ILLICIT AFFAIRS | WLW

Snow On The Beach

For Casey <3!

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It was December 23rd, only two days before Christmas yet there was still much to be done. From downstairs, Blair could hear faint voices rising, bursts of laughter and the clink of crockery. The Kingsley family were already in full swing.  But Catherine and Blair were still lingering around upstairs; lingering in each other, in a space that allowed them to indulge without apology.

Blair sat at the foot of the bed and found herself staring at Catherine with the sharp kind of awareness that often stole her in these quiet moments. She ran her fingers through her hair with more care than usual, as though diligence might quieten the colour in her cheeks. However, the flush refused to listen. It would return and deepen at any minute recollection. She had been quiet, she hoped, believed, or had at least tried to be. But that was always a difficulty with Catherine.

Catherine caught Blair looking and tilted her head, that familiar mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "You're stalling," Catherine remarked, her tone dry.

Blair gave a half-smile, stretching her arms overhead before pushing herself off the bed and to her feet. "Maybe. Can you blame me?" She crossed the space between them and pressed her chin briefly to Catherine's shoulder, catching her reflection in the mirror.

"If we keep them waiting any long," Catherine murmured, brushing an invisible fleck from Blair's sleeve, a faint glimmer of amusement passing through her gaze. "Ethan will announce it to the entire house as if it were breaking news."

The younger woman briefly covered her face with her hands and let out a soft groan, "God, do you think they'll suspect?"

"They probably all do," Catherine replied evenly, though there was a slight pride in her voice, as if she were relishing the way Blair flushed so easily under scrutiny. "They're family."

Blair lightly rolled her eyes, though Catherine didn't call her out this time. She simply bumped her shoulder against Blair's, silently beckoning her to follow. When they finally descended the staircase, the kitchen was alive. The warm scent struck them first: bacon sizzling in its own fat, eggs soft and scrambled, pancakes stacked with melted butter. The table had already been set, cutlery aligned, mugs stationed in expectation of being filled.

Catherine slowed only enough to register the scene before her. She knew this theatre of her family too well, each role enacted as predictably as it had been since her childhood days. Alexander presiding near the stove, sliding strips of bacon onto plates. Ethan stood shoulder to shoulder, assisting his father with the distracted competence of someone who had been roped into the task but secretly enjoyed it.

"Another minute," he declared to no one in particular, wielding the spatula like the conductor of an orchestra. "And before anyone starts stealing bacon, remember, this is a civilised home."

"Civilised, sure." Delia rolled her eyes in jest, making a sound that may have been a laugh or might have been a dignified exhale. She herded Evie into a chair, even though the young girl wriggled like a creature too full of energy to be contained.

Margaret drifted in and out of the scene with a pitcher of orange juice, her presence both commanding and tender.

When Catherine and Blair's presence was sensed, the shift was immediate. Heads turned, gazes sharped and for a brief, almost theatrical moment, a silence fell. While Catherine kept her chin lifted and allowed the hush to continue, Blair felt her cheeks heat again.

"Ah, look who finally decided to join us," Ethan called, his grin was all younger-brother energy, affectionate and infuriating by turns. He slid a fresh pancake on a plate and held it, very nearly, out of Delia's reach. "What took you so long? Breakfast was about to go cold."