Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter #2) - Melanie Martins Page 0,115

I go back into the hallway, knock on the library door, and, after hearing a quick “Come in,” I turn the handle and open the door wide. My smile turns into a grin as I find my godfather sitting on the sofa. Without waiting any longer, I trot in his direction and pull on his wrist. “Let’s go! Santa came already!”

“Petra, you can say at least good morning,” Dad rebukes.

“Good morning,” I mumble, continuing to pull on Alex’s wrist.

Alex lets a quick laugh escape. “Good morning, Miss Van Gatt. Did you sleep well?” His voice has always been so warm and caring that it makes me feel special each time I hear it. It’s very different from Dad’s, which is usually cold and stern, even when I’m well-behaved and do nothing wrong.

Nodding at his question, I see that he is finally standing up, and I grin in triumph. “Roy, let’s go,” he says, giving my dad a quick pat on the arm.

“Will be there in a minute,” Dad mumbles briefly, his eyes glued to his phone. The usual reply.

Alex takes my hand, and I lead him out of the library and into the living room. Once there, we stand still in the entryway, admiring the Christmas tree. “Look!” I point my index finger at the presents on the floor.

“Wow,” he utters in admiration. “So many!”

I giggle, clapping my hands with excitement, before running toward the tree. Then I sit on the floor and take the first package. But I wait for Alex to sit beside me before starting to tear off the wrapping paper. Once he does so, I look behind me toward the doorway, but I don’t see Dad coming. Shrugging my shoulders, I decide to open the present anyway. “Wow!” I shout, recognizing the wooden paint box I had seen at the store.

“Is that the one you wanted?”

I nod vigorously, totally mute as I open the box and find a complete set of oil tubes, brushes, and a palette.

“Now you are officially a painter.” Alex’s joyful expression brings a wave of emotion through me, and as he strokes the back of my head, I open my arms and embrace him tightly.

“Thank you,” I mumble as I rest my head on his shoulder. It was the best decision to instruct Alex to hand my letter to Santa personally. I’ve heard stories of parents who never delivered their kids’ letters to Santa because they were too busy, so of course the kids didn’t receive the gifts they wanted. To make sure I’d receive mine, I gave it to Alex, and I also showed him the gifts I wanted in a shop to make sure he understood the importance of his mission. “It’s exactly the box I wanted.”

His gaze goes to the doorway, most likely waiting for Dad to join us. After seeing no one there, he gives me a quick peck on the head and stands up. “Let me check on your dad.”

Blowing out a breath, I watch Alex leave the room with some sadness in my eyes and my lips twitching in displeasure. Not knowing how long I should wait, I start counting out loud the oil tubes in my box. One, two, three, four, five, six…Then I look again at the doorway, but there is still no one there. Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen… I take another quick glance, but still nothing. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen… There are seventeen oil tubes and no one around to share the news with.

“Alex?” I call, my eyes on the doorway. When no one replies, I repeat, louder this time, “Alex?”

My eyes open wide, as I wake up with a jump. Jeez, childhood memories are haunting me again. I briefly check the alarm and see it’s six a.m. I think twice about taking another pill to sleep, but I better not. In three hours, I have Public Economics with Matthew and the group, so shutting my eyes, I remain lying in bed, ruminating… It’s so strange how those memories with Alex are so vivid in my sleep. I didn’t even remember that I’d given him a letter for Santa… I chuckle thinking about it. Then, I wonder if we’ll still manage to get married on the fifth of December. One thing is for sure: if we do, then this year will be our first Christmas as a married couple. The thought of it brings me joy and warms up my heart. Despite living with the most horrendous parents, it’s better