Heat curled low in Alex’s belly.
Yes.
Tonight.
Christmas was perfect.
Not because nothing went wrong.
But because everything went right where it mattered.
And Alexandra felt overwhelmed with one simple, shining truth:
She had never been more grateful for anything in her life.
14
ERIN
The castle was finally quiet.
Not silent — no, nothing at Balmoral was ever silent — but quiet in the way Erin had stopped believing was possible. A warm, heavy hush settled over the halls as the last of the children stopped chattering and flopped into their beds, exhausted from sugar and snow and reindeer enchantment.
The dogs, scattered like furry obstacles across the corridor, snored. A draft sighed around a corner. Somewhere far away, Mrs. MacLeod muttered at the dishwasher.
But everything that mattered… was asleep.
Matilda with her new plush fox tucked under her arm.
Florence curled up like a comma, golden hair hiding half her face.
Frank starfished across the duvet belly swollen with christmas food under his reindeer pyjamas.
Hyzenthlay with her rabbit on one side and a clipboard of “Christmas Data Notes” on the other.
Erin stood in the doorway of the children’s room for along, still moment, watching four small chests rise and fall in steady rhythm.
We did this, she thought.
We made this life.
Alexandra appeared at her side, brushing her shoulder lightly — not grabbing, not clinging, just a soft, grounding touch that felt like the first real breath Erin had taken all day.
“They look peaceful,” Alex whispered.
“They wore themselves out,” Erin whispered back. “We all did.”
Alex leaned against her, head gently resting against Erin’s temple.
“Thank you,” Alex murmured. “For making today what it was.”
“You did most of it,” Erin said.
“No,” Alex countered softly. “You were the heart of it.”
Erin inhaled sharply — too sharply. Alex didn’t press the moment; she simply threaded her fingers through Erin’s, squeezed once, and whispered:
“Come to bed with me.”
