The Christmas Love-Child

A year later Grace crept down the holly-decked stairs in their Devonshire house, weighed down with Christmas stockings.

She heard a noise in the room below and froze. She knew her brothers were far too old to believe in Santa, but she had baby Sergey to think about now. Then she giggled at the thought that her four-month-old son might catch her. He was certainly the smartest, cleverest baby on earth, but that was pushing it a little too far, even for a proud mother.

Santa had already brought Grace everything she’d ever wanted.

She only had to look around this house. The country house had seemed so empty and wistful last year when she and Maksim had first conceived Sergey. But not anymore. She’d spent the last few months of her pregnancy consulting designers, buying furniture from all over the world, making it comfortable and bright. She’d done the same for their other homes in Moscow, London, Los Angeles, Cap Ferrat and Antigua, but this house was her favorite.

This house was their home.

She’d gone into labor three weeks early here, while finishing the baby’s nursery. Sergey had been born at the hospital in a nearby village at a healthy seven pounds three ounces, and he’d been growing ever since. The baby was happy here and so were his parents. Grace could feel the house glowing with happiness, the wood of the banister warm beneath her touch as she came downstairs to the family room with the old fireplace and their Christmas tree.

She stopped when she saw her husband, still shirtless as he’d slept and wearing only the bright red reindeer flannel pajama pants she’d bought him as a joke, walking their baby son back and forth in front of the shining lights of their twelve-foot Christmas tree.

“He’s finally asleep,” Maksim whispered, and kissed their baby son tenderly on top of his downy head. “I’ll take him up to bed.”

She nodded with a lump in her throat. As she watched her husband carry their slumbering baby up the staircase, she wondered what she’d ever done to deserve such happiness. All her dreams had come true.

For her Christmas surprise, Maksim had flown her whole family here from California yesterday to share their baby’s first Christmas.

“Oh, my dear,” her mother had whispered to her last night, her eyes full of joyful tears as they shared their midnight cocoa, “you’re really going to live happily ever after.”

Now Grace hung the red stockings—stuffed full of candy, oranges and small gifts—on the marble mantel and stood back to see the effect. She nodded with satisfaction, then placed one last gift in her mother’s stocking. Her father’s wedding ring. Maksim had tracked it down for her in Moscow two weeks ago. Grace had cried with gratitude, kissing him again and again.

She glanced down at her left hand, which now shone with a ten-carat diamond surrounded by sapphires, set in gold with a matching wedding band. Maksim had given it to her right after she’d kissed him. “To match your hair and eyes.” He’d added with a wicked grin, “I know this time it’s a gift you can’t refuse.”

And she hadn’t refused. She couldn’t. It fit perfectly with the wedding ring that meant everything to her, the one he’d bought her on Russia’s Christmas day last year. She was so happy and proud to be his wife.

And she’d finally found the perfect gift to give him in return. The perfect Christmas present for the man who had everything.

Smiling through the tears, Grace gently placed the small gift in Maksim’s stocking. It was a small framed picture of baby Sergey she’d taken last night, while Maksim was in the village doing last-minute Christmas shopping. In the photo, the baby was wearing a T-shirt she’d made herself, with words that read, “I’m going to be a big brother.”

Looking at the stocking, picturing Maksim’s reaction, she smiled, and tears welled up in her eyes. Such a ninny I am, she thought, wiping her eyes and laughing at herself. But was it possible to die of happiness?

Upstairs she could hear her younger brothers waking up. In a moment they would be racing downstairs to open their presents beneath the tree. Her mother would bustle around the enormous, refurbished kitchen, insisting on cooking brunch for them as the staff had the day off. Then she’d sit by the fire, knitting booties for the baby while studying books for next semester’s classes.

And Grace could sit on her husband’s lap and kiss him when no one was looking. He would kiss her back, and they would wait with breathless anticipation for their private Christmas celebrations to come during the silent, sacred night.

With a grateful breath, Grace glanced outside through the tall windows at the wide expanse of white fields, the peaceful moment before the world woke. Outside, the first rays of pink dawn were streaking through black trees covered with snow.

It was the winter glow of her heart. Even in the stillness of winter they would forever have the warmth and light of home. And as she heard her husband’s step on the stairs coming back to her, she knew the sunshine would always last.