In My Arms You Shall Hide

Bonus Chapter

Dorian

The office is nearly empty on Christmas Eve. From the first week of the holidays until the first of the year, the entire floor is always a ghost town, and in the past, I preferred it that way.

This year, however, is different. Like much of the payroll, I’m leaving somewhat early today. This change in the established routine of the office isn’t lost on my co-workers, but only Darren is brave enough to mention anything.

“Big plans for the holidays?” he asks casually, lingering in the open doorway of my office.

It’s only three o’clock, and we’re two of maybe ten people still on our floor.

“Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid,” I reply, loading my computer into my bag and zipping it up. “Probably spend the evening with some family and the missus. What about you?”

When I first got married four months ago, I received a lot of raised eyebrows. Some people found the notion of marrying the woman who saved my life—and subsequently went missing, according to public knowledge—romantic, while some found it strange and abrupt. No one said the latter out loud, but it’s been clear on their faces.

Darren shrugs, leaning against the door jamb. “Nothing much. My girlfriend’s out of town seeing family, so it’ll just be me, myself, and I.”

I’m tempted to invite Darren over for dinner on Christmas. I know that Katherine wouldn’t mind, but I want her all to myself. Plus, we have a surprise to orchestrate for her, and I don’t want it hindered.

Maybe I’ll invite them both to a double date when his girlfriend returns. Perhaps Katherine will enjoy the idea of having another couple as friends.

“You aren’t sticking around much longer, are you?” I prompt, rounding my desk.

“Nah,” is his nonchalant reply. He steps out of my office, allowing me to exit as I turn off the light. He accompanies me as I make my way toward the elevators. “Maybe go through a couple more proposals, but otherwise, I’m on my way out too.”

“Right, well, careful going home. Everyone’s impatient today.”

“Sounds good,” Darren says and halts by one of the cubicles.

I keep walking, but when I hear another voice in the cube, I realize he’s talking to someone else. Given the voice, it’s one of the administrators for the procurement sector.

“Alright, what were you saying earlier?” Darren asks as I walk away.

There’s a long pause before she whispers, “Did he mention anything about the case?”

“No,” Darren replies, lowering his own voice to match. There’s another pause, undoubtedly listening for me, given that he is referring to me. “Paul was his family. I don’t want to pry.”

“Apparently, Clancy and the other board members are pretty much washing their hands of him,” she continues. “They’re saying Paul acted alone. I feel so bad for…well, you know. Dorian’s lost so many people.”

I lost so many people, yet I gained everything.

Meeting Katherine hasn’t taken the sting of grief from losing my mother. That pain will always be a part of me, as is the damage my father inflicted. But if Katherine is this life’s saving grace, one of the only beautiful things in it, it’s worth bearing. Her presence has made the prospect of healing much less daunting.

Satisfied with my eavesdropping, I take the stairs to the parking garage and head home.

Last Christmas, Katherine and I were not on close terms. This year will be much better, not only because we’re spending it as husband and wife but also because I can actually give her gifts.

Katherine’s not much of a gift-receiver. That, and anything she wants or needs, I simply get for her…not that she ever asks for anything.

Even so, I splurge a little. I can’t give her the world, but I can try with little pieces at a time.

I dropped my grandmother’s necklace off yesterday for an inspection and deep cleaning. I cut it close today and manage to pick it up before the store closed. The oval solitaire diamond sparkles in fluorescent light and the sterling silver prongs have been adjusted and polished. It looks better than the first time I saw it around my grandmother’s neck twenty years ago.

I know I’m ahead of schedule when I step into the kitchen and find Katherine bent over the counter. Her face is dusted with flour, and her auburn hair is knotted into a loose bun at the back of her head. She looks positively adorable in the apron I got her.

“Oh, no! You can’t look,” she says, hurrying around the corner with a wave of her hands.

Given the sweet smell permeating the air, she’s baking something. I know she’s decorating cookies when I spot a sugar stir needle and a small piping bag. I don’t want to ruin her surprise by peeking, but I still catch sight of all the mixing bowls filled with icing of varying colors.

Katherine has an ungodly amount of cookie-decorating tools. I’m to blame, mostly. Whenever she mentions taking an interest in a new craft, I practically drop everything to buy her supplies. This time, however, Cory overheard her, and we both brought home decorating tools.

I place my bag on the kitchen table, draping my jacket on the back of one of the chairs. “Oh?”

