Beyond the Broken Angel

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

— may your days be merry and bright —

Christmas Day, 1937

A SOFT KNOCKING at the door roused Giselle from her sleep.

"Giselle?" Will's voice slipped through the door, pulling her out of bed.

She was halfway across the room before her brain started to wake, halting her in place long enough for her to run a hand through her hair and wipe the sleep from her eyes. She glanced at the mirror hanging by the door, using the moonlight to gauge her appearance.

She opened the door once she felt that she looked decent enough. Will stood in a navy sweater with the collar of a white dress shirt peeking out, his grey slacks perfectly pressed and his brown belt matching his shiny shoes.

"What time is it?" Giselle asked.

"4:45 am," Will answered.

"4:45?! That's so early!"

"You told me to wake you when I got up."

"You could've warned me that you'd be up this early," Giselle told him.

Will shrugged, grinning. "Put your robe on, I want to show you something in the sitting room," was all he said before heading down the hall.

Giselle sighed and did as he said, meeting him in the sitting room. A smile brightened on her face when she entered the room.

Will was stoking the fire in the fireplace. The tree was lit up, a few presents stuffed under it that weren't from 'St. Nicholas,' and the curtains to the large windows were pushed back, revealing a land of snow illuminated by the stars and moonlight. Snow flurries floated down from the sky, clinging to trees and frosted windows and making Giselle pad across the room towards the windows so that she could take it all in.

"A white Christmas," she breathed out, her breath sticking to the window. "I'm actually having a white Christmas." She turned around, meeting Will's eyes as he leaned against the wall next to the fireplace, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Where's my radio? I want to put on Christmas music."

Will smirked, removing his hands from his pockets to cross the room towards the window closest to the tree, where the radio sat plugged into the wall. He pressed the 'play' button and Christmas music began to play.

Giselle felt like the Grinch in that moment—not because she hated Christmas, but because it felt like her heart grew three sizes at Will's simple gesture.

She looked around the room once more. Had he set this all up for her? She quickly shook the thought away, telling herself that he had done it for the children.

But the radio . . . that was all for her.

"The children will wake within the next hour, I'm sure," Will said as he moved away from the radio. "We should start setting everything up."

They fell into what Giselle joked was 'Santa mode' after that, sticking presents from Santa under the tree, filling the stockings, and eating the cookies and dumping out the milk the children and set out—a tradition Will had found absurd.

"That was fun," Giselle said as she plopped onto the couch, gazing at the Christmas tree puddling with presents.

Will sat on the cushion next to her. "Yes, it actually was."