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My legs swallowed up the rest of the path quickly, and then the stone steps of our new country house. “And the bride goes over the threshold,” I said, pushing the heavy oaken door with my shoulder.
“You’re getting more and more traditional all the time, Mr. Blackstone.”
“I know. I kind of like it.”
“Oh, wait, my package! I want you to open your gift too. Set me down. The lighted foyer will be perfect for you to see them with.”
She handed me the black box tied with silver ribbon, looking very happy, and very lovely in her wedding lace and the heart pendant sitting at her throat. I had a small flash of the memory of what she’d endured that night with Westman, but I pushed it down and far away. There was no place in this moment for anything ugly tonight. This was a time for joy.
I lifted the lid and pulled back some black tissue paper. The photographs revealed underneath stopped my heart. Brynne beautifully naked in many artistic poses, wearing nothing but her wedding veil.
“For you, Ethan. For your eyes only,” she whispered. “I love you with all of my heart, and all of my mind, and with all of my body. It all belongs to you now.”
I had trouble speaking at first, so I just stared at her for a moment and counted my blessings.
“The pictures are beautiful,” I told her finally when I could get the words out. “They’re beautiful, baby, and I . . . understand why now.” Brynne needed to make beautiful pictures with her body. It was her reality. I needed to possess her—to take care of her in order to fulfill some dominant requirement within my psyche—my reality.
“I wanted you to have these pictures. They’re for you only, Ethan. Only you will ever see them. They are my gift to you.”
“I hardly have words.” I looked through the poses slowly, soaking up the images and savoring them. “I like this one where you’re looking over your shoulder, and your veil is down your back.” I studied the photograph some more. “Your eyes are open . . . and you are looking at me.”
She held my gaze with her beautiful multicolored eyes, which surprised me all the time with their changing hues, and said, “They are looking at you, but my eyes have really only been opened since you came into my world. You gave me everything. You made me really want to see what was around me, for the first time in my adult life. You made me want you. You made me want . . . a life. You were my greatest gift of all, Ethan James Blackstone.” She reached up to touch my face and held her palm there, her eyes showing me so much of what she felt.
I covered her palm on my cheek with my hand. “As you were for me, my beautiful American girl.”
I kissed my lovely bride in the foyer of our new old stone house for a long time. I wasn’t in a hurry and neither was she. We had the luxury of forever right now and we would take it for the precious gift that it was.
When we were ready, I picked her up again, loving her soft weight resting against my body, and the tensing of my muscles as I carried her up the stairs to our awaiting suite where I would hold her all night long. Holding on to her in order to hold me up. The concept just made sense for me. I couldn’t explain it to anyone else, but I didn’t need to explain anything. I knew what we meant to each other.
Brynne was my greatest gift. She was the first person to really see inside me. Only her eyes seemed even capable of doing it. Only my Brynne’s eyes.
A Gift for the Reader
A Christmas Story—Ethan and Brynne’s Very First Meeting
24 December 2011
London
The street was remarkably sparse considering it was Christmas Eve. Probably because it was so damn freezing cold outside people were smart enough to stay in. It was totally clichéd to be shopping for a gift at this late minute, but here I was pushing my way through the doors of Harrods in hopes of something really perfect for my aunt Marie. I knew I’d better get my ass in gear too, because I would be spending the day with her tomorrow and had nothing to show up with!
Marie was hard to buy for because she was so unique and unconventional; it was ridiculously difficult to top her lifestyle. She also had money enough to get anything she desired. She reminded me of Auntie Mame from the movie in a lot of ways. From the exotic travels to the rich dead husbands to the fantastic dresses in her wardrobe.
After three quarters of an hour I gave up and started to head outside, stopping for a mocha coffee in the food court first. I needed the caffeine and the warmth.
I strolled down the street and sipped as I looked into shop windows for anything of interest. The bite from the cold air was going to put some color in my cheeks for sure. At least I had hot coffee, and the Christmas carols piped out from somewhere sounded nice. Very Christmas Carol-ish. I’m sure Dickens would have loved to know that 168 years later, some of the same songs were still playing. I loved history and it made me smile to think that some traditions had changed hardly at all in those long years. Change isn’t always a good thing. It takes a strong character to withstand the changes of time. I wish I could be strong like that.
Some days I wondered if I would last a long time. Despite my determination to be on my own in London, I missed my parents during the holidays. The decorating, and the baking, and the parties . . .
Well, maybe not the parties. Parties were not really my thing anymore. And I seriously wondered if I’d ever step foot in San Francisco again.
Move on—change of subject, please.
I came up to a shop window that looked intriguing. Like an antiques shop or secondhand store. The name on the door was etched in the glass: TUCKED AWAY. And it certainly was. There were tons of these small shops in London, and some of them were beautifully arranged. This was one of them. I stepped inside and heard a bell jingle at the top of the door.
“Happy Christmas,” a cheerful voice called out.
“Happy Christmas,” I returned to the smiling face of an older gentleman wearing the Brit uniform of sweater vest and tweed jacket.
