“Why in the world do you think you would need to apologise to me?” He wanted to move nearer to her but she was close to breaking down and he didn’t want to tip her over the edge.
“Because you’re going to get over the novelty and the guilt of all this.” She shook her head angrily. “I saw Miss Burns come into our lessons with the techniques she’d learned, so optimistic, only to see the lack of effect. I saw the way her face fell.”
“And you pretended you didn’t care,” he said softly, moving closer towards her slowly, so that she didn’t frighten. “You began to pretend you weren’t interested in anything academic. That you only wanted to party. Right?”
She bit down on her lip, tears filling her eyes and clogging her throat.
“Dyslexia isn’t … my kind of dyslexia is very rare,” she whispered. “I can’t read.” She stared at him, and he understood then the grief that she’d been processing all these years. It rammed against him. “It’s like I’m locked out of something special and vital. It’s a behavior most people think of as simple – like breathing or drinking water. But I can’t do it. And I’m terrified of that. I’m terrified of books and papers and of having to make up reasons why I can’t fill out stupid bloody forms at hotels.” She squeezed her eyes shut on the wave of embarrassment.
He took his opportunity, swooping across the room and catching her face in his hands, holding her head up high when she wasn’t able to do so herself. “Because you’re hiding the truth. You don’t need to. You think your father wouldn’t sing it from the rooftops? Well, maybe you’re right. But I would. I’d tell the world that you were born not being able to read but that you are the most perfect woman who’s ever walked this earth. I will tell everyone how much I love you for the rest of our lives.” He brought his lips closer to hers, brushing their mouths together gently. “I will read for you and I will write for you.”
“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head, salty tears falling from her eyes onto his fingertips. “Don’t say that. You don’t know what this is like.”
“No.” He nodded sagely. “I don’t. I’m not trying to minimize what you’re going through. I have no idea how hard this must have been for you. I want to know, though.” His eyes bore into her. “You need to understand that I am proud of you. All of you. That I don’t see one part of you as broken or damaged. Everything you are is special to me.”
He kissed her once more, tenderly, reassuringly.
“Why is your dyslexia more of a fault than my arrogance?” He smiled against her mouth, but she pulled away, shaking her head.
“This isn’t a joke.” She didn’t meet his eyes and the ground shifted dangerously beneath Stavros’s feet. “I can’t even begin to make you understand… You think I should stop hiding my disease? You want to shout it from the rooftops? You can’t. I can’t. Even though dad is dead, I could never do that to him. I would never embarrass him by coming out as someone who is… dumb.”
“Cristo!” He dragged her back to him, holding her tight, staring down at her. “You are not dumb!”
“He thought I was. Everyone else will too. And the story won’t be about me having dyslexia and making a life for myself despite that. It will be about Christopher La Roche, New York Times bestselling author and his poor daughter who can’t read.” She stomped her foot, shifting away from him once more. “Don’t you see? I don’t own the right to speak about this publicly.”
Stavros nodded slowly, understanding the rock and hard place Claudia found herself sandwiched between. He might have disagreed with her assessment but he could sure respect her position. “Fine,” he said. “So I will shout it from the top of the steps in Barnwell, so that only you can hear. But I will shout it again and again until you understand that I love you. As you are. I love everything about you.”
She didn’t want to believe him. Believing him terrified her.
“And I always have. I gave my heart to you a long time ago, Claudia. Now that you’re all grown up, I need you to know that.”
She groaned and shook her head. “I can’t ask this of you. I can’t ask you to make this sacrifice.” She turned to face him and she was pale and shaking. “I really need you to go. Please.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“No?”
“Emphatically, no.” He smiled. “At least, not for long. Where are you going to tonight?”
“Church,” she murmured.
“Fine. I’ll come and pick you up. What time?”
“You don’t need to do that. It’s just a couple of blocks away.”
“What time?”
She looked at him with frustration. “Stavros, you’re not making it easy to walk away from you.”
“Good. I don’t plan to. You’re stuck with me.” He winked and her heart turned over. “What time?”
“Six.”
“I’ll see you then.”
She watched him disappear with a heart that was simultaneously sinking and soaring into the heavens. She watched him leave and could only be grateful that he would soon be back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CLAUDIA NOTICED TWO THINGS when Stavros returned, fifteen minutes before six.
He’d taken the concept of ‘dressing for Church’ to a whole new level. He wore a dark blue suit that showed off the depth of his tan, with a crisp white shirt and a grey tie. He looked impossibly handsome.
And he had a duffel bag over his shoulder.
A collection of fabric, stitched together, and yet it switched something inside of her on. A bag was a sign of something. Something like a promise. Something that spoke of intention.
“Hi.” She said, the word still tense, uncertain. Not trusting anyone had become a habit, one she didn’t feel sure she knew how to break.
His eyes glittered. “Where is your bedroom?”
Her breath hitched in her throat. “Why?”
“Because, agape mou, I need to store this somewhere.” He lifted the bag, as if she hadn’t already clocked it.
“Upstairs. First door on the right.”
He nodded, and made to walk past her, but then paused abruptly. His kiss was light. Almost a kiss of greeting. But her stomach lurched and twisted.
