Page 11

Willow

Fairy lights framed the window of the cottage, a Christmas tree in the bay window of the country cottage with delicate decorations hanging from branches and a roaring fire beneath a white, traditional mantle.

The cottage belonged to Cain’s parents, Chris and Maura Heller, and we – Cain and I and his older brother, Ramsay – had been invited to spend Christmas Eve through Boxing Day with them. We’d been together for seven months and this was our first Christmas together.

I was excited, this felt like the most adult thing I’d ever done, sharing the festive season with the love of your life and his family. It also felt like acceptance, something I’d been lacking for most of my life.

His parents had the most beautiful home, it was clear they put effort in and pumped lots of cash into keeping this the most pristine home.

Appearances mattered. Their street looked to have a competition going on for best decoration like it was a coveted award.

There was nothing wrong with that, I’d just never been raised to base my worth on items and other people’s opinions, my focus had always been on enjoying the moments with those who mattered.

And I was in this moment. It was Christmas Day night. We had dined on a huge turkey crown, which was reportedly the most expensive one from the local butcher, with all the trimmings, then a Christmas pudding.

We moved to the living room, playing charades with Cain’s parents and Ramsay. The red wine was flowing in Chateau Baccarat wine glasses – another thing I wasn’t a fan of but endured for the occasion with demure sips.

I was more relaxed knowing that everyone all had fun, warm personalities and could laugh at themselves. It was a trait Cain hadn’t managed to pick up, but he had other redeeming qualities. He was very protective and always had a hand on my knee, around my shoulder or waist.

Like now, we were sitting on the floor before the fire while Ramsay was in an armchair and his parents on their three-seater Darlings of Chelsea sofa.

We were in the middle of a game of charades, leaning back, my legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle.

Cain sat by me, with one hand on my thigh.

He'd made a point to pull the hem of my rust jersey dress further down my tight-laden thighs before placing his hand there, which was incredibly considerate of him, I hadn’t seen it rise up.

Cain and Maura had already been, and it was my turn. I stood, mindfully brushing my dress down at my front and back and picked out a card from the box.

Rocky III.

Blowing out a breath and looking around the room, I found three smiling faces staring back at me. The fourth, Cain, had an unreadable expression. I’d check on that later.

I started with the universal hand gesture for film, then held a hand up for two words.

Three of them contributed correctly. For the first word I tried making circular shapes for rocks, which quickly fell flat.

Instead, I offered my best boxer impression, punching the air and bouncing back and forth. Instantly, they began shouting answers.

“Punch.”

“Boxing.”

“Fighting.”

I shook my head at each answer but pushed them along in encouragement.

“Oh um, Fight Club?” Ramsay suggested, I shook my head and continued punching.

“What other films are there with fighting in them?” Maura questioned. The lightbulb clicked for Chris and Ramsay – clearly the film connoisseurs of the household – who shouted the same thing.

“ Rocky !”

I nodded dramatically and held up three fingers.

Ramsay responded, “Three – Rocky Three !” He was out of his chair, bouncing with excitement and I squealed back at him with excitement.

“Yes!” Ramsay double high-fived me in seconds, his hands slapping against my palms, his parents laughing with us, but when I looked down at Cain his stare remained firmly on the wall ahead, rather than at me.

We’d never spent time with his family, nor friends. This was a new experience, but unease washed over me. I’d never met a boyfriend’s family, never had to live up to expectations, and Cain had never made me feel like a problem. Until now.

Hours later, we were merry with wine and my yawns increased by the minute. Ramsay had gone to bed an hour before, having to return to London the next day for work.

I hummed from the comfort of the hearth, enjoying the warmth of the wilting fire. Maura was asleep on the sofa, Nick was nursing his glass of wine while scrolling through his phone, and Cain was clattering in the kitchen.

As if he’d heard my thoughts, Cain entered, pulling my attention from the fire.

He knelt to my level and held my jaw between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes dotted around mine as I lovingly looked up at him.

His face didn’t reflect love though, more disgust. Noticing my concern, he broke into a smirk. I frowned and pushed his hand away.

“Bed?” he questioned, hand now outstretched. I nodded and took his palm. He pulled me to my feet, leading me out of the living room and up to the bedroom.

His grip moved to my wrist as we climbed the stairs and through the door into the guest room until we stood before the bed, his back to me.

“What's up?” I asked his tense back, tilting my head and raising an eyebrow. He inhaled deeply, before easing the breath out, squaring his shoulders and turning.

“I’m just waiting.”

Confused, I laughed and looked around the room to find the answer. “What are you waiting for?”

“I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you, Willow. I’m waiting for an apology. From you.” My head snapped back in shock. He’d never spoken to me like this, we’d never even had an argument.

“Excuse me? An apology? For what?”

“The way you behaved this evening, you were an embarrassment jumping around the room with my brother.” I laughed harder in shock.

“Cain, you’ve got to be joking.” I searched his face trying to find humour. Nothing. “It was a game. We were all playing a game .” He remained silent as I stared at him wide eyed.

Finally, I scoffed at him, grabbed my pyjamas then rushed into the bathroom and shut the door.

I stood in front of the mirror above the sink and stared myself down, the pulse in my neck hammering so hard its attempt to escape was visible

The door swung open, and Cain stood in the door frame, glaring at my back and panicked reflection in the mirror. He stepped forward until he was pressing me with his front into my back until my hip bones were bruising against the countertop .

“Cain. What are you doing? You’re hurting me!” I tried to wiggle away, to give myself more space but only managed to push myself into his crotch, which hardened the more I moved.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re in my family home?

Around my family. Around my parents. Around me?

” The pressure of my hips against the counter became too much and he continued to snarl in my ear.

“Your council estate shit won’t wash here.

If you want to be respected, you have to earn it.

Do you think you’ve earned that based off the childish shit you’ve pulled tonight?

” When I didn’t answer, he pushed his front into my back further. “Do. You?”

“N-no—” I stuttered out, unable to take a full breath in to speak clearly. Satisfied, he lessened the pressure, though didn’t leave.

“Good. I’d encourage you to remember that going forward.”

He reached around me for his toothbrush and paste, brushing his teeth for the full two minutes while I stared at the sink, avoiding his gaze.

Spitting in the sink, he turned, stripped to his underwear and flopped onto the bed as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened.

Feet crossed, arms crossed behind his head, he watched me.

I moved to shut the door, only to hear patronising tsks from the bed.

“Door remains open. We don’t harbour secrets here, do we, little Willow?”

Tears threatened as I gripped the door. Accepting that he wasn’t going to back down, I relented, turning and beginning my night-time routine. After brushing my teeth and removing my makeup, I stripped into my underwear to change into my pyjamas.

It felt obscene, undressing in front of someone I didn’t feel uncomfortable with. I didn’t normally wear underwear to bed, but I felt the need to protect myself. I didn’t trust this version of him.

With every move, I felt the weight of his glare. I brushed my long hair into a ponytail, collected my belongings and returned to the bedroom, moving sheepishly to avoid adding fuel to the fire. I slowly peeled back the duvet and slid in.

I kept my back to him and curled into a foetal position staring ahead into the blank wall. I felt the mattress shift behind me, his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back into his body. He coiled himself around me, leaned over, and planted a kiss on my neck.

He covered my ear and whispered, “I love you, little Willow.”

I hoped it was true, but for the first time I found myself questioning it.