Coming Around Again (14 page)

It had taken nothing less than a sneaky drop of
alcohol to get the twins in bed. For the first Christmas in two years, they
would be spending the holiday with both parents, under the roof they’d grown
up. Additional family would turn up for lunch if they liked or they could see
the boys on Boxing Day. It felt strange. Niels in his own bedroom and Stella in
their old room.

Christmas in the early years of their marriage had
been tinged with the same excitement her sons felt now. Mostly comprised of
when she could have her husband alone to thank him. Later on, it became a
Mexican standoff of who had spent what and who had done the most work. The
difference two years made could only be considered as astounding.

Niels handed her a glass of chilled port he’d
brought with him and raised his eyebrows for her to try it. For a moment, she
wondered what Royce would think of her and Niels sharing a cheeky tipple
together. But as yet, Royce was content to remain in the background. They’d
only started seeing each other and it was not in his interest to rock the boat.
No one could make demands when a relationship equivocated to the life span of
an amoeba. He should be happy that at last, Stella and Niels were no longer
arguing; pining after one another, or trying to disrupt the other’s life. They
had finally found balance.

“Ooh,” Stella praised after the first sip. “That’s
good. Where’d you find it?”

“A very generous client bought it for me as a
Christmas gift.”

“And you’re sharing your expensive gift with me?”

He gave a slight shrug. “A thank-you for putting
the good linen on my bed tonight.”

She grinned. “Fair enough. Look. I got you a
present.”

Niels’ glass hovered halfway between his mouth and
his knee where it had been resting. “That’s awkward. I got you something as
well.”

“Why would you buy me anything?”

“Because there is such a thing as a present for
your ex-wife with whom you have children and since she’s basting the turkey,
one should hand over one’s credit card.” He tapped the fingers of his free hand
over his knee. “Do you want it now? Avoid any falsities in front of the twins?”

She glanced at the time. It was nearly one o’clock
and therefore officially Christmas Day. “Okay. Thank you.”

He put down the port and disappeared. She heard him
rustling in the cupboard underneath the staircase and then he returned with a
small bag. Penhaligon’s. Her breath caught in her throat, and with shaking
fingers, she took the bag from him.

“Merry Christmas.”

She unwrapped the bag and reached in between
scented tissue paper for a small box tied in the signature ribbon. The man had
gone to an extravagance to buy her a perfume necklace. The delicate scent of
her usual Gardenia rose from the pendant. It was simple, elegant, beautiful,
and far too expensive for a woman who was no longer his wife. It made her
wonder what he’d bought for the woman he’d been seeing. The blonde that had
shaken her hand in the restaurant matched him perfectly.
Stop.
She told
herself.
Don’t.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He took the box from her and looped the chain about
her neck. “There. Just how I pictured it.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then
sat down once more. “Where’s my present, then?”

Stella reached under the sofa and handed it over to
him without ceremony. He swiftly unwrapped it, stared at the box, and then
demanded, “You know I can’t do this myself.”

“Of course you can! It’s the best way to shave.
Something for you to teach the boys in a few years’ time when they get bum
fluff.”

He gently shook the box on her knee. “Last time.”

“All right, you turn the kettle on and I’ll do it.
And it really is the last time,” she warned, getting to her feet. Upstairs were
the quality bathing towels, and since family members would most likely stay the
night during the holidays, she’d unpacked all her good towels. She removed two
of the softest ones and returned downstairs. Niels had a bowl of hot water on
the coffee table and sat with his jumper removed. “Where’s the rest of your
clothing?” she asked.

“Don’t want to get blood on it, in case you miss,”
he retorted, eyes closed and a cheeky grin on his face. Shaking her head,
Stella soaked the smaller towel in the hot water and after shaking some of the
steam from the cotton, she pressed it to his jaw, to soften the bristles of his
beard.

“All right?” she asked softly.

“Hmm,” he agreed, his voice rumbling through the
towel and into her palms. She rested the hot towel on his face, to mix the
shaving foam with the pure boar bristle brush. The set was vintage inspired,
one that would only require the blade to be sharpened every so often. The foam
was natural products, nothing that would irritate her husband’s Nordic skin.
Ex
, she reminded herself.
Goddamn it
. She lifted the towel from
his face and swirled the foam over his jawline, along his neck, and under his
nose.

“This feels nice,” he murmured with a sigh. “Carry
on. And don’t cut me. I don’t fancy a trip to A&E on Christmas Day. It’ll
be full of drunks.”

