless reputation as Giano. Kids talked at school. While I chose to ignore them, the information still sat in my mind. If Alanzo knew Shawn already, that could be because of his family. Now, I wondered if his family was a friend or a foe to my own.
“Uncle Zozo, I told you I was dating him. You said you were happy for me.”
“I am happy for you, Angel. Doesn’t mean I have to like him.”
Playfully, I smacked his chest. “Stop the macho stuff and come have a cinnamon bun,” I tried to redirect as Shawn closed the front door.
Alanzo moved to the table and sat in Shawn’s vacated seat. For a moment I wondered if Shawn was going to say something, especially since Alanzo did it intentionally. He moved Shawn’s plate as I carried over a clean one and placed it in front of him.
“What brings you to Oregon?” I asked, knowing that Uncle Zozo kept a unique schedule and would pop up any time, but I needed some sort of small talk to break the tension in the air.
“Notice you been cozying up with this chap more and more. Thought I should come have a man-to-man talk and see you on Christmas,” he explained, picking up a cinnamon bun and putting it on the plate. He then raised two fingers, “Two birds.” He moved to only hold up one finger, “One stone.”
“My intentions are good, Sir. I have a career. I happen to be very smitten by Angelina.”
Alanzo laughed in Shawn’s face. “Smitten? What kind of scholarly fuck are you?”
“UNCLE ZOZO!” I chastised.
Shawn lifted his hand silencing me. “I’m the kind of fuck who actually gives a fuck about Angelina. I respect her and made sure nothing happened until she was no longer my student. We built a friendship that grew into the best relationship I’ve ever had.”
Alanzo showed no emotion. Shawn was not deterred.
“Now I get you came here to show me your muscle. Maybe even intimidate me. But you should know I don’t intimidate easily. When something matters, and believe you me, Angelina matters, I won’t back down. So, unless you’re here to put my cold body in a bag, stand down and let her be the woman you helped raise her to be. She’s smart, she’s beautiful, and she has a good read on people. She trusts me and what we have is going good. I’m not giving that up because you think you’re protecting her.”
Alanzo chewed his cinnamon bun, not giving a hint of any exp
ression. I was panicking inside. He sat back in the chair and a wide smile formed across his face. Lifting the plate of cinnamon rolls, he extended it to Shawn. “I don’t have to like you. I just need to respect you. A man worth anything stands up for what he believes in and for his woman and family. You have my respect. Don’t fuck it up. Now, it’s Christmas, so let’s break bread.”
I blew out the breath I had been holding.
I didn’t want to have to choose between Alanzo and Shawn. After everything I had been through, Alanzo was an important part of my life. I wasn’t sure about dating etiquette and whether I was supposed to seek his approval. He wasn’t my father so it was all strange territory. The truth was I had never thought about dating and what that would mean.
As Shawn sat and took one of the pastries, I found myself surrounded in warmth and filled with happiness. The two people I loved the most were here with me on Christmas morning.
Then it hit me. I loved Shawn Patrick.
I was in love and I didn’t have the first clue what to do about it.
Thirteen
Three Months Later
Shawn’s warm body pressed against me. Our legs were entangled and I was half draped over him. My body instantly came alive as I began to wake up. I had become so comfortable with Shawn that most nights we slept naked.
Actually, I was becoming comfortable with life, with really living. It was surprising. In some ways a little overwhelming, but mostly I found excitement for life, for living, for experiencing. I couldn’t believe the way I felt day in and day out as my happiness grew. I was experiencing life in a way I never imagined possible.
I was actually comfortable in my own skin, mainly because we had sex when we went to bed, so I was spending quite a bit of time naked. After everything I endured with my father, I never thought I would enjoy sex as much as I did.
My nipples pebbled and my pussy dampened. Straddling him, I began to run his length under me, feeling it come to life. Leaning down, I brushed my lips to his. Running my tongue over his bottom lip, I smiled when he groaned as he awoke. His eyes opened with awareness and this carnal lust I craved.
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