Chapter Text
By the time they finally sit down to their belated Christmas dinner, all four of them are ravenous. Bernie helps Serena carry platters of roasted parsnips and potatoes to the table, Serena carves the turkey, and they all tuck into the Christmas feast with gusto.
None of the Wolfe-Dunn clan are easy conversationalists. Introspective by nature, they all tend towards taciturnity in unfamiliar surroundings. But Serena is a natural extrovert and, as a result, conversation flows effortlessly. Even Charlotte, habitually solemn since babyhood, is laughing readily. Bernie can barely believe her good fortune to be sharing such a relaxed Christmas dinner with both her children.
When they've all consumed as much turkey, stuffing, and sprouts as they can conceivably manage, Serena rises to clear the table, but is shouted down by Cameron and Charlotte. They insist that it's only fair that the washing up be their job, as Serena and Bernie had cooked the meal.
“That went ok, I think, didn't it?” Serena asks when they are alone in the dining room.
Bernie nods. “It was lovely. Thank you.”
“You have delightful children, Bernie. They're wonderful, both of them. A credit to you.”
Bernie blushes. “I'm not sure how much of that is due to me.”
“Don't sell yourself short,” Serena admonishes. “I see a lot of you in both of them.”
They look at one another for a long time. Serena’s soft smile intensifies, and the friendly camaraderie gives way to something much more charged. Bernie’s eyes drop to Serena’s lips, and, for a second, she thinks Serena might be leaning towards her, before she pushes to her feet and crosses the room to the dresser; extracting pudding bowls and more glasses. “Dessert wine?” she asks, brandishing a bottle.
“Erm, yes, that would be nice.” Bernie rises to help. “Look, Serena—” She reaches out to touch the other woman’s hand; their fingers brushing. “I wanted to say thank you, for inviting us. It was…beyond generous.”
Serena smiles at her. “It was nothing.” She raises her hand to Bernie’s hair, tucking a wayward strand into place.
Her fingertips come to rest on Bernie’s cheek, and Bernie leans into Serena's touch. She looks at Serena. Her eyes are intent upon Bernie’s face. For a long moment there is neither sound nor movement. And then Serena inclines her head.
Just as their lips are about to meet, they hear the sound of a key in the lock, and the door creaking open. Serena jumps as though scalded, and worry flits across her face; nervous anticipation about what's to come next.
The slim figure of a young woman appears in the doorway. She has long hair; Serena’s cleft chin.
“Elinor,” Serena says. Her voice sounds equal parts pleased and nervous.
“She’s still here, then,” Elinor says a little snidely; her eyes sliding to Bernie.
“Yes,” Serena says, “as you can see, Bernie is still here.”
Elinor looks mutinous, but Serena’s eyes flash in a manner that strikes Bernie as distinctly dangerous. She suspects Serena has a hell of a temper on her when provoked. “And Bernie will be staying. I hope you will too, Ellie, but only if you're prepared to behave yourself.”
Elinor opens her mouth to protest, but the tone of Serena’s statement brooks absolutely no argument, and she rapidly closes it again.
“It's nice to meet you properly, Elinor.” Bernie offers her hand and Elinor hesitates, then shakes it with extremely bad grace.
“Good.” Serena affects a smile and a brightly positive tone. “Now, you must meet Bernie’s son and daughter,” she says, as Cameron and Charlotte appear in the doorway.
There are painfully polite handshakes between their respective children. Elinor’s nostrils flare when Bernie slides into her seat beside Serena; she takes the vacant seat next to Cameron in silence.
Bernie feels she should make an effort with Serena’s daughter, given how kind Serena has been to her own children. “Have you had a nice Christmas Day, Elinor?”
Elinor laughs sourly. “Oh, yes, it's been a blast. I began the day by walking in on my mother in bed with another woman—”
“Elinor!” Serena hisses. “You didn't exactly walk in on us. I mean, nothing was happening.”
But Elinor is working herself up into a furious tirade, and isn't prepared to be interrupted; determined to have her say. “—and then, I go to dad and Liberty’s, and they're both paralytic. Before noon. And now, I come back home, to find my mother playing happy families with her lesbian lover and her kids - without me. So, in answer to your question - Bernie, was it? No, I havenot had a nice Christmas.”
“Ellie—”
“Have you any idea how embarrassing it is, finding out your Mum’s a lesbian by walking in on her having sex with another woman?”