“Carry on with your lip and you’ll be in intensive
care,” she warned. Finally, she picked up the blade and smoothed the razor over
his skin, in slow, steady strokes. She scraped the excess foam onto the towel
and worked her way over his face. At closer inspection, Niels hadn’t aged.
Stella knew where she had more grey hairs, more wrinkles, where her skin was
beginning to tell the story of her life. Niels, the utter selfish bastard… Oh!
Crow’s feet.

“I look old, don’t I?” he stated, opening his eyes
and pinning her with his ice blue gaze.

“You look tired,” she admitted, gently whipping the
blade over his top lip. “Who’s been keeping you up?”

Just as she wiped the razor over the towel, Niels
curled a hand around her inner thigh to pull her closer. “Wouldn’t you like to
know? Be careful here. This is my photogenic side.”

The heat that radiated from his hand to her core
almost shook her hand into inactivity. “Get off,” she commanded. With a bracing
breath, she worked her way over the remainder of his angular face. It didn’t
help that when she leaned in to tame his side burns, Niels rested a broad palm
over her lower back, his skin hot on the flesh exposed between her jeans and
her newly suffocating jumper. She should have turned down the heating or at
least put on a T-shirt.

As soon as she bent to scrape the foam from his
neck, Niels perched her on his knee and tugged her forward. While it gave her
the best angle to finish the shave, it was impossible to not shake. Control of
her own limbs seemed to be a past skill. A last swipe of the blade saw Niels
cleanly shaved, ready to present a baby-smooth face to the world.

“All done?”

“Yup.”

She dipped the end of the towel in the still-warm
water and removed any last traces of foam. Leaning back, she reached for the
balm and patted the sweet scented gel over his velvet smooth skin. “There.
Perfect.”

“You still offer this in your salon, right?”

“Only for certain clients. It’s not for everyone.”

“I suppose not,” Niels said, slowly drawing his
palms over her denim-covered thighs. “It would avoid sexual harassment
charges.”

Stella leapt to her feet. “There’s nothing sexual
about shaving. It’s a chore. The traditional shave makes it a little less
unpleasant. That’s all.”

He sent her a knowing smile. “Of course. Take your
port to bed. I’ll tidy up down here.”

“But I’ve got vegetables to prepare!”

“No.”

“Seriously, there are a million things to do now!”

“Whatever you want to do… Trust me, it’s not going
to happen.” He took the towel from her shoulder and got to his feet, throwing
the towel behind him. He towered over her, his eyes darkened with intent.
Nothing in his gaze could be good for her. “If you stay here one more minute,
you’re going to find out just how close you’ve shaved me. And I don’t mean with
your hands.”

“Goodnight,” she trilled, turning tail and running
to her bedroom, the pendant bounding on her collarbone as she skidded into her
bedroom and closed the door. They were supposed to stay neutral! Why the
flirting? Why the blatantly sexual warning? Damn it, her body throbbed on a
muted level, ready to be on full four hob gas flames if he approached her door.

She sat tensely on her bed, fully dressed, with the
lights off, waiting for Niels to come up the stairs. It took him a good twenty
minutes to do so, flicking the lights off as he did. For a moment he paused
outside of her door, and every molecule in her frame froze. She didn’t know if
she wanted him to come in or to walk away. Neither option seemed good.
Oh,
don’t lie. Option A means sex!

His footsteps continued to the bedroom at the far
end of the corridor and the door closed gently.
Fuck!
Oh God, she needed
the strength of a higher power. And a chastity belt. She’d never been good at
denying how Niels could make her feel but the whole time they’d been
separated—he’d never shared living space with her. He’d removed all opportunity
for temptation. Except when she’d been ill—but she had been on the edge of
delirium. He could have fucked her and she’d have no recollection of it. Or at
least she’d have thought she’d made it up.

What should have warned her was Royce didn’t cross
her mind. Not while she pleasured herself into a fitful sleep. Not while she
was rudely awoken at six by two overly excitable boys. And definitely not over
breakfast of eggs Benedict as briskly made by Niels, who sent her warm looks as
he worked.

Only until she saw a text from Royce wishing her a
Merry Christmas and he hoped to see her soon did she remember that she was
supposed to be in a relationship with another man and not for the love of mercy
pining for the touch of her ex-husband.

Niels caught his mother’s intermittent stares over
the goose Stella had obligingly roasted for them all. The dining table had been
extended to make room for his parents, Stella’s parents—who wanted to spend a
Christmas with their grandsons, the twins, and Stella and Niels themselves.
Apparently some cousins were to turn up later as well for another dinner.

Stella’s parents had been polite. More than polite.
Quite delighted at the turn of events where they were playing happy families
and not World of Warcraft. His father reciprocated the politeness, but for some
reason his mother seemed on edge. He rose his eyebrows in query. Stella caught
the exchange and asked, “Alwine, is there something you need? There’s more salt
beef and gammon.”

