Christmas lights

*Zac*
The remainder of the day is filled with silly parlor games that I refuse to be drawn into. I used to participate with vigor, but now I feel remarkably old. Calliope finds one excuse after another not to be involved as well. She spends a good deal of time visiting with her father.

“Hmm,” my mother mutters at one point, coming to stand beside me. "I had never expected to see her father again, especially in such a forgiving temperament. Whatever did you say to him?"

“I may have mentioned that certain family members with access to the queen’s ear might not take it kindly if he continues to ignore his daughter.” I admit.

“Considering how much you always resented that they had a title and you did not, I never thought you would use your brothers’ titles in such a dastardly manner."

I raise a brow, “I was referring to you."

“Of course you were, darling. Marriage becomes you." She says.

“She’s not like anyone I have ever known." I grimace. "And yet I have known her, haven’t I?"

My mother nods, “It bothers you that you don’t remember her."

“I can see forgetting battles, blood, and death... but her? She is nothing at all like any of the other women I...” I let my voice trail off.

“Entertained?” my mother asks pointedly.

I shake my head. "You are unlike any mother!"

“I’ve earned the right to do as I please and say what I will. People act as though what happens between a man and a woman is something of which to be ashamed, something to be hidden, not spoken of. In truth, it can be the most beautiful part of our lives. I see no reason to pretend otherwise."

“Obviously you’ve had some influence on my mate. She asked me this morning if you and Lynn had been involved in an affair."

“Did she?" my mother asks quietly, in such an unnaturally reserved tone that I shift my gaze away from Calliope and study my mother. "What did you tell her?"

I shrug, “I laughed."

“Good for you."

She leaves it at that, walking away, leaving me with my thoughts.

Dinner is served promptly at four. The seating arrangement is once again informal, people sitting where they please. I sit on one side of Calliope, her father on the other. My mother sits beside me, with Morton and Draco at opposite ends of the table.

Morton stands and raises his wineglass. “Before we begin, I’d like to make a toast. Last year was the first year, in large part due to the efforts of my wonderful mate, the family celebrated Christmas here since the death of Zac’s and my father. I recall making a toast last year that this year would find Zac here with us. Brother, I don’t imagine the journey to get here was one you would have wished for and certainly your being wounded was not what I had in mind when I made my toast. Still, we’re ever so grateful that you’re with us.”

“Hear! Hear!" choruses through the room as glasses are lifted and sips taken.

Morton again raises his glass. “Calliope, I don’t know how you manage to put up with him." I hear Draco laugh, and beneath the table, Calliope’s hand comes to rest on my thigh. I wrap my fingers around it, astounded to realize the rightness of it, unable to imagine how my life would be now if she weren’t in it, "but bless you for doing so. We’re all of us here delighted and honored to have you and Zane in the family."

More cheers follow. I catch my brother’s eye and lift my glass in a silent salute and an acknowledgment of appreciation. I know the words have been spoken for the benefit of Calliope’s father, so he might understand how much she is valued within my family.

I have never cherished my family as much as I do at this moment.

The conversation at the table is a bit more subdued, no doubt in deference to our guest. Draco is given the honor of carving the goose, which he does with considerable aplomb.

“I daresay, Draco," Mallard says, “if you ever lose your title, you would make a fine servant."

“Fox on you, Mallard.”

Everyone is giddy from too much wine and fine company by the time the plum pudding is served. As fate would have it, Draco is the one who spoons out the ring that has been cooked within it.

“Oh, Draco, you’ll be married by next Christmas," Emily crows.

“I will not. I’m all of three-and-twenty. Far too young for such a drastic measure."

“Come on, brother,” I cajole. “With your responsible attitude, you might find it to your liking."

“And then I might not. Emily?"

She glances up at me. “What?"

I toss her the ring, which she catches, nearly knocking over her wineglass. “You’re having your coming out. You’re more likely to get married than me."

“Getting rid of it won’t change your fate, Draco."

“I’m not getting married."

“Methinks thou doth protest too much, Draco," Morton says. “Is there someone you’ve not told us about?"

“No one."

“I think there is," Calliope whispers to me.

I love the sparkle in her eyes, the radiance of her smile, the joy that emanates from her. “I think you’re right."

It is sometime later… after dinner, after Calliope’s father leaves… when we’ve all retired once again to the grand room and Charlotte is playing the pianoforte that I look over at my wife and have a flash of memory.

It is dark. I am in the military hospital, in pain, feeling despair, when an angel stops by my bed and smiles at me. Calliope.

Perhaps the memory is only my imagination, trying to fill in the empty spaces.

But what I do know is that one of her smiles would have been enough to keep me alive. Just so I could see it again.

I wonder if it is possible that I’ve fallen in love with her there as easily as I am beginning to fall in love with her here.