“We weren't actually—”
“You were naked, Mum. Both of you. And there were jeans on the living room floor which definitely do not belong to you. They were at least two sizes too small.”
The sheer absurdity of this concluding statement proves too much for Cameron and Charlotte, who burst into laughter. The wind thoroughly removed from her sails, even Elinor manages a small smile.
“You might have told me, Mum,” she says, quietly. “I didn't even know you liked women.”
Bernie hears what Elinor doesn’t say: the real reason for her anger is hurt at her mother concealing things from her, more than anything else.
Serena reaches out to clasp her daughter’s hand. “I'm sorry, Ellie. There really wasn't anything to tell until very recently.”
“Mum didn't tell us she was a lesbian, either,” offers Charlotte in a conversational tone. “We had to find out from dad.”
“And now,” adds Cameron with a sly glance at Bernie, “he's buggered off to Chamonix with a girl younger than me. At least your Mum can cook a decent Christmas dinner. Ours doesn't know one end of a turkey from the other.”
Serena pats Bernie on the hand and silently tops up both of their glasses of wine, before retreating to the kitchen in search of the Christmas pudding. Bernie listens as their children commiserate with one another about the failings of their parents; glad that they are talking, even if their chosen topic leaves something to be desired.
Serena re-enters the room, bearing the pudding, matches, and a bottle of brandy. She pours a generous measure over the top, then takes out a match.
“Mum, wait! We need to turn the lights out.” Elinor jumps to her feet and crosses the room.
In the second before Elinor flicks the light switch, Bernie sees a smile of pure joy from Serena: glad that her daughter is home; thrilled by her delight in the ritual. Then the light is extinguished and the smile is gone, before the blue flame from the pudding illuminates the room.
***
When the pudding has been demolished, they decamp to the living room to enjoy the tree and unwrap presents. Charlotte and Cameron have brought theirs with them and the living room is soon strewn with discarded wrapping from jewellery, clothing, books and DVDs.
Serena receives a not insignificant quantity of wine from friends and colleagues; a fact which arouses considerable amusement from Elinor. There’s even a bottle from Cameron and Charlotte; it’s only cheap plonk, evidently selected from their own Christmas day provisions and hastily wrapped before their departure, but the gesture is kind and Bernie appreciates Serena’s gratitude.
Despite the thoughtfulness towards Serena, Bernie hadn’t expected Cam and Lottie to get her anything. Their relationship has been so strained in recent months – has been non-existent in Charlotte’s case – that it hadn’t occurred to her that they might buy her a present. She had purchased gifts for them, of course – had sent them to the family home before Christmas – but she’d had no expectation that the gesture would be reciprocated.
So it is with no small amount of surprise that she receives the presents her children have chosen for her: unwrapping them with care; cognisant of what the gifts imply; scarcely able to contain her delight that Cameron and Charlotte want to have a relationship with her again. She hugs each of her children in turn, thanking Cam for the whisky and Charlotte for the scarf. They sit together on the sofa at one end of Serena’s large living room, Bernie in the middle.
“Thank you for coming, both of you,” she says eventually. “It means a great deal. I’m very glad you’re here.”
Cameron wraps an arm around her shoulders. “We’re very glad to be here,” he says with a glance at his sister. “Aren’t we, Lottie?”
Charlotte smiles. “Yes, we are.”
Bernie reaches out to give her knee a squeeze.
And,” Cameron continues, “it was very kind of Serena to invite us.” He pauses, glancing towards their hostess; deep in conversation with Elinor at the other end of the living room. “She’s lovely, Mum.”
“Yes.” Charlotte’s agreement is emphatic. “She really is.”
Bernie looks from one child to the other; comprehension dawning as to the object of this ambush. “She is lovely,” she concedes. “But I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea. We’re not, that is, I don’t think…” She tails off. “We’re not together.”
“But why not?” Charlotte objects. “She’s lovely, and you obviously like her.”
“We barely know each other, Lottie. And anyway, I don’t know if she’d want that – want, well, a relationship.”
“Well, have you asked her?” Cameron demands.
Bernie shakes her head.
“Don't you think you should ask her? If you don't ask her, you'll never know, will you? Don’t throw away a chance to be happy, Mum.”
Bernie does think, but has no idea what her relationship with Serena is, to be perfectly honest. The entire situation is odd in the extreme. This time yesterday she'd never met Serena, but now, well, now she wants to hold onto her tight and never leave. She knows it's absurd; knows that the idea that her brief liaison with Serena could become something meaningful is fanciful. But she wishes, oh how she wishes it could.
