Page 25 of A Prince for Christmas

I headed back to the kitchen, where Nick was still assisting my mom, apparently learning how to make whipped cream. I couldn’t imagine a world in which you didn’t learn that by the time you were ten, but I was sure he couldn’t imagine a world where I trekked into a snowy wilderness to find my birthday present.

“Nick,” I whispered.

“Yes?” He stepped away from Mom and raised an eyebrow. “Did you find something suitable for the occasion?”

“Yes, my Dad has some he’s never even worn that he can let you use.”

“Brilliant!” He excused himself from helping Mom, and I told him where to find Dad.

I finished helping Mom with the final touches to the meal, and then slipped upstairs to put on my new Christmas pajamas, which I had to admit, were a bit more risqué than usual. Thanks to the internet, I’d been able to find sugar-plum fairy pajamas, complete with gauzy wings and a rather low neck. I’d ordered them after inviting Nick home for the holidays, though I was sure he wasn’t the reason I’d chosen such a pair.

My family was the only one I knew that actually had a dinner bell, and it rang just as I finished my make-up. You couldn’t be a sugar-plum fairy without rosy cheeks, long lashes and kissable pink lips, after all.

As was my usual practice, I waited at the top of the stairs while the rest of the family filed in. Not surprisingly, Mom had dressed as a rather thin Mrs. Claus, and the girls were elves—they almost chose elves or reindeer. Dad descended the stairs in an odd costume that I finally identified as Father Christmas. Even old Joe was dressed up, wearing a rather lopsided pair of antlers and a big Christmas bow. He wasn’t the only family dog, but he was the only one who rated a costume.

I waited for Nick to appear. After what seemed like a long pause, he stepped out of the guest room in a very fuzzy brown onesie, complete with hoofs in the feet, a respectable pair of antlers, and a battery-powered red nose.

I couldn’t help myself. I burst into laughter. He stalked over, grasped my arms gently, and gave me a severe look. “You might want to be careful with an outfit like that, or there will be some serious reindeer games going on under your parents roof this Christmas.”

I giggled. “Promises, promises.”

We descended the stairway to Christmas Eve dinner, arm in arm, Nick’s battery-powered red nose flashing on and off to guide our way, my wings fluttering.

Dinner was a pleasant, if extended, event with lots of joking, story-telling, and Mom’s long-winded descriptions of every dish and how they fit into the American story. By the time we got to dessert, I was stuffed and sleepy, but Nick was eating up Mom’s every word.

After dinner, we all retired to the family room to gather around the fireplace and take turns reading from our favorite Christmas stories. Funny, I’d never noticed how set in our Christmas traditions we were until there was an outsider there to observe. I felt a little self-conscious as I imagined Nick’s royal life, how fancy his rituals and ceremonies were compared to ours.

Dad had the fire burning brightly by the time we got to the family room. My sisters threw the color cones onto the fire to make the flames all different colors. Between the firelight, the candles, and the twinkling, tall fir tree my parents had cut from off the back acres and hauled in for the season, the room was lit with a cozy, warm glow.

My parents settled into their chairs while my sisters took the sofa with a couple of the family dogs. That left the love seat for Nick and me. I smelled a set-up, but I didn’t challenge them on it. In truth, I wanted any excuse to cuddle up to my handsome prince in front of the fire.

The Miller family tradition now called for us to enjoy our favorite winter drinks while we read—hot cocoa for the girls; Dad was a bourbon man; and Mom loved her homemade eggnog. I was still searching for my perfect Christmas drink. The sideboard at the back of the room held an insulated pot of hot chocolate, a variety of liquors, a punch bowl of eggnog, most of which would go to waste if experience had taught me anything, and a steaming bowl of something I didn’t recognize. It smelled of cinnamon.

Nick’s eyes lit up when he saw it, and he broke into a broad smile. “Mum! You heated up the wassail I brought.”

Mom glowed at the praise, though it felt weird to me, hearing Nick calling her Mom. Well, that was what she’d told him to do.

“What’s wassail?” I asked.

“It’s a traditional English Christmas punch, with a base of apple cider,” Nick said. “I brought some for your family, but I didn’t expect you to put it out with your own favorites.”

“It’s your favorite,” Mom said with a gentle smile. Her unspoken words, that he was part of the family, made my heart glow like his reindeer nose.

He scooped up a full cup for himself and raised his eyebrows at me. “You up for giving it a go? I did try out fresh milk, after all.”

“What’s in it?” I asked, curious but not as hesitant as he’d been with the milk.

“Allspice, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger, plus plenty of booze.”

“I’ll give it the old college try.” To tell the truth, I’d been on board when I smelled cider and cinnamon.

The drink was delicious, and I put aside all of my worries about Nick’s lineage and failure to tell me about it for the future. We cuddled up on the loveseat and listened as each family member read all or their favorite part of a Christmas story.

As usual, Mom started with her favorite, T’was the Night Before Christmas. Dad always found a new version of the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer story, and Lizzie chose to sing, “I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.” We all laughed and applauded and refilled our glasses, our cheeks pink and eyes sparkling from the merriment.

Then Jenny, the youngest and a budding writer, had found a poem by T.S. Elliot called “Journey of the Magi.” It started out as a lovely story of the Magi’s trip to see the baby Jesus but ended more mystically. She ended with a flourish as we all sat in silence, ruminating over her words. I felt the richness of meaning in our Christmas ceremonies, our celebration of love.

I also knew I needed to lighten the mood, or it would be a very weird Christmas Eve.