Oh, no, he thought, rolling his eyes with a loud grunt at the ringing of the doorbell, and pressed the pause button on the remote for the umpteenth time, Not another of those bloody carollers. It would have been the fourth, that evening.
Generally, Robert Crawley, a twenty-six years old businessman with scruffy ash-blonde curls and ocean blue eyes, was not that grumpy. Okay, he could be a bit cranky at times and he had this inconvenient habit of flying off the handle when his colleagues slacked off… but, damn! It was Christmas Eve, he was surely not supposed to be unfriendly.
Well, actually, maybe that was the main issue: it was Christmas Eve and instead of being with his family in their estate in Yorkshire, celebrating with gifts, champagne and laughter, he was stuck in his small London house alone, with a glass of mulled wine in his left hand and Star Wars: The Force Awakens on TV… and all because of a violent fluke snowstorm that had hit the capital the day before. Now, though it was still snowing, the weather conditions were gradually getting better; still every train or flight had been cancelled and the roads were absolutely impassable.
And so, he was completely, undoubtedly and hopelessly alone on Christmas Eve.
Hearing the doorbell ring once again, Robert groaned out loud and decided to grudgingly get up from the sofa; he walked across his living room pouting, looking with a certain disdain at the tree and the Christmas decorations that only seemed to make a mockery of him. Finally, he reached the window near the main door and took a look outside, squinting in the attempt of seeing through the mist: the snow was falling idly on the rooftops of the buildings, painting of a shiny shade of white the terraced houses, the ground and the red hat of a stranger girl, who was tirelessly keeping on ringing his doorbell. Of one thing he was sure: she was another caroller. Why else would she be there, otherwise? Normal people stayed home, on Christmas Eve. Not that carollers were freaks or dysfunctional… they were just way too selfless –and with an unhealthy passion for knocking at his door. Problem was, Robert was right in the middle of what may be called "his Grinch-mode" and had no need to hear Christmas chants or stuff like that; they would have reminded him of home, his family, of the proper Christmas he couldn't have. Once again, he grunted noisily, and got a little closer to the window just to take another look at the girl –and, being in his Grinch-mode, also to be sure she would leave, eventually.
And it was there and then that Robert really saw her.
That was no common caroller. She was standing there, her teeth rattling, rubbing her gloved hands together to warm them; from the fogged up glass of the window he could spy her features and though he could see she was weary and probably eager to be inside, in front of a fireplace, there was something more in the resolved look on her face: her light blue eyes, two pale sapphires, were lively and tenacious, as if nothing in the world could ever stop them; her lips, faintly quivering, were a straight line, but he was absolutely sure they could gently curve in a perfect smile when they wanted to; her hair were chocolate brown and though she was tall and slender, her tiny body had every perfect curve she needed, as if the accurate hand of a painter had drawn her silhouette. Out of nowhere, making Robert pretty worried about his mental health, a little voice started talking in his head. Okay, that was frightening: was a Christmas Eve alone enough to become mad? Anyway, the voice urged him to go out and speak to her. The young man frowned… no! He couldn't hit on a caroller. That felt… wrong, somehow. Scratching his nose with his head in the clouds, he didn't notice she was actually looking at the window, probably to see if there was someone inside. Screaming internally and feeling like a little boy who hides under the bed to skip school, Robert ducked and sheltered under the window. Okay, was that because he didn't want to open the door to a caroller, or was he doing that because he liked her and felt like a teenager in front of his first crush? How nonsensical was that?
But, no… no! The little voice was right, he couldn't let her go! He couldn't! Robert stood up from his (very stupid) hiding place, and, throwing the door open, he saw she had already turned her back and was walking away quickly. Right… there was only one reasonable thing a young, noble viscount could do in a moment like that: he began to scream girlishly. "Hey, miss! Hey… hey!", he called out at the top of his lungs, waving his arms desperately… God, it was freezing out there! He should have considered that before going out with only his ridiculous Game of Thrones t-shirt on: not even the stamina of the Starks of Winterfell could prevent him from chattering his teeth, shivering and massaging his arms, in the fruitless attempt of getting his blood flowing. Still, careless of the snow that was wetting his curls, he kept