She wanted more.
So much more.
Suddenly the idea of waiting was an agony.
“You look beautiful,” he said softly, his eyes running over Claudia’s simple black knit dress. It fell to her ankles and she’d teamed it with a pair of soft leather boots.
“Thank you.”
He looked at her as though there was more he wanted to say, but after a moment, he continued upstairs. She watched him disappear, her mind struggling to comprehend this turn of events.
The last time she’d seen him, Claudia had been certain it would be the last time. Their fight had been awful. She’d lied to him to make him angry, to push him away, and yet he’d come back.
Because he’d worked out the truth.
Was this just guilt? Sympathy?
She was frowning when he reappeared, and he caught her hand, lifting it to his lips.
“Shall we?”
She nodded, but the seed of doubt was working its way deeper into her mind. She wanted, so badly, to believe that he loved her. Why was it so hard?
“I organized the snow. Just for you,” he teased, as they stepped out of her house.
She blinked up at him, and then to the inky evening sky which was speckled with little dots of white.
“Oh.” A shivering acknowledgement. “It’s so…”
“Beautiful,” he agreed.
A bright light greeted them and Claudia froze, then immediately put some distance between them.
“New lover boy, eh, Claudia?” It was only one photographer, leaning against a tree, huddled inside a leather jacket.
It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it when Stavros put his arm around Claudia and pulled her tighter to his side. He even dredged a smile to his lips as they passed the photographer, and the ligh
t flashed once more.
At the corner of the block, Claudia risked a look at him. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled a face. “Why?”
“I know how much you hate the thought of being in the papers.”
He arched a brow. “I suspect I’ll have to get used to it.”
“Why?”
“Because you are photographed and I intend to be with you often.” He shrugged. “It’s a small price to pay.”
It was a joke, but Claudia’s heart dropped lower. “Another sacrifice.”
“No.” They crossed the street together, his arm still around her shoulders, holding her to him, warming her with his body’s heat. “A privilege.”
He kissed the top of her head and her stomach lurched. Hope flared.
Carols reached their ears when they were still a block away from the church.
“How long have you been coming here?”
“Since I moved to London.”
“Ah! Here she is, our guardian angel,” Sister Connelly greeted Claudia with an extravagant hug and smile before lifting her eyes thoughtfully to the man beside her.
“You were on the footpath with Claudia this afternoon.”
“I was,” Stavros nodded. “Stavros Aresteides.”
Sister Connelly lifted her brows with obvious speculation. “A friend?”
“More than that,” he grinned and the Sister’s smile widened.
Claudia’s cheeks flamed.
“You know then what Claudia has done for us,” Sister Connelly linked one arm through Claudia’s and one arm through Stavros’s as they made their way up the steps of the church. “Without her generosity and fundraising efforts, we’d be hard-pressed to offer the services we do.”
“Which services in particular?” Stavros asked conversationally, but there was an undercurrent to the question that had Claudia’s feet stumbling slightly.
“Oh, everything, dear. From feeding the homeless and poor, which we do every Sunday lunch, to the children’s gifts we hand out at Christmas,” she gestured towards a large green tree ahead of them, covered in gifts at its base. “She won’t let me thank her publically, of course, but a good friend of hers should know what a unique soul she is.”
Claudia cleared her throat. “Thank you, Sister.”
Sister Connelly grinned. “Thank you, dear.” She pressed a kiss to Claudia’s cheek and then disappeared into the crowds.
Claudia watched her bustling rear and then turned, with a bemused expression, towards Stavros. “It appears she’s decided to play matchmaker.”
But the look on his face stole whatever else she’d been about to say.
“All the money you spend at Christmas… that’s on these gifts?”
Claudia’s face paled for a moment and then she tilted her chin defiantly. “Yes. I know it might seem like reckless spending but…”
He lifted a finger and pressed it to her mouth, his eyes sparking with hers.
“It seems,” he spoke softly, the words husked with emotion, “nothing like it.”
They stood like that for a moment, surrounded by people arriving, without realizing there was anyone else present at all. It was just the two of them, and the truth of their feelings clicking into place.
It was just a moment.
Someone recognized Claudia and came to speak to her, and then another person arrived, and then the service was beginning. They took two seats at the back.
The whole time, Claudia was conscious of Stavros beside her. Though she loved the Christmas service, she barely heard it this year.
There was no room left in her heart or mind – every part of her was absorbed by Stavros. By their afternoon. By what he’d said.
By trying to analyse what it meant, and what it meant for her future.
So many things in Claudia’s life had been out of her control. Her mother and father’s disinterest in parenting, and each other. Her mother’s death. Her father’s death.
Stavros becoming her guardian. Her eyes flicked sideways and a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies rampaged her stomach at the sight of him, staring straight ahead, so watchfully intent on the sermon.
Her dyslexia had been out of her control.
She’d made the best of her life regardless, learning the important lesson very early on that worrying about what she couldn’t control was a waste of energy. She didn’t have the energy to bemoan her failings or the fact she didn’t have the close-knit family she’d always wanted.
