ILLICIT AFFAIRS | WLW

Chapter Forty-Three.

It was finally Christmas Eve at the Kingsley lake house, a day unfolding with unspoken but known rituals. Outside, the snow had settled into a steady drift, blanketing the frozen surface of the water, frost layering itself over the edge of the windows. Inside, warmth collected in pockets: in the low crackle of the fireplace, in the faint murmur of some Christmas playlist Margaret had put on 'for atmosphere', and more importantly, wherever Evie happened to be.

She had been talking about Christmas for days, of course; but Christmas Eve only seemed to accelerate and amplify everything about her. From breakfast onwards, she had been a constant stream of breathless declarations about how Santa was coming tonight, that she had heard sleigh bells already, and that she was definitely going to stay up all night to catch him in the act.

Blair watched her with a kind of tender amusement she didn't quite know how to put into words. Evie's excitement made everything feel sharper, more pronounced; from the crinkle of the wrapping paper to the shine of the baubles. It reminded her of her own childhood, when Christmas Eve had meant staying up late with her older brother, whispering guesses about what their father might have brought them back from whatever place the military had sent him that year. There had always been a quiet ache braided through the day, the knowledge that sometimes he wouldn't make it home, no matter how tightly she and her brother had hoped. Here, the ache was still there, somewhere under her ribs, but muted by the noise of this house, or rather, Evie.

"It's today. But not exactly today," she explained to her grandfather with some solemn authority, leaning against his legs. "Like it's not now but before. Aunt Cat says time is a duct."

"Construct," Alexander corrected her gently, smiling before he brushed a curl off his granddaughter's forehead. "And your Aunt Cat says many strange things."

Catherine, somehow summoned by reputation, appeared in the doorway beside Blair, a brow lifted. "Strange? I'm a public intellectual."

"You're a menace," Ethan called from the hall.

"Semantics," Catherine said, her mouth crooking in a way that always made Blair's chest bloom.

Evie soon skidded toward Blair on socked feet until she clung to the back of the girl's jumper for ballast. "Do reindeer prefer peeled carrots?" She demanded, "Grandma says they have delicate stomachs."

"They fly," Blair said, solemn as a newsreader, playfully messing up the young child's curls. "I'm not sure delicate applies."

"They could have delicate feelings," Evie countered, considering this gravely as she shook her head. "I'll peel half. That's fair."

"An ethical compromise," Catherine nodded as she sauntered past, her hand catching Evie's scarf as the child tried to sprint away again. "Games at two, Evie," she added over her shoulder, "Non-negotiable."

And by early afternoon, tradition took over.

"Game time," Ethan declared, clapping his hands once in the middle of the living room like some self-appointed master of ceremonies.

Blair had barely finished her tea before the stack of boxes appeared – faded with scuffed lids that had to be shimmied off with careful force. They were placed on the large dining table, the afternoon light spilling through the window as if casting a shadow on this little stage.

"It's tradition, Blair," Delia said when Blair raised a brow at the sheer number of options. "Christmas Eve is sacred. Afternoons are reserved for violence and betrayal."

"Board games," Margaret corrected, though the fond smile on her face suggested she knew there was very little difference when it came to her children. Delia, Ethan and Catherine all had that sort of competitive streak that could turn even the gentlest game into a test of wills.