“No, no, thank you. It’s been lovely. I’m not sure
I can eat anything else.”

The twins toasted spoons. “We can. Where’s
dessert?”

“In the fridge,” Niels answered his demon spawn.
“I’ll get it.”

“Let me help,” his mother said eagerly, getting to
her feet and clearing the plates away. Must be serious conversation, then.
Alwine stacked the plates into the dishwasher as Niels removed the coconut
crème brûlées and dusted mango sugar over the top.

“Stella!” he called. “Where’d you leave the blow
torch?”

“Hasn’t moved, Strøm! Get flaming!”

He found the gadget and turned it on with ease. A
glance up saw his mother watching him with a mixture of confusion and
incredulity. “Yes, Mother?”

“What are you two doing?”

“Me and the blow torch? Preparing dessert. If you
mean me and Stella, as I said, we’re being nice to each other. Doesn’t cost a
penny.”

Alwine twisted her lips. “And you know about her
boyfriend?”

Yes, Danny had been rather helpful in mentioning
that Muma had a new friend.

“We’ve moved on. To greener pastures where we don’t
wish horrific things on one another.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “Do you ever really move
on from someone you’ve shared so much of your life with?”

Never
. “My therapist and I have had long discussions
about it.”

“Therapist?”

“Yes. A very droll gentleman who I talk with once a
week. Money well spent.”

“What else does he tell you? That it all started
with your parents and how they neglected you?”

“Mother… Not everyone follows the Freudian dictate
where you trace blame to a mother. None of this is your fault. I am an adult
and I have made decisions which have caused nothing less than a tornado
throughout the lives of members of my family.” It had taken a long time for him
to admit that.

Niels’ plan of action always relied on him getting
things done without an internal monologue. Therapy had guided him to think
carefully. With each step. Take care and be very aware of the ripple effect of
each and every decision.

“All this… Isn’t it confusing things for the
twins?”

“The twins or you?”

“It’d be nice to know if you’re planning on getting
back together with Stella.”

“I’d think Stella would have something to say about
that,” he said, placing the desserts onto a tray to carry them through.

“Take care, my darling,” Alwine said gently. “Don’t
break your heart again.”

He couldn’t well break something he didn’t have
possession of.

The crème brûlée for the adults and the cake and
cream for the twins were swiftly devoured. Stella’s parents tidied up the
disaster area that the table had become and Niels made coffee for the adults
and hot chocolate for the twins. Everyone sat comfortably in the living room,
extra chairs settling the Strøms and the non-Strøms.

Stella sat next to Niels, cradling her favourite
mug, seemingly comfortable, even after he stretched out his arm along the back
of the sofa. Within half an hour, she was fast asleep on his chest, her mug
dangerously tilting toward the floor. Niels carefully placed the cup on the
nearest table and eased Stella into a less awkward position.

Alwine looked at him, her face contorted with
worry. Niels really wished she wouldn’t. With a dismissive shake of his head,
Niels announced to the room, “I’m taking Stella upstairs to sleep. It’s been a
long few days.”

Her parents cooed with understanding. The twins
barely looked up from the Pixar film playing on the TV, somehow snacking on one
of the huge tin of chocolates both sets of grandparents had brought with them.
It took barely a strain of muscle to lift Stella from the sofa and carry her
upstairs. Nudging the door open, he saw she hadn’t made her bed for once.
Probably in the hurry to get downstairs and get everything ready before the
family descended, bed making had been pushed lower on the list of things to do.
As soon as he placed her down on the bed, Stella woke.

“What happened?” she blurted.

“Nothing,” he replied, drolly and with unashamed
disappointment. What could happen with a house filled with family? He kneeled
down to pull off her slipper boots, white knit furry confections that she swore
were the warmest things on the planet. “You passed out like that coffee was
anaesthetic.”

“Well, if you insist on making weak coffee,” she
sighed, snuggling under the duvet. Her eyes flicked open with suspicion.
“You’re not getting in.”

“Another time,” he said softly. After a moment’s
hesitation, he ventured, “Do you wish things were different?”

She rubbed her face and breathed out heavily. “I
used to. But wishing never made anything come true.”

“It’s Christmas,” he reminded her, tracing his
fingertips over her cheek. “It’s one of the few times wishes do come true.”

“Take your claptrap out of my bedroom,” came the
blistering retort. She turned onto her side, her back to him. “Wake me up when
the other degenerate members of my family turn up.”

“Your wish is my command.”

He ignored her disparaging groan and made his way
downstairs. That told him everything he needed to know.

His main problem would be convincing Stella.