His Taste Of Christmas (Forbidden Tastes #1)

2. Angel

Chapter two

Angel

“ O kay. Angel, are you certain that you both will be okay?" Mum asks for the fourth time today.

I sigh as I place my groceries on the kitchen countertop and then swiftly spin to face her. I grasp her hands, noticing the way her shoulders slump and her brows furrow. With a small smile, I tilt my head to the side. I know what she wants me to say. ‘Please don’t go to Ireland. Stay here for Christmas with me’. She’s searching for any excuse not to go, but my dad has put his foot down and said they will spend Christmas with his family this year.

I wish I had the time to join them, but while I’ll miss my family, I still need to finish a writing project by the start of term in the New Year, which I haven't even started. Mum thinks running the pub will distract me from focusing on it, but it's just a short story, and I keep reassuring her I'll have enough time. I wouldn't give it a second thought if I went to Ireland with them and I need to do well so I can get a place at university.

“Mum…” I stretch out the word, clutching her hand while bringing her closer to me, and wrap one arm around her shoulder before burying my face in her hair. I hear her mumbling, so I pull away slightly. “What?” I ask. Her wide, green eyes, mirroring my own, hold my gaze as she lifts her hand and lovingly runs her fingers through my dark-brown locks.

“You’re Miss Grinch at the best of times. How can I trust that you will actually celebrate Christmas when we’re not here?”

A sigh escapes me as I roll my eyes. “Firstly, Mother, I share a home with someone who is obsessed with all things Christmas. Secondly, we'll be working behind the bar on Christmas Day so I can’t just ignore it, can I? Happy Christmas to me,” I exclaim sarcastically, pumping my fists in the air. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine, and you will be pleased to know that Mace and I are going Christmas decoration shopping tomorrow to decorate the pub. I'll be surprised if Mace can manage to get any sleep tonight. She hasn’t stopped talking about it.”

Giggling, she leans forward and plants a tender kiss on my forehead. “I know how joyless this is going to be for you.” She smiles sympathetically as she pulls back. “And I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you, Mum.” I give her a final squeeze before turning to leave, glancing back over my shoulder. “I’m going to head upstairs and make a start on this story.”

“Alright, hunny. I'll be heading out soon, but your dad and I will be back tomorrow to wrap up a few loose ends before we leave.”

“Okay, Mum. Night. Love you.” I exit the pub from the back and climb the stairs to our cosy flat. With hesitation, I open the door and listen, exhaling in relief that I can't hear Michael Bublé blasting from the speakers.

“Mace,” I call as I enter the hallway, quickly scanning the small space.

She wasn’t in the pub when I was talking to Mum, but I didn’t see her leave either. I thought she came up here to rest before our shift, but the lack of music playing isn’t normal for her. As I enter the living room, I spot the six-foot Christmas tree that overwhelms our small space. There is not a single flickering light on the branches. Thank God.

“I'm in here!” Macey calls from her bedroom. Wearing a frown, I approach it and glance through the tiny gap in her slightly open door, unsure of what I will come face to face with. It's completely different from what I anticipated. Macey never studies silently. She always has a film or music on. Macey doesn’t do silent.

“What’s wrong?” I search her room for a clue about why she's studying silently. “Do I need to ring your mum?”

Her lips curl into a smirk as she looks up at me and says, “I've just been speaking with Tay. She mentioned the topic for your project assignment you have to do over the holiday has been sent..” Her smile grows wide. “Have you seen your emails?”

A wave of anxiety settles in my stomach as my brow furrows. It can’t be anything too bad, but I know what that smile of Macey’s means. I already know that I'm going to hate whatever is in my inbox.

I trail after her into my bedroom, where she grabs my laptop and positions herself against my bed. Opening the lid brings the screen to life, illuminating her lingering evil smile. Her gaze darts across the screen, and I could have sworn I detected a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. I inwardly groan. This is surely a bad sign. Closing the distance, I cautiously come up beside her and look down at the laptop screen to see that she has opened my emails.

“Here.” Excitement fills her high-pitched voice as she hands the laptop over to me.

Instantly I notice an email from my teacher with the heading: ‘Assignment subject’. We were told we had to write about a specific topic but not given any details other than the instructions would be sent to us during the holidays.

Mace's excitement confuses me, so I scroll down, trying to find out more.

Dear class,

I hope all is well and you’re all ready for Christmas.

Your short story assignment subject for the holiday is ‘Christmas cheer.’ The short story can be no more than 15,000 words. I’m happy for you to write a story using your own personal experiences of what makes you happy at Christmas, but I’m also happy for you to fictionalise the story.

I look forward to reading your stories in the New Year.

I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Kindest regards,

Miss Cody.

“Why do they never go for something unique” I groan, setting my laptop on the bed, although deep down I want to throw it to the floor. Plunging headfirst into my duvet, I let out a scream, then sigh as I roll over. “Seriously, why choose something so cliché?” I prop myself up on my arms, and Macey mirrors my body, her face just centimetres from mine, looking smug.

“Angel, it's time for you to start embracing the Christmas spirit.”

I use my hand to cover her face and push her away playfully. “Go play with traffic, you nasty girl.” I show her my middle finger. “How can you be this joyful, knowing the impact this has on my grade, you bitch?”

“Suck it up, buttercup,” she sings songs, pushing up off the bed before she skips out of the room and the words “Alexa, play Christmas songs” reach my ears.

I'm strangely drawn to the idea of murder at this moment.