***
An hour later, Bernie is outside, looking up at the dark sky. The stars are invisible under a blanket of thick cloud. At the end of the garden she can see the silhouettes of the trees shifting in the wind. She takes a drag on her cigarette, tapping the ash into an empty plant pot on the wrought iron table. Judging by the small pile of cigarette butts it already contains, it’s not the first time the pot has been commandeered as a makeshift ashtray.
She hears the doors behind her open and turns to see Serena, mugs in either hand. “Everyone ok?”
“They’re fine. They're watching Doctor Who. Elinor isn’t even complaining about it. You?”
“Yes. Just, um, needed some—” Bernie waves the cigarette.
“Fresh air?” Serena smirks.
“Something like that,” Bernie agrees. “Not a Doctor Who fan yourself?”
“Au contraire, I like it very much, especially since he became a she,” Serena says with a suggestive wink. “But as this year’s special isn’t airing until New Year’s Day, they’re watching last year’s; and since Jason has already required me to sit through that one at least three times, I’m not in a desperate hurry to see it again right now. Besides,” she adds, “I thought you might like one of these to warm you up.” She passes Bernie a mug.
“Tea?” Bernie wraps her hands around the mug appreciatively at Serena’s nod, and then turns back to look out at the dark garden. “It’s peaceful out here.”
“It’s peaceful because everyone else is indoors, where it’s warm. Nobody in their right mind would be standing in a freezing cold garden in the dark at 9 pm on Christmas Day.”
“It’s one of the things I love about Christmas Day; how still everything is. The streets are so quiet. Everything just…stops.” Bernie pauses; takes a sip of her tea. “They look beautiful on you,” she adds, gesturing towards the hammered silver drops Serena has slipped into her ears.
“Yes, they're very pretty. We don't always have the most harmonious relationship, but Elinor does at least know my taste in jewellery!” Serena blows at the surface of her own mug to cool it. “This is lovely too,” she adds, reaching out to finger Charlotte’s scarf, which Bernie has wound around her neck.
Bernie smiles. “It is, isn't it?” It's a simple piece. Plain black in colour, but it's woven in buttery soft cashmere.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you a present,” Serena says, releasing her hold on the scarf.
Bernie stares at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t get you anything, either. It’s hardly as though you knew I was going to be here. We’ve only known one another for—” She glances at her watch. “25 hours.”
Serena laughs. “Is that all it is? Feels longer.”
It does. So much has happened in the space of a day. When she awoke that morning, she wouldn't have dreamt she'd be standing here, drinking tea with Serena, with their respective families together inside. “Anyway, you did get me a present.”
“Sorry?” Through the dim light, Bernie can see Serena’s confusion at the apparent non-sequitur.
“You did get me a present. You gave me back my children.”
“Don’t be silly. I didn’t do anything. You did that all yourself.” Serena smiles at her. “Well, with a little help from a broken oven.”
Bernie barks out a laugh. “The broken oven was fortuitous. But I mean it, Serena. Being here, in your home, has made all the difference. Without you, we’d have all been rammed into my tiny flat, eating out of the freezer; probably in awkward silence. Instead we’re here, in your lovely house, having the closest to a family Christmas we’ve had in years.”
Serena rests her mug of tea on the table and reaches for Bernie’s hand; entwining their fingers. “It's been lovely for me too. It's just been me and Ellie – when she's around, that is – for a long time.”
“What about Jason?”
Serena shakes her head. “We haven't actually known one another that long.” She tips her head back to stare at the night sky. “It's a long story. Remind me to tell you some time.”
Hope bubbles up inside Bernie. “Will there be a ‘some time’?”
“I’d like there to be.” Serena reaches over to take Bernie’s mug; setting it down on the table before taking her other hand.
Bernie looks at their joined fingers. “Serena, I…”
“Shh.” Serena places a finger on Bernie’s lips. “I know.”
Bernie dips her head and touches her lips to Serena’s. Serena wraps her arms around Bernie's neck and pulls her closer.
After several delightful minutes they break apart. The long promised snow has started to fall, flakes scattering in their hair and on the lawn; glittering as it reflects the lights from the kitchen.
