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The ornaments from Meredith’s childhood were individually wrapped in tissue paper; Ava had stored them neatly in January, ready to be unboxed for Christmas
She had never intended to keep the decorations. She was custodian of them for her sisters, until they settled down. And now? Sophie was married to a Greek billionaire and seemed to have no plans of moving back to the Valley. And so, the collection would be forever split asunder. Like the sisters?
A tear rolled down her cheeks and she dashed it away impatiently. She had turned into a maudlin mope lately, unable to keep her thoughts from straying to the decisions she’d made more than two years earlier.
One by one, she set aside Sophie’s favourite decorations, and then Olivia’s. For surely she too would one day want her share of the beautiful ornaments.
And as she worked, she began to feel a calmness spread over her. Meredith and Ava had been the Christmas fairies; that’s what the others had
called them. Though Sophie and Olivia loved Christmas too, it was Ava who glowed with her mother’s magical festive spirit. She alone had inherited the love of every single one of their traditions. She sipped her wine again, before pulling out the next box. This one had their stockings and the plates they put by the fireplace each year, for Santa and his reindeer. She smiled as she closed the box up and pulled the next selection from the cupboard. More ornaments.
An hour passed in the blink of a decorating eye. Ava rested back on her haunches and eyed the mess she’d made.
It was chaos. Paper and decorations were everywhere, though there was some system to it, she supposed.
“Come and say goodnight to mamãe,” Cristiano’s voice startled her and she glanced up at the door with an expression of surprise.
“Is it that time already?”
He nodded gravely, eyeing the mess she’d made. And for the first time in a fortnight, Ava saw the hint of a genuine smile on his lips. Only for a moment, before he smothered it, but it was there, and it was so striking that it sent a frisson of loss dancing down her spine. She stood gracefully and held her hands out to Milly. The little girl smelled of vanilla and coconut after her bath.
“I love you, Milly,” she whispered against her curls.
The little girl snuggled softly to her mother, her round fingers splayed wide against Ava’s shoulder. “Eu te amo,” She said haltingly and Ava froze. It was a phrase she had heard intimately, for Cristiano had said it to her often. In the past. The beautiful, shimmering past that could never be touched again, he had often spoken of his love in Portuguese.
Ava had become used to feeling like an outsider in her own home. She flicked her gaze to Cristiano. “Here you go,” she said, aware that he was intent on making up for lost time. She was desperately missing her special time with Milly, but how could she possibly object to letting Cristiano be involved?
“You take her,” he said thickly. His smile, Ava presumed, was for Milly’s benefit. She wrapped her arms around Milly’s little body and carried her upstairs, wishing life had been simpler. Kinder. Easier.
But it wasn’t right for her to feel so sorry for herself. She had Milly. An angel sent to her from heaven at a time when she most needed love.
She didn’t rush back downstairs. Judging by the stack of books on the floor, Cristiano had already read several stories to their daughter. But Ava read two more, and then sung Milly’s favourite nursery rhyme, before tucking her beneath the sheet and kissing her forehead.
“Sleep tight, my little love,” she whispered, tiptoeing to the light switch and flicking it off.
Ava contemplated hiding out in her bedroom, to avoid Cristiano, but that reeked of cowardice. She moved down the stairs with what she hoped was nonchalance, and returned to the lounge room with every intention of continuing to sort the decorations. Perhaps she and Milly could even raise the tree the following day, if she determined which decorations would go up that year.
The sight of Cristiano standing in the midst of the mess cradling two glasses of red wine forestalled anything she’d been thinking or planning. His gaze was focussed on a photograph above the mantle and she followed the line of his sight.
It was a photograph of Milly as a baby, with her two aunts Sophie and Olivia. Milly was so tiny, with the plastic tube in her nose that helped feed her. “How old was she?” He asked, holding a glass of wine out to her.
She took it carefully, so as not to touch his fingers. “About three days, I think.” She stepped toward the photo, unconsciously bringing her body next to his. She reached for the frame with her spare hand and lifted it down. As she looked at it, she felt herself drifting through the veils of time, falling into the past. A time that was painful and miraculous all at once.
“She looks so small,” he marvelled, running a finger over her face in the picture.
Ava made a throaty noise of assent. “She was born two months premature. She was so small she could fit in Angus’s hand.”
Cristiano lifted his head, and fixed her with an enquiring look. “He was there?”
“Yes.” There was no sense lying about it, after all. “He is a good friend. Even after I left him, he’s been a part of our lives.”
“I see.” Envy flashed in his gut at what this man had enjoyed so easily, that Cristiano had been denied. But his feelings for Ava were beneath him. She no longer mattered to him. All that mattered was Milly. “Were there any health complications from her prematurity?”
Ava handed the frame to him and then eased herself down to the floor. She sat back in position, in front of the bookshelf, her legs crossed beneath her. “No. Not long term. She was in hospital for a month while she built up her weight and learned to feed.” Ava didn’t say that it was also to allow her time to adjust to her condition as well.
“You must have been surprised to go into labour so soon.”
She ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass and focussed her attention on a point just beyond his shoulder. “Actually, I didn’t go into labour,” she said. The day had been etched into her memory. It was a nightmare that often came to her. That feeling of powerlessness and worry as she had begun to lose so much blood she had been absolutely certain that something was wrong with her child.
