Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Mom immediately grabbed my hands and put them under cold water. “You need to use pot holders!”
“I know,” I said. The door flung open, and Dad, Flavio, and Maximus entered the kitchen, ready for a fight.
“What happened?” Dad inquired, scanning the kitchen as if attackers were hiding somewhere.
Maximus came toward me, his face tight with concern, and sheathed the gun he’d drawn. To see him this ready to defend me was nice.
“I was lost in my thoughts and burned myself,” I explained when he scanned my red fingers that had begun blistering.
“Do you have burn salve?” he asked Mom, who sent Inessa to get it.
Maximus searched my eyes with worry and suspicion.
“I was lost in my thoughts,” I repeated. He had been constantly watching me since my comment that I wondered if physical pain would help with the anguish I felt.
“Okay,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he believed me. The number one reason I’d never hurt myself was that I knew how hard Mom and Dad would take it.
After Mom had treated my wound with burn salve and unnecessarily dressed it in gauze, we finally gathered around the dining room table. The lights from the Christmas tree illuminated the room, and the sight of the many presents made Alea and Inessa squeal in delight.
Maximus had agreed to celebrate Christmas morning with my family. I wouldn’t have minded if we’d split up for the festivities, but I hadn’t brought it up. Maximus had been trying to help me since the miscarriage, and I didn’t want to offend him.
“Is this the first time you’ve celebrated Christmas morning away from your family?” Mom asked Maximus curiously as we all loaded up on food.
Maximus handed the plate with the smoked salmon over to Inessa who passed it along with a look of disgust. She hated fish. “Yes, I always made sure to be home from work by the time Christmas morning rolled around.”
I bit my lip, wondering if I should have suggested splitting up. I didn’t want to be the reason Maximus missed his family on Christmas. He didn’t need to feel obligated to me. I was happy as long as I was with my family. He met my gaze. “But I think marriage is a good reason for new habits.”
I gave him a small smile, then focused on my own plate. I hadn’t taken much. I still had to force myself to eat most days. I rarely felt true hunger, but I didn’t want to let Mom’s filet Wellington with venison loin instead of beef go to waste. It was too delicious for that. Mom always turned our breakfast into a luxury brunch, which lasted forever and stuffed you to the max.
Later, we settled around the Christmas tree. I dropped on the comfy sofa, letting Inessa and Alea storm the presents. They were still less restrained regarding this part of the holidays.
When you grew older, some of the magic of Christmas got lost, and after what happened this year, I didn’t feel any magic at all.
Maximus reached for an envelope perched atop a pile of presents and handed it to me. I gave him a surprised look. For some reason, I hadn’t expected him to get me a present. The past few months had been such a whirlwind that I hadn’t thought about buying him anything. I’d already bought the presents for my family in September as I always did because I preferred to be prepared. I really hoped it was only a Christmas card so I wouldn’t have to feel bad over not getting him anything.
I took the envelope and opened it. The card was a photo of a collection of vases and tableware from my favorite pottery artist. Her pieces were incredibly beautiful and excruciatingly expensive.
I had exactly one mug from her, and I only used it on Sunday to enjoy my favorite cup of Earl Grey tea. I opened the card, and my mouth fell open. It was a voucher for a private pottery course with her. In the past, she’d done pottery group courses, but back then, I hadn’t been confident enough in my abilities to book a course. When I’d finally felt like I might be worthy to do pottery in the same room as her, she’d stopped giving them. I supposed she’d become too successful and didn’t have the time anymore.
“Someone told me that you do pottery and that this is your favorite artist, so I asked her to spend a whole day with you and teach you.”
“She agreed?” I asked, aghast.
“I didn’t threaten her, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said firmly. “But money can buy almost anything.”
I hadn’t done any pottery since I’d lost the baby, and even before then, after the capture, I’d only tried it twice and given up both times, practically fleeing the pottery wheel. When I’d done pottery in the past, I’d allowed my thoughts to roam free as my fingers formed the soft clay. I had daydreamed and run through imaginary scenarios of my future. Letting my thoughts run free now seemed hazardous and foolish.