***
At ten o’clock, Serena closes the door behind the departing backs of Cameron, Charlotte and Elinor, who, in the spirit of Christmas and getting to know one another better, have decided to head to the pub.
All of a sudden, they are alone. Bernie pauses, uncertain how to proceed. Loath as she is to leave – reluctant to break whatever spell has been cast over this lovely day – she's mindful that this thing with Serena is very new. She doesn't want to outstay her welcome.
“I suppose that I should probably get going, too.”
“No!” Serena looks stricken. “I'm sorry. What I meant to say was: I'd very much like you to stay; if you'd like to, that is.”
Bernie bites her lip. “It’s not that I don't want to. I do, very much. But I don't want to— Oh, I don't know. Dive in and mess everything up? I know we slept together last night, but it was— Well, it was different. I– I like you, Serena. I—”
Serena presses her lips to Bernie’s. “I understand. And nothing needs to happen. But I'd like to spend a bit more time with you; have breakfast with you tomorrow. Why don't you stay in the spare room? You'll never get a taxi at this time on Christmas Day, anyway.”
“Ok, Ok,” Bernie laughs; delighting in Serena’s eagerness and unable to resist the prospect of breakfast together. “You've convinced me. I'll stay the night. In the spare room.”
Serena beams. “Good.” She switches off the lights adorning the tree, rakes over the fire, and then together they climb the stairs to bed.
Bernie retrieves her toothbrush from the en-suite while Serena rummages around in her chest of drawers. She retrieves a t-shirt and some scrub pants and hands them to Bernie. “Here.”
Serena then leads her along the hall to the spare room, opening the door and switching on the light. “This is you.”
“Thanks.”
Serena hovers in the doorway, and then crosses the room to wrap her arms around Bernie’s neck; kissing her soundly. “Goodnight, Bernie.”
“Goodnight,” Bernie says to Serena’s disappearing back. She changes into the t-shirt and scrub bottoms, and then slips down the landing to the bathroom to clean her teeth.
Bernie lies in bed in the dark of Serena’s guest room. But despite the excitement of the day; the lateness of the hour; the copious quantities of food and drink consumed; sleep is elusive. Serena's goodnight kiss burns on her lips, bringing memories of the night before; chipping away at her sensible and chivalrous intentions. Suddenly, it seems like madness to be lying here in cold sheets while Serena is two rooms away down the hall.
Nothing has to happen, she tells herself as she makes her way down the landing to Serena’s room. But there really is no reason why we can't share a bed. She taps on the door and, at Serena’s invitation, opens it.
Serena is sat up in bed; the room lit only by the bedside lamp. She's wearing leopard print satin pyjamas; her face scrubbed free of make-up.
“I, um—” Now that Bernie’s here, she's not sure what to say.
“Do you want to get in?” Serena pulls back the covers and pats the bed beside her.
Bernie slips under the covers, and they lie side by side in silence for a minute or two. It all feels awkward again. Last night had been a one night stand. Today they're navigating carefully around the fledgling stages of a relationship.
After several minutes, Bernie feels Serena’s fingers entwining with her own.
“What's wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
Serena snorts. “I can practically see the tension.
“Sorry.”
“Don't be sorry; talk to me.” Serena rolls onto her side, facing Bernie, still holding her hand.
`
Bernie is quiet for a minute. “It just all feels a bit odd. This is all so new and, well— Last night we were practically having sex on your sofa and now we’re lying in bed wearing pyjamas.”
Serena lets out a peal of laughter. “Well, if that’s the problem, it's easily remedied.” She sits up, pulls the pyjama top over her head in one fluid movement, and deposits it onto the floor. “Better?”
Bernie stares at Serena, gorgeous and naked, before rallying one last attempt at self-control. “We don’t, I mean— I don’t want you to think I expect anything, just because of last night. I didn’t expect— That’s not why I came in here.”
Serena regards her carefully; then raises an arm, wrapping it around Bernie and pulling her close. “It is a bit odd, isn’t it? I suppose we sort of skipped the drinks and dinner and dating part, and it’s not quite clear how we navigate wherever we are now.”
Bernie nods.
“But I do very much want you to be here, and I'd very much like to revisit last night’s activities if you'd be so inclined.”
Bernie breathes out, turning in Serena’s arms; rolling onto her side and propping herself up on one elbow.
She presses a kiss to Serena’s mouth. “I’d like that very much.”
