Assembling the huge fake blue Christmas tree was a mess—also a credit to the strength of our rebooted relationship. If we could survive all those arguments, we could survive anything.
Then I had to teach Victor how to strew the fairy lights and silver trim around the blue Christmas tree. He didn’t see the point, and I had to admit I didn’t have a clue as to why people decorated their trees the way they did.
So that discussion ended with me doing the rest of the fairy lights myself while Victor looked it up. It’s too bad he never got the chance to go to college. I can tell he still appreciates learning new things.
But in Victor’s case, knowledge led to mischief.
“Is this M-I-S-T-L-E-T-O-E?” he asked, spelling out the word since neither of us knew the sign for it.
He pointed to a colorful red and green plant.
I laughed, “No. That’s a poinsettia.”
But I guess my answer didn't matter. He held it up above our heads and kissed me anyway. Victor, I was quickly discovering during this reboot, could be very, very silly.
And very, very insistent.
And that’s how we end up celebrating our empty house on Friday morning, after all.
Quicker than you can say poinsettia, he has me propped up on the heavy table he moved aside to make room for the tree. And can you believe this fool keeps the pot above our heads until he explodes inside of me?
That sets off a domino effect as it so often does for us. The ornaments never do get put on the tree, and a couple of orgasms later, we’re right back upstairs in bed where Victor wanted us to spend the morning all along.
“We’re going to have to talk about how you are still getting your way, even in this new era of our relationship,” I grumble after we’re done.
He turns me over to face him and caresses my belly. “I won’t bother you as much after the baby comes. I promise.”
There he goes again, disarming me easily with one of his super sincere responses. “You’re not bothering me. That’s pretty much the whole problem.”
Victor’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. Then he signs, “In that case, you should let me have my way again.”
He reaches out for me, but I scoot back on the bed with a laugh. “You’re going to be late for your meeting with Luca and that Stone guy if you don't get showered and leave out soon.”
Victor’s arms sag mid-reach. “When did you start keeping track of my time?”
“No joke, I'm a little scared of Amber,” I answer. “I don't want you pissing her off because you kept her husband waiting.”
Victor considers my words with comic intensity. Then he gives in with a “Good point. But when I return, we’re going to kiss some more under the red and green flowers.”
I’m still laughing when the phone I left charging on the nightstand this morning vibrates with a text message.
I pick it up and frown after reading it.
“What's wrong?” Victor asks, touching my shoulder to get my eyes.
“The Chrysanthemum production sent back major notes, and they want them done ASAP. Lucy’s freaking out because we've already sent everybody home, and she’s saying that she needs me to come into the office in Pittsburgh to fix this.”
Now Victor frowns too. “You’re on maternity leave. Can’t she call someone else?”
“No, I'm the head of concept on the project, so this is my design. That means if they have major notes, that’s on me. If anyone has to come back into the office to oversee them, it should be me.”
A cloud comes over Victor's face, stormy and severe.
“Victor, it's my job,” I remind him. “Next year, we’ll move everybody out here, but until then, Pittsburgh is where Yinz Entertainment is at, so Pittsburgh is where I’m going. It isn’t up for discussion.”
Victor grinds his jaw. This is the first real test of our new dynamic.
But in the end, he says, “You’re not driving yourself, and I’ll need you to take an extra bodyguard.”
“An extra bodyguard is a lot for two or three days in Pittsburgh,” I point out. “Remember, I lived in a one-bedroom apartment, not a house…”
Victor's hardened expression tells me that I'm wasting my breath.
I roll my eyes, “Okay, if I have to, fine.”
“Not because you have to,” he corrects. “Because I love you.”
Okay, well, when he puts it in that heart-melting way, I guess an extra bodyguard isn't so much to ask.
32
DAWN
At eight months pregnant, I’m not allowed to fly, so a nine-hour drive it is.
I take off from the Rhode Island mansion with my regular driver, Bo, who I can’t apologize to enough. “I know you probably had plans, but I’m hoping to get this all sorted out before Christmas.”
“It’s fine,” Bo answers quickly. But he’s terse today, not chatty like he usually is when I’m in the back seat.