“I’ve barred Cory and Raney from the kitchen,” she confesses. Swiping a stray lock of auburn hair from her face, she leaves a cute smudge of pink icing on her face. “I’m sorry, but that means you too.”

There’s something divine about Katherine in the middle of my kitchen—our kitchen. It feels so innocent as if I have no right to have her do something so normal, like baking for me. Some days, I don’t feel worthy of such acts of love. But then again, my wife might argue that point.

I unbutton and begin to roll up my sleeves. “Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

“I’m sorry, but the surprise is for all of you,” she replies, then wrinkles her nose at me. “Please don’t make me kick you out of the kitchen.”

“You wound me, Kittie,” I tease and rifle through my pockets. “I can’t have a little peek in exchange for my gift?”

Katherine pops open her mouth, intent on arguing—maybe to tell me no or that she doesn’t need gifts—but shuts it when I withdraw two tickets—my first gift of two. She narrows her eyes to read the print on the top of the stubs, and then they go wide.

Part of the reason I’m giving her these tickets early is because Raney will give me grief. Surely, she’d insist I take my wife to Rome, London, or Paris. And I intend to; there are many things I want her to experience. But gifts aren’t an opportunity to assert what you think another person should want or need. They’re all about what the person wants, even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else.

Katherine squeals in delight. “Are those tickets for Cats on Broadway?”

And the warmth and excitement on her face is the only gift I need. It pumps dopamine through my system. “Yes, and you’ll notice there’s four—I can’t take you to Broadway without taking your mother and her boyfriend.”

“Really?” she squeaks, and once I nod, she closes the distance and throws her arms around me. I have no doubt that her embrace covers my suit with flour and icing, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. “This is such an amazing gift, thank you! Even if you hate it, I’m so—”

I tip my head down and kiss the side of her mouth. “I couldn’t hate anything that brings you this much joy. You’ll be there with me—there’s no place I’d rather be.”

Katherine giggles in response, doing an adorable happy wiggle in my arms before pulling away.

I begrudgingly let her go. “Is it time for you to kick me out of the kitchen?”

My wife blinks once and then quickly begins to shoo me. “Yes, sorry, but I’ve got to get these finished!”

I chuckle as I step out of the kitchen; it serves just as well. Katherine isn’t the only one in need of finishing their surprise.

Katherine

At the three-hour mark, the kitchen is a mess. I try to clean as I go, but it becomes a war zone once the cookies are done and it’s time for icing. I’ve cleaned up the spilled flour, though I have a feeling I’m wearing most of it. But with all the piping bags and tools, I can hardly see the counter anymore.

By this point, I’m glad I didn’t follow through with tackling Christmas Eve dinner. I don’t think I would’ve had the time, even though the kitchen definitely has the space. But apparently, Christmas Sushi is a tradition for this family, so I don’t have to worry about a turkey or mashed potatoes.

More time than I realize must have passed because just as I finish up evening out the frosting, Raney calls for me.

I dust my hands off on my apron and follow her voice to the living room. I’m not prepared to find Dorian, Raney, and Cory all seated and waiting for me.

“Merry Christmas, Kittie!” Raney cries out, startling me.

I blink in shock as I drink in the living room. We’d set up the tree last week and covered the evergreen in silver tinsel and red, shimmering bulbs. Raney and I had taken weeks to cover the estate in lights, pinecones, and elf figurines to usher in the holiday.

But it isn’t until all the people I love are gathered around each other in the room that it truly feels like Christmas.

I take in the scene of them and feel my throat tighten. They’re all smiling at me, so I shake my head and force myself to pull it together.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Gifts, silly!” Raney says, holding up a thin, square package in shiny, green foil wrapping paper. She motions me to sit on the sofa across from where she and Cory are seated on the coffee table. “Sit, sit! I’ve been waiting all day to give you your gift!”

I blink away tears as I make my way to the couch and take my place beside Dorian.

As if sensing my tearful joy, he coils an arm around my shoulders and gives me a comforting squeeze. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Me first!” Raney excitedly shoves the package toward me.

I give her a wobbly smile and take it. Tearing the paper at the corner reveals three separate vinyl records—Julie London, Dorothy Dandridge, and Chet Baker—all in pristine jackets. I love this music, but I don’t have the heart to tell her that I don’t think the estate has a record player; besides, they’ll make lovely decorations all the same.

I hold them delicately to my chest. “Thank you, Raney, they’re perfect!”

Her eyes have a knowing glint, but she only squeezes my knee.