“I'm glad we’re in agreement.” Serena’s smile is impish. “Though, I'm afraid the pyjamas will have to make a reappearance later. I get horribly cold in the middle of the night. For now, though, if I'm naked, it seems only fair that you should be the same.”
Laughing, Bernie pulls off her t-shirt. When she turns back to Serena, it is to find the other woman’s gaze fixed on the scar bisecting her chest. She senses that Serena’s curiosity has been burning since the previous night.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Bernie shrugs. “Not much to tell. I was caught up in a blast from a roadside IED, which left me with a pseudo-aneurysm of the left ventricle.”
“And the back?” Serena's tone is neutral; professional.
“C5-C6 fracture.”
Serena’s eyes widen. And then, to Bernie’s surprise, she leans forward; kissing Bernie firmly.
“What was that for?” Bernie asks when they come up for air.
“I’m just very grateful you’re here. That you survived it to be here with me.”
“You’re drunk,” Bernie teases, though she's really rather touched by Serena’s soppiness.
“No, I’m not— Well, perhaps a little bit. But it’s true, all the same. I'm very glad you came through it unscathed.”
Bernie feels a sudden burst of affection for Serena: gratitude for being cared for; hope at the promise of something more. She kisses Serena again; desire and tenderness mingling on her tongue.
She watches as Serena’s eyes darken. The mood shifts as the kiss becomes firmer, more passionate. One of Serena’s hands is tangled in Bernie’s hair; the fingertips of the other caress her breasts, glide over her stomach. Any trace of the hesitancy that had occasionally beset Serena the day before has vanished; instead she oozes confident sexuality. Bernie can feel herself becoming wet under Serena’s ministrations; arousal building with each touch of her fingers against Bernie’s skin.
Serena lowers her mouth to Bernie’s nipple. She sucks just a little too firmly, and Bernie releases an audible gasp.
Serena looks up. “Sorry, I didn't hurt you, did I?”
Bernie shakes her head.
“I think I'm a bit over-eager. I barely had a chance to touch you last night, and I fully intend to explore thoroughly today!”
“I'll try to bear it.” Bernie’s eyes slide shut as Serena sucks again, and again, and again. It's almost too much; it's wonderful.
Serena kisses her once more, and then trails kisses along her jaw; down the line of her throat. She kisses Bernie’s scar; the jagged line of an incision made in emergency. The scar is sensitive still, and Bernie shivers at the touch of Serena’s lips as they trace the ridge of flesh.
When Serena reaches the end of the scar, she carries on: across Bernie’s breasts and down her sternum; over her stomach and hips until she reaches the juncture of Bernie's thighs. She slides down the length of Bernie’s body, nudges her legs with one knee, and, when she parts them, settles herself between Bernie’s thighs.
“Serena, don't feel you have to.”
“Oh, I want to, believe me. I intend to show you exactly how much I want you in my bed.” Her voice is husky, positively dripping with sex, and Bernie finds herself wetter than she imagined possible.
Serena’s tongue laps experimentally at Bernie’s clit. “Good?”
Bernie thinks good is entirely insufficient a word to describe the sensation, but, right at this moment, finding an alternative is beyond her. She nods. “Good.”
Serena smiles, predatory, and licks once more; gentle but insistent. Pleasure builds quickly; Bernie’s breathing quickens. Serena’s tongue traces slow circles, taking her nearly to the brink. And then retreats. She kisses Bernie’s mouth; her breasts; her thighs. Everywhere but where Bernie needs her.
It really shouldn't surprise Bernie that Serena likes to tease.
And tease she does. She returns to lavishing attention on Bernie; tantalising her once more; watching her response and waiting until it's almost too late, before once again allowing her mouth to rove over Bernie’s body.
But then Serena's tongue is against Bernie once more; harder and faster this time; licking and sucking until Bernie abandons herself to the pleasure of it.
They don't speak as Bernie lies, panting, on the bed; Serena lying beside her, fingers toying with her hair. When her breathing had returned to normal, Bernie pushes Serena onto her back. Her eyes widen; correctly reading Bernie’s intentions.
Serena’s moan of pleasure at the first touch of Bernie’s tongue is glorious.
Bernie remembers a conversation once, years earlier, with a group of female friends in the army. One woman had remarked on how powerful giving head made her feel- eliciting and controlling her partner’s sexual response. Bernie hadn't related at all: giving Marcus a blow job had been a chore she endured for his benefit; not something she derived any pleasure from. But now- with her tongue on Serena's clit, Serena juddering at its every touch- now Bernie understands. That sense of power; and what a powerful aphrodisiac it can be.
