Page 23 of All About Christmas

“Say, Holly, do you like the ballet?” As soon as the door to Norbert’s office closes behind me, this question is hurled at my head. I remain impassive for a moment, but then walk on to the chair opposite Norbert’s.

“Ballet?” I repeat as I take my seat. Did he call me to his office for this?

“Yes, ballet. You know, those dancers who manage to stand on their toes even longer than a child trying to grab the cookie jar from the top shelf.”

I chuckle. “Ah. Um, well, I’ve never actually been. My twin brother, Peter, loves it though, so I definitely want to go see it some time.”

Norbert smiles approvingly. “Well, you’re in luck then.

I happen to have two tickets left for tomorrow’s The Nutcracker .

Take your brother and make it a fun night.

You’ve earned it.” He rummages briefly in his desk drawer and pulls out two printed tickets with QR codes on them.

With a stiff shove, he slides them in my direction.

“ The Nutcracker ?” I repeat, somewhat perplexed, as I grab the tickets from the table.

State Ballet from Bulgaria Presents: The Nutcracker is written on it in delicate cursive letters.

I look at him in surprise. I don’t know much about ballet, but I do know that tickets are not typically the same price as a Toblerone chocolate bar from the dollar store.

“Thanks,” I finally say. “But... don’t you want to go yourself? ”

Norbert wearily blows out a breath. “My daughter Sofie brought the flu home with her from gymnastics and has infected her sister as well. And then, of course, my wife couldn’t be left behind.

” He breathes a sigh. “The four of us go every year to see it. The Nutcracker is a real classic and a great baptism of fire for your first ballet.”

I frown. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “Yep. I’m not going by myself, so I’d rather make someone else happy.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you.”

He smiles. “No problem. Well, with that in mind, you should be able to put your best foot forward today, right?”

I look at my boss, a tad perplexed. For the first two months of my employment, he called me Hilda. I suppose a lot has changed since then. It’s a nice feeling to be appreciated.

“Of course, Norbert,” I say and stand up. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome, my dear. No problem.”

When I walk out of Norbert’s office, I immediately fish my phone out of my pocket and look up Peter’s number in my contacts. The phone rings three times before he answers. There is some murmuring in the background, followed by a door opening and the sound of scooters and cars passing by.

“Hey, Holly. I actually have to go into a meeting soon. Can it be quick?”

In quick succession, I explain about the ballet and add that he is the lucky first choice for the second ticket.

“What?” Peter’s voice is barely audible through a gust of wind blowing into the speaker. “He just gave you those tickets? For free?”

“Yes!” I cast another glance at the printed e-tickets. Why didn’t he give them to Pippin? Or to Olivier? I’m still under the impression that being the product of one of John Wolfs’ love escapades gives Olivier an edge.

“Those tickets sold out almost immediately,” enthuses Peter. For a moment, silence falls on the other end of the line. Only Peter’s enthusiastic breathing can be heard. Then he says hesitantly, “Hol... are you going to sleep with him? You know you can tell me anything.”

“What?” My voice shoots up a few octaves. “No! Ew !” I shiver at the idea of a naked Norbert. “That man is married, has two children, and is in his late fifties.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. We were raised open-minded enough.”

“Married, Peter. Married.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down,” he soothes. “I’d love to join you. I actually had a get-together for work, but I can cancel that.”

“Great. Will you bike to my place? Then we can go to the theatre together.”

“Sure. See you tomorrow!”

I don’t often visit the theatre, so when I step through the large glass doors into the foyer, I look around with wide eyes.

The chandeliers are decorated with shimmering angel hair, and cocktail tables with golden skirts are scattered throughout the main lobby.

The centre of the room is dominated by a huge Christmas tree whose branches are covered with shimmering fake snow.

The silver and gold balls sparkle under the brilliance of strings of lights.

I’m wearing a dark blue suede dress that falls just above my knees.

Silver pendants in the shape of stars hang in my ears, and I spent about half an hour in front of the mirror again tonight getting my makeup just right.

My heels are so high that if we were in the standing room only area, everyone there would have automatically hated me.

Including myself, because I can’t last more than half an hour in a vertical position on these stilts either.

Peter also seems to pass muster. Without having agreed upon it together, he is wearing a shirt in almost exactly the same shade as my dress, making us look like we’re wearing matching couple outfits.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks as he looks around. “Where is the bar anyway?”

My heels sink a little into the soft, red carpet as I turn around, looking for the place where they pour liquid, Armani-soiling substances. My gaze glides over older and posh people, children sitting on the steps, idly tugging at their itchy, neat clothes and...

I make a sound midway between a shriek and a choking reindeer.

Shit. Olivier. And he’s not alone. Next to him is the brunette I recognize from the 2022 Golden Televizier-Ring Gala photo.

“Are you okay?” Peter taps me between my shoulder blades. “Did you choke on your own saliva again?”

“No. A guy from my office is here too.”

“Oh?” Peter—who could see over the Cathedral if he stretched to his fullest—stands on his tiptoes to look over the crowd. “Where?”