“Me next?” Cory prompts, and before anyone else can say anything, he gives me his gift. It’s a flat paintbrush with a red bow on it. “Happy Christmas, Kittie.”

I carefully take it from his fingers. I have quite a few brushes, but not this type! It’s normally used for household painting, but I’m sure I can use it on my canvases.

Thumbing the bristles, I grin up at him. “I can’t wait to use it. Thank you.”

Raney frowns. “Use it? You already know?”

I place the records and paintbrush on the arm of the couch. “Know what…?”

I scan the three of them, and I can see that it isn’t only Raney who has a hint of mischief on her face. Even Dorian, who hasn’t let go of me, smiles at me almost teasingly.

“Your other gift,” he tells me. “Do you want to have a look?”

I nod, uncertain and confused, as he stands and helps me to my feet.

Raney and Cory are already ahead of us, hurrying out of the living room and into the hall. I watch them cut right, murmuring to one another, and head toward my bedroom.

Well, calling it my bedroom isn’t true anymore. I rarely go in there anymore; Dorian and I share his room on the second floor.

Dorian keeps his hand on my lower back as we walk. He presses his mouth to my temple as if he can feel my nervousness leaving me. “You’ll have to forgive these two for their excitement. Our holidays the last few years have been a dull affair.”

I wrack my brain to remember our first Christmas together, but I come up empty. Although I can form new memories easily now, they don’t replace the precious time I lost. Then again, knowing the state of this place at that time, it’s for the best.

If I can remember today as our first Christmas—as husband and wife—then I’m happy.

When Dorian and I walk down the hall to my bedroom, a glimpse of the past crosses my mind like a ghost. More than a year ago, we’d walked this very hall, much like this. Back then, there’d been something unsettled in my chest. Eyes in the halls, a presence lingering in the corners.

I peer up at my husband now without a touch of malice or secrecy on his face.

If I stopped in my tracks and demanded that he tell me what was going on, he’d gladly soothe my fears. But I don’t. I trust Dorian. I love him. Neither may make sense to most, but it doesn’t render either any less true.

Dorian may always have pain to some degree, and all we can do is move forward together. I’ll take care of him, and because I know I’m not a burden, I know he’ll do the same for me.

When we reach my bedroom, the smell of paint hits me. And I can see why; everything’s been removed from the freshly painted walls, the floor is covered in painting tarp. My old bed’s gone, but plastic covers what looks like new furniture—a desk, maybe?

“What’s this?” I ask, eyes roaming over the white walls.

Raney throws her arms up over her head. “Surprise! We’re converting this space to be your craft room.” She hustles toward the center of the room, moving the plastic enough for me to see a sewing machine and a record player on the table. “This way, you have somewhere to work on all your projects.”

I pinch my mouth into a tight line. A new swell of gratitude washes over me, and I’m not sure I can hold back the tears. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You can tell us what color you’d like to paint the walls,” Cory replies, his subtle smile widening.

I swallow against the lump in my throat and look up to Dorian, whose face is soft and warm. “You guys did all this?”

“I can’t take any credit; this is all these two,” he replies.

“Don’t buy that, Kittie,” Raney cuts in. “He’s been running interference the last two days to keep you from seeing any of this stuff.”

I fight hard against the waterworks, but when I cast a glance over everyone, a few tears slip from the corners of my eyes. I manage a strangled, squeaky thank you before I rub my eyes in a vain attempt to stop more tears from coming.

“I wish I had more to offer,” I mumble into my hands.

Dorian’s arm tightens around me. I expect a scolding for that, but I can’t help it.

It’s Cory who speaks instead. “Well…you could let us see what you’ve been baking.”

Raney chimes in. “Yes!”

Bringing his mouth to the top of my head again, Dorian murmurs, “We’ve all been dying to see what you’ve made.”

“Oh!” I drop my hands and bounce on my heels. I nearly forgot. There were a few duds, but the cookies turned out well overall. And if there are any people in the world that like what I create, it’s these three.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, peeling out of Dorian’s hold and rushing down the hall. I shout over my shoulder, “Go wait in the living room, please!”

To my relief, all the cookies are still in one piece. Their icing is set by the time I bring them out from the kitchen and back into the living room. Everyone has returned to their seats and they all perk up when I enter carrying the tray.

“Ta-da!” I exclaim and lean forward, showing them my creations.