She loses herself in Serena’s pleasure: in the twitch of her hips as Bernie swirls her tongue against her; in the sound of the cry she makes as she comes; in the flush of her chest after orgasm.
Afterwards, when Serena rolls onto her side; when Bernie curls up around her, chest pressed against Serena’s back; arm curving around her waist, and the scent of Serena’s shampoo in her nostrils; Bernie thinks there may be no greater pleasure than this- to share a bed with a beautiful woman after they've made love.
***
The insistent bleeping of a mobile phone pulls Bernie from sleep. Beside her, Serena stirs, reaching out a hand towards the bedside table. She rolls onto her back, phone in her grasp.
“Hello?”
“Serena! How’s things?”
“Sian, why on Earth are you calling me, it's—” Serena glances at the clock on the bedside table. “Bloody hell, Sian, it's 8.15 on Boxing Day morning.”
“Oh, I just wondered how your Christmas was? You vanished from my party rather suddenly.”
“Did I?” Serena’s affectation of innocence is not convincing, and Bernie muffles a laugh in the other woman’s shoulder as best she can; taking the opportunity to undo the top button of Serena's pyjamas.
“You know you did.”
“Yes, well, things to see, people to do, you know how it is.”
Bernie can't restrain herself at this and lets out a full honk of laughter.
“Mm-hmm, I certainly do. People by the name of Berenice Wolfe, so I hear.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” Serena lies, brazenly and unconvincingly.
“Pull the other one, Campbell. I know she's there with you – there's no mistaking that laugh.”
Serena glares at Bernie in mock annoyance. She shrugs. Sian’s right: it is pretty distinctive; Bernie gave up trying to change or conceal it years ago. She nestles back down against Serena, placing a kiss against her collarbone. She feels the other woman’s shiver of pleasure at the contact.
“How did you know?” Serena demands, as Bernie finishes unbuttoning the pyjamas and moves her lips to Serena's sternum.
“I saw you snogging the life out of one another in my back garden, then disappearing into a taxi without saying goodbye. I do so like it when a plan comes together.”
“Ah, yes, I can see that's rather incriminating,” Serena admits.
Bernie presses her mouth to Serena’s breast; takes her nipple in her mouth. Serena’s face begins to flush, though whether with arousal or embarrassment, Bernie couldn’t say.
“Bernie!” Serena admonishes, covering the microphone, “I'm talking.”
“I'm not stopping you.” Bernie's mouth continues its journey down Serena's body.
“Having fun, are we?”
“Yes, I mean, no, I mean— Oh sod it. Yes, I am having— Hang on. What do you mean you ‘like it when a plan comes together’? You were trying to push me off on what's-his-name.”
“How much did you have to drink on Christmas Eve? Think about it. Serena, darling, I'm your best friend. Do you really think I'd attempt to set you up with a teetotal mountain biking enthusiast?”
Serena’s face bears an unmistakable expression of dawning comprehension. “You— What do you mean— Why didn't you just—” she splutters.
“Well, if I’d said ‘Serena this is Bernie Wolfe; I think you'd be perfect for one another’, you wouldn't have looked twice at her. You've been gazing longingly at women ever since Stepney, without any sign of doing anything about it. And if Bernie had thought you were both available and interested, she'd probably have skipped off to Siberia or somewhere.”
Serena is silenced by this, and Bernie takes the opportunity to pluck the phone from her hand. “What Serena means to say is ‘thank you, Sian.’ We’re both very grateful for your efforts, but we’re rather tied up for the foreseeable future.” She ends the call and tosses the phone back onto the bedside table.
“Do you mind very much that Sian set us up?” Bernie asks Serena, who still looks distinctly miffed.
“I— No, not really. Much as I hate to admit it, I probably did need a bit of a shove; I was nervous.”
“I'm afraid her analysis was uncannily accurate in my case, too; it's distinctly possible I'd have run away at the first sight of mistletoe.”
Serena’s expression softens. “Then I don't mind at all.”
Less than forty eight hours earlier, Bernie had expected to be spending Christmas alone, and had never even heard of Serena Campbell. Now, she is lying in Serena’s arms, having spent Christmas Day together with their families; the hope of a future stretching before them. And that, she thinks, is by far the best Christmas present she could ever have hoped for.