When he rolled his weight off of me, we lay in silence for a while, just basking in each other. Finally he spoke. "Thank you for what you did for me today. The Christmas thing."
"That was my pleasure, darling. I didn't know what to give you for Christmas. I didn't think you needed another sweater."
He propped himself up on an elbow and smiled at me. "It's the perfect gift. You made my house a home. Our home?" He sounded like a hopeful child. Even though it was sudden, I couldn't refuse him. Not that night, maybe not ever.
"Our home," I agreed. I reached over and held his hand in the quiet, blessed night.
***
Epilogue
Bradley King surprised us by coming to New York two days before Christmas. If he was surprised to find his son's apartment a happy gingerbread kind of place with me already comfortably making bridge mix in the kitchen, he didn't let on.
His stated purpose in coming was to tell us that he had rattled cages at the highest level of the Chicago union that sent the thugs out to bedevil my father and that he felt sure there'd be no further trouble from them again. Apparently Tristan hadn't bothered to tell his father to put the brakes on with respect to my dad's difficulties. I no longer cared. The whole 'sting' operation never had to happen. Dad was safe and I was living with Tristan. All good.
But I like to think the real reason Mr. King came was the simple desire to be with his son for the holidays. He could have easily delivered his happy news by phone. But he wanted family and that felt so right to me. Amazingly, I could almost envision calling him Dad.
We had Christmas Eve dinner at the Dakota with Grandpa Clemson, Boyd, Phoebe and my family. My sister had flown in from Oklahoma with her husband and her eyes nearly dropped out of her head when she met Tristan and saw how he--now we-- lived. Mr. King was a little quiet at first around his former father-in-law. They hadn't seen each other in years. But, as the evening wore on, sweet Mr. Clemson wormed his way into Brad's damaged heart and they wound up reminiscing about old times with more warmth than I could have hoped for. Maryann King was surely smiling down from heaven that night.
The entire clan gathered again at my parent's house in Park Slope for in the early afternoon on Christmas Day. My father brought up two folding tables from the basement and we all managed to squeeze in. Mom cooked a turkey and a ham. The table groaned under the weight of the magnificent meal.
On New Year's Eve, snow began to fall lightly as dusk settled in. It was just as well. Tristan had asked me if we could have a quiet night at home instead of 'doing the town'. I was more than happy to stay in. He had champagne, caviar and foie gras that I intended to prepare as close to the way I had it in France as I could get it.
We toasted the New Year in our favorite outfits--me in my red velvet robe and he in his elegant silk. We watched the little gas fire twinkle in our candlelit nest. I tried to act suitably surprised when Tristan presented me with a diamond ring so big I thought I might be afraid to even wear it. But the way I loved him didn't leave much room for fear of any kind.
He slipped the ring on my finger and kissed me. "Can I admit something to you?" I asked him.
"Anything."
"I have great expectations." He kissed my hand and held it to his cheek."We're going to have the best year of our lives this year, my only Queen."
"Until the next one and the next one, my darling King," I smiled.