There are three human-shaped cookies on the baking sheet—with a few crumbled remains of cookie failures. Each one has features to share with its human counterpart. Raney’s cookie has a yellow ponytail and a C-shaped grin, Cory’s has a dollop of brown icing for hair and his black hoodie, while Dorian’s has a suit and tie.

When everyone’s quiet, I lift my head. “Well? What do you think?”

Raney’s trademark grin stretches her features, Cory appears inquisitive, while Dorian seems in perfect bliss.

“These are for us, sweetheart?” my husband asks.

“Yes!” I exclaim, and when only Raney takes hers, I give them an encouraging smile. “Go on! They’re for you to eat.”

Dorian gingerly lifts his cookie from the parchment paper and turns it over in his hand. “It’s too precious to be eaten.”

Almost as if on cue, there’s a soft crumbling sound. Something patters against the floor, and when I look up, I catch Cory chewing. He’s bitten the head off his cookie.

Raney gasps. “Cannibalism!”

“Cory,” Dorian begins, his voice full of disapproval, “she worked too hard for you to just scarf it down—”

I don’t let him finish. A round of laughter bursts out of me before I can reign it in. It’s so intense that I have to set the tray down on the coffee table.

“It’s okay, Dorian,” I tell him, mid-giggle, and pluck one of the remnants from the tray and pop it into my mouth. “See? I think they turned out really good, don’t you think so, Cory?”

But it isn’t Cory that replies. Instead, Dorian stands up from his seat. “Is it? Let me see for myself,” he murmurs, then leans down and kisses me deeply. It’s enough to make my head spin, and I hardly catch my bearings before he pulls away with a nod. “Yes, it is good. Though, that may just be you.”

If only I felt self-conscious when it came to PDA between Dorian and me. But having gotten married only a few months ago, Raney insists that we’re still in the honeymoon phase of our marriage. She keeps saying it’ll wane, but I can’t get enough of him. It makes me almost animalistic, something that should give me at least a little shame when I want to throw myself at him.

Before I can go in for another kiss, he lifts a velvet box between us.

“What’s this?” I mumble, all the air leaving my sails.

“It’s the only thing I want you to wear tonight, kitten,” he tells me, and before I can respond, his mouth slants over mine and steals all my thoughts and words.

I breathlessly return his kiss, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck as his hands wander from the front of my dress to the small of my back. With one tug, he loosens the knot of my apron, causing it to go slack around my frame.

My thoughts are swimming, but I hear a shuffling in the living room. Cory and Raney’s voices are distant, as if out in the hall now.

“You think they would’ve gotten this out of their system,” Raney grumbles as the floor creaks under their steps. “They were like this all summer.”

“Try not to be a Scrouge, Raney,” Cory tells her in response, the sound of a smile in his words.

I can tell they’re still talking, but they become so far away—and I become so engrossed in my husband—that I can’t make out their words anymore.

Dorian lowers me to the sofa, carefully removing each layer of clothing and leaving kisses on the skin revealed, nipping my skin every now and again. His mouth lights a fire everywhere it touches, and only once I’m ablaze does he lay me down on the sofa.

Snapping open the jewelry box, he withdraws a glimmering silver pendant necklace. At first, I mistake the ovular shape for silver, but as he lowers it to me, I realize it’s a diamond.

“Dorian,” I breathe, “it’s so beautiful.”

“No,” he replies and lays it against my chest. He reaches behind my neck and does the clasp, adjusting it to rest in the crevice of my collarbone. “Now it’s beautiful.”

Once he begins to loosen his tie, I hasten to sit up and undo the buttons of his shirt. When I peel his clothes from him, and he lowers himself to me over the sofa, I slam my mouth against his. I don’t care if the others can hear me panting and moaning in between kisses. I cling to him, needing every part of him.

Dorian rakes his fingers through my hair, running his lips up and down the length of my neck before returning to me. Only once I’m on fire and digging my fingers into his hips, does he finally thrust into me. He grunts against my mouth, spurring on my own cries of pleasure.

We rock in a rhythm together, my legs tangled around his hips like a vice, and his arms curled possessively around me. We’re in perfect unity.

Snow softly falls beyond the windows. Our cries—our names on one another’s tongues—fill the depths of the house, the safety of the walls around us like arms. Our love makes echoes down the halls, maybe leaving some love behind with the pain the walls have witnessed.

I hope in the depths of my heart that I’ll have Dorian for all eternity like this. Perhaps we’ve already died, and this is just the beginning of forever…because I can’t imagine a place further from Hell.

The End