I grab him by his forearm and pull him down again. “Don’t!” I hiss. “He’ll see us.” I quickly turn my head the other way.

“And why, exactly, would that be bad?” my brother wants to know.

“Well, I’ve already had to look at his face all day.” I leave aside the fact that this is far from a punishment for the sake of convenience. “I just want to have an Olivier-free evening.”

“Hm. Well, I’d keep moving if I were you,” Peter says. “He’s seen you.” He quickly pulls his hand from my back. “And he’s looking at me like he wants to rip my arm off my torso.”

“Is he coming this way?”

“No, I don’t think he’s into actions. More of an ‘intense looks’ kind of guy.” Peter shifts uncomfortably from one leg to the other. “Can we go in already?”

As soon as he finishes his sentence, the doors at the top of the stairs swing open. The mob slowly starts moving and makes its way up. I don’t think twice and join the line as quickly as possible.

The theatre is bathed in warm light from crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. Their soft glow casts dancing shadows on the velvet-clad walls. The aisles run in straight lines between rows of seats, flanked by ropes and antique railings.

Just as we settle down in our seats and I begin to savour the idea that I managed to expertly avoid Olivier, a familiar voice sounds from next to me.

“Hi, Holly.”

With a jerk, I turn my head. “Oh. Hey, Olivier,” I say as casually as I can. “I didn’t see you there...”

Olivier looks at me scornfully.

“...in the hall,” I save my obvious lie. “How nice. Do you go to the ballet often?”

Olivier sits down. “Every now and then. Norbert had four tickets, but I only know one person who also likes ballet, so, I only accepted two tickets.”

“Oh.” Although unfounded, I still feel a slight stab of disappointment in my chest because Norbert’s first choice wasn’t me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peter leaning around me with interest to study Olivier up close.

“This is Peter, my brother,” I say, and then I nod at my uterine companion because otherwise it would all get a little too uncomfortable. “Peter, Olivier. A colleague.” And I happen to know what his lips taste like , I add in my mind.

The brunette next to Olivier also leans forward a bit, and he can no longer stall with introductions. “Holly, this is Paula, a good friend of mine. Paula, this is Holly, she...”

I look at him expectantly, curious as to what he will say.

“...hates my Armani jackets.”

With a confused expression on her beautiful face, she shakes my outstretched hand.

“Pleased to meet you.” Her gaze lingers just a little too long on my locks that fall to my shoulders in light strokes, then she looks at me again.

She nods understandingly, as if it makes perfect sense that someone with pink hair would hate Armani jackets.

She places her perfectly manicured hand on Olivier’s forearm.

Hm. Perhaps more than a good friend?

Olivier follows my gaze and carefully pulls his arm out from under Paula’s grip. To avoid looking like a complete dick, he uses his hands to straighten his tie.

I snort. Could he have been cheating when he jumped me in the Mistletoe Madness room? Is he just like his father? Does he have a girlfriend and had he momentarily “forgotten” about it?

As if sensing where my thoughts were wandering, he turns to me for a moment and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

I quickly refocus on the stage.

The room fills up, and when the lights go out a moment later, the murmurs hush. The red velvet curtain slowly pulls open and...

“ Wow ,” I whisper as the stage appears before me. It’s a fairy tale.

A magnificent winter landscape stretches before us, covered with a layer of glistening snow.

Trees, each wearing a glittering white layer, surround the scene.

Their branches seem to bend under the weight of the fake flakes.

A huge moon twinkles in the background, bathing everything in a silver glow.

And then the sounds of violins fill the room, bringing Tchaikovsky’s music perfectly to life.

The tones are so clear and pure that I feel the hairs on my arms stand up, but that may also be due to the fact that Olivier’s arm, also resting on the armrest, is only a mere millimetre away from mine.

I am all too aware of his presence. It’s as if the tiny space is crackling with enough voltage to provide light for twenty Christmas trees.

Suddenly ballerinas fill the stage, dressed in costumes that sparkle like crystals.

They dance in perfect harmony, their movements fluid and natural.

The story unfolds, and I cannot help but become completely immersed in it—I lose all sense of time.

When the Sugar Plum Fairy appears on stage in an enchanting white tutu, my heart pounds in my throat.

A silver crown balances on her cotton candy pink hair.

The Nutcracker dances with determination and admiration. It is beautiful.

Though it’s true that I cried when Peter was first published in a scientific journal, I’m still surprised when I feel something wet dripping onto my collarbone. Surprised, I wipe it away and quickly glance to my left to check that I haven’t now provided Olivier with blackmail material.

But nothing could be further from the truth.

He looks emotionally at the stage, and his eyes seem to be a little moist, too.

He swallows frequently and his hand moves a little closer to mine until he almost touches it.

He looks to his right for a moment, and he lifts the corner of his mouth shakily. Then he focuses on the stage again.

I want to do the same, but then I feel Peter poke my other side.

He tilts his head slightly, and his gaze flashes to Olivier’s and my hands before I quickly drop mine to my sides.

Peter leans toward me and whispers very softly so only I can hear, “Okay, I believe you’re not doing it with your boss, but don’t you tell me you didn’t get it on with him. ”