Atlas is looking at his growing pile with wide, excited eyes. Books and various jewelry containers are littered around him, and he picks up a gift bag and pulls a gold colored, silk sleep set from it.
“Isn’t it beautiful, darling? When I saw it, I knew you had to have it,” Theodora says to her son, and Atlas grins as he looks up at his mother.
“It’s lovely, thank you. I’ll wear it tonight.”
Great, now I know what he’ll be wearing while I think of him in bed.
I reach forward and grab a mug of hot chocolate, though it’s not steaming anymore, and sip on it. I need something to do with my hands.
I watch Atlas for the remainder of the gift opening, though I pretend I’m not. I fiddle with my gifts, smile politely at Abraham and Theodora, and talk idly with my father. But every few seconds, my gaze returns to the man who’s currently glowing from where he sits on the floor.
As everyone interacts, I’m hit with another reminder of how similar Atlas and his mother are. He is picking up the mannerisms and demeanor of a graceful, elegant lady of the house. It makes me wonder if he craves that lifestyle, if he wants someone to take care of him and dominate him.
He’d be good at that. Being submissive and demure, I mean. I can imagine it now: Atlas wandering around an estate as big and beautiful as Chastain Castle in his silky clothes, with his light-as-air footsteps. He’d marry some rich silver fox and be the perfect little husband.
Would he cry and beg and plead on their wedding night? Would he be like his mother and care so much for his children that nothing else in the world seems to matter?
When would he show his husband the devious side of him that I’ve sensed, that I know he keeps hidden away?
A part of me is angry that I’ll never know; terrified that I’ll find out, and it’ll be by living vicariously through some rich man Abraham finds for him.
“Shall we head to the theatre to watch a Christmas movie?” Theodora asks, standing from her spot on the loveseat.
Atticus stands as well, extending a hand to Atlas before he pulls him up in one swift movement. Abigail is already running to the door.
“Julian and I will take our gifts to our rooms and then meet there. Thank you again,” my dad says.
I say my thanks and grab my belongings as well, standing from the couch. As I turn to head for the door, I spot Atlas still standing in the doorway, watching me.
After a moment, a small smile graces his full lips, and he mouths, “Merry Christmas.”
We watchThe Polar Express, a very tedious and drawn-out movie. Atlas rests his head on his mother’s lap the entire time, and I spend more of the hour and forty minutes watching the rise and fall of his back than I do watching the screen.
As the credits are rolling, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it out, I read the notification.
Cassie 10:13 a.m.
Merry Christmas, Julian! I’m excited to see you soon.
I smile at the screen, typing out my response.
“Who are you talking to?” Abigail asks, standing on her knees on her chair to look over the seat at me.
“A friend I made in town,” I tell her, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
“You made a friend in town? That’s great!” Abraham exclaims, and I realize I have the attention of the entire room.
“What’s their name?” Dad asks.
“Uh, I made a few friends, actually. But the one I’m texting is named Cassie.”
Atticus’s head whips in my direction.
“Ohh, a lady,” Abigail giggles. “Is she going to be your girlfriend?”
“Well—”
“I’ll go check on Barfred,” Atlas interrupts, standing from where he was sitting next to his mother and abruptly leaving the room.