But now? Stavros claimed to love her. To have always loved her. This was in her power. She could reach out and grab the only thing she’d ever wanted in life. If she could just let go of her fears.
The service ended and Claudia blinked as though waking from a dream. Usually, she would stay afterwards and socialize, but a sense of urgency had her standing as soon as it was polite to do so.
“Let’s go.”
He nodded, understanding, putting a hand in the small of her back and propelling her towards the door before any well-intentioned parishioner could stop them.
The snow had thickened while they’d been inside, leaving a delicate coating on the cars outside. They walked in silence, their steps quick, until they reached her door.
The photographer had gone.
Claudia unlocked the front entrance and pushed it open, and Stavros was behind her.
“Did you mean what you said this afternoon?”
He didn’t misunderstand. He knew what she needed to know. “Absolutely, one hundred percent. I love you.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I loved you when I thought you were only interested in partying and tanning and getting your name in the papers. Can you imagine how I feel about you now?” He cupped her face, brushing his lips against hers.
“The question is if you love me?” He asked it softly, gently, his eyes scanning hers. “Can you love me after what I’ve put you through? How I’ve treated you? Can you love me when I am so much older? Can you forgive me for not doing better by you?”
Claudia sobbed, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her head to his chest. “I can’t not love you,” she groaned. “It’s just the way I’m wired.”
He laughed, but it was a shaking, trembling sound. “Thank God. I seriously thought you might be trying to work out how to get rid of me.”
She shook her head and moved apart a little, just enough to look into his eyes. “But Stavros? I’m not … I meant what I said. I’m never going to be able to keep up with you. I’m …I’m worried you’ll get bored of me.”
“Bored of you? Not possible.” He dropped his arms and moved towards the stairs. “Wait.”
She watched as he took them two at a time, turning into her bedroom and reappearing a moment later with a present in his hands.
She knew, instinctively, what it was. The shape was one she had long feared.
A book.
She shook her head and spoke with a slow insistence. “You can’t change me. You can’t fix this.”
He handed it to her and she stared at him with frustration before ripping the wrapper off. It was, indeed, a book, with a pretty, old-fashioned cover.
She pushed it back at him.
“I can’t read that.”
“I know.” He caught her hands and held them in his. “Which is why I’ll read it to you.”
She blinked at him, a frown on her face. “Why?”
“Because I want to. Because I want to share everything with you. Because you will love the story and I want you to hear it. I want to be the one to tell it to you.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. This, total acceptance, was unexpected. He wasn’t trying to change her. He was trying to find a way to give her everything.
She let out a juddering sigh and bit down on her lip.
“I love you,” he said simply. “And I always will.”
The butterflies in her tummy took over her whole body, weakening her knees and strengthening her resolve.
“I lo
ve you back.” She lifted up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips.
“Will you come home now?”
“I am home,” she said softly.
“Your London home,” he said with a shrug. “But you belong at Barnwell. With me, and that enormous tree.”
And finally, everything clicked together, locking intention and certainty into place, welding them alongside hope and heart. “Home,” she nodded. “Yes. Let’s go home.”
THE END
Following is an excerpt from ALL SHE WANTS FOR CHRISTMAS by CLARE CONNELLY.
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS SO, SO much worse than she’d anticipated.
Elizabeth couldn’t help the gasp of horror that escaped her lips as she slowly cast her lavender blue eyes over the now-dilapidated ruins of the once-grand Bashir Hall.
“Oh, Marianne,” she said weakly, pressing her manicured fingers into her mother-in-law’s forearm. “I can’t believe it.”
Marianne, to her credit, maintained her effortless expression of poise. Not a single hair in her elegantly styled chignon was out of place. “I’m afraid it’s quite a state, darling. Nothing that can’t be fixed, with time, of course.”
Elizabeth’s laugh was manic. “Time? What time? Oh, God! The Ball is in less than a month. I have sponsors coming out of my backside, A-list guests from all over Europe confirmed to attend, and a venue that’s almost completely burned to a crisp.”
Lady Marianne Sanderson lowered her darkly tinted Gucci sunglasses onto her face. It had less to do with shielding her eyes from the cold late November wind that was buffeting the whole of Somersetshire, and more to do with needing a disguise for her inspection. Her late son’s wife (even now, almost five years after his death, it was still impossible to think of dear Alastair as ‘late’.), Bessie, was looking thin. Too thin. She’d always erred on the side of ethereal, wispy beauty, but there was a frailty to her now that brought a small frown to Marianne’s pink lips.
With her Danish heritage, Elizabeth was as stunningly beautiful as always. Even in the depths of one of the coldest British winters on record, her skin had a honey glow to it. Her eyes were the brightest blue she’d ever seen, and her hair, naturally as blonde as gold, she wore long. Marianne supposed it was fashionable, but it looked like it would take a lot of effort to keep it so beautifully maintained, and yet Elizabeth never failed to look elegant and somehow neat, despite the long, hair that fell half way down her back in big, loose waves. No, it was the slender figure that worried Marianne. Life as a single parent was wearing her daughter in law down, and she worried now that she should have been doing more to help.
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