“That’s right, I never gave you a proper tour,” Neil said apologetically. It wasn’t his fault; I’d been content to mostly hang out in his room watching television while he worked. The rest of the house was too intimidating, and if I ran into any of the black-uniformed staff, they were so solicitous of my comfort I felt guilty when I didn’t have a job for them. I’d been more or less hiding from them, so I hadn’t wandered around.
“Elwood hospitality strikes again,” Valerie said with a good-natured laugh as she pulled out a chair from the table. “I’m sure you two had better things to do.”
“Mother, don’t be disgusting,” Emma scolded.
Then I noticed where Valerie had taken her seat. At the right hand of the head of the table, across from Emma. Michael sat beside Emma, of course, and Fiona moved the chair beside Valerie away from the table for Rose’s wheelchair, leaving me far, far down the line.
Emma flushed with embarrassment. “Mom... Sophie?”
“Oh, right.” She laughed and waved her hand, as though it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d taken the seat next to Neil. “So sorry, Sophie.”
“It’s no problem, I’m new here. I’m easy to forget,” I said easily. Inside, I was seething.
“Never,” Neil said with a wink, and then I remembered that no matter what Valerie might do to make me feel unwelcome, it was her problem, not mine. Neil loved me, he was a grown man who got to make his own choices, and god knew he didn’t let people push him around. Valerie could dig at me as much as she wanted, and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
Dinner was amazing, and surprisingly formal for the easy, family dinner talk around the elegant table. Seven courses, each with a vegan option for Neil and Emma, stuffed us like the proverbial Christmas goose. Which was served as the main course. I assumed it wasn’t the same goose who’d nobly sacrificed its liver for the pâté served with the salad. Everything was delicious, far better than even the best restaurant I’d ever been to.
“Your cook... does he or she belong here full time?” I asked Neil, dabbing my mouth with my napkin.
“Fear not, he usually works for me in London, as well.” Neil said with his half smile. “He’s very talented. The only reason he’s with me is because his knees were too bad to keep working in restaurants. He’s a marvel, he can make you anything you could possibly imagine.”
“That could be dangerous,” I warned him.
“Who picked the menu for this evening?” Fiona asked with a laugh. “Emma, were you reading a lot of Dickens lately?”
“Chef wanted to do something fun and traditional, and I thought that was a splendid idea. Dad wanted a memorable holiday, so why not give it to him?” Emma sighed happily. “And it’s far better than last year.”
Everyone shared a laugh, and Neil put his hand over my wrist on the table. “Last year, Elizabeth thought Christmas would be a lovely time to invite a very new, very experimental chef from Spain to join us for the holiday. I paid out the nose for bits of foam that were infused with flavors of things.”
“We almost starved,” Rose said, chuckling. “But really, we shouldn’t be making fun of poor Elizabeth. How rude of us, dear, you were just being adventurous.”
It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me, as though I were Elizabeth, and when I did it was just a heartbeat behind everyone else, so I ended up facing a bunch of uncomfortable glances as I processed this fact.
“Mother, that’s—” Fiona began, looking uncertainly over at me. Beside me, Valerie watched my reaction with a slowly growing expression of amusement. She was waiting to see what I would do, if I would explode like the spoiled brat she suspected I was.
“That’s alright, Rose.” I waved my hand. “I know they’re just teasing.”
I gave Neil a reassuring smile, and Emma beamed at me gratefully from across the table. There. I hadn’t made anyone feel awkward about my presence. I think I deserved some kind of gold star for that.
After a delicious course of vegan plum pudding for dessert, we went back to the drawing room to exchange gifts and have cocktails. We were all happy and relaxed, chatting amicably when Emma, a twinkle in her eyes, said, “Dad, please tell me you made Sophie do the shoe thing.”
“Shoe thing?” I raised an eyebrow.
“There was a tradition my father’s family had when he was a child, and he passed it on to us,” Neil explained. “You left your shoe in the window on Christmas eve, instead of hanging up a stocking by the fireplace.”
“Sophie, you are going to be so confused,” Emma said with a laugh. “There are like twenty-seven Santas in Iceland.”