The Elite of the Elite

Christmas Day

The house was decorated from floor to ceiling in red, gold and green decorations.

The house staff were running around like headless chickens, no doubt under the strict ruling of my mother.

Each one looked more terrified than the last and honestly I get it.

The lady was damn scary when she wanted to be.

If there's one thing I've learned in my eighteen years of life, it's that she will in fact kill me without a care for her own bloodline.

Her five foot nothing self strutted out of the kitchen red as a tomato and muttering in Spanish.

I stayed as still as I could and prayed that she wouldn't see me and I'd be able to run up to my room without facing the wrath of the crazy lady running around my house claiming to be my mother.

Funnily enough, it did in fact work and I made it to my room in record time.

My Christmas outfit was laid out on the bed and for once an ugly sweater was no where in sight.

As I buttoned the black shirt, I prayed that my idiotic brother would not show up wearing the same burgundy suit jacket.

For eighteen years my mother has dressed Armani and I in the exact same outfits for the holidays.

I think deep down she's convinced that us being Irish twins somehow makes us identical.

No, I do not understand her reasoning, neither do I want to try to.

She and Aunt Lia lived in their own little bubble and Mateo and my dad did everything in their power to keep it that way.

Case in point, my father glaring at Armani and I every time we tried to tell her that we were Irish twins not identical ones so there was no reason for us to wear matching outfits.

That glare was deadly to be quite honest.

Each De Santis Christmas was the same.

The day started off with Christmas mass alongside all the families that went to mass once a year.

Then, lunch with my grandparents and my mother's siblings which usually took my entire afternoon.

Once that ordeal was over, we rush home to shower and change for Christmas dinner.

Best part of my day if I'm being completely honest.

Why would I hate Christmas lunch but love dinner?

The answer to that is quite simple really; I see the love of my life at dinner not lunch.

De Santis-De Luca dinner is currently a third generation tradition, established by my lovely grandfather, Elio De Santis and the one and only Sergio De Luca.

The two claim to have a 'love-hate relationship', we all know that they're best friends but we don't tell them that.

"Asa, if you are not outside in the next thirty seconds, so help me God-"

"I'm out mama," I interrupt her threat and plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Do not sass me, boy." Her hands were already on her hips and suddenly I was ten again standing next to a broken window with a baseball in hand.

"Told you he should've been a girl, mama." An awfully annoying voice piped up from the hole it crawled out of.

Every time Armani opens his mouth I want to take away his ability to speak.

"Oh I'm sorry princess, did everyone else get tired of your bland personality?" I smile sweetly as I push past him to the stairs.

"How about you both do us all a favor and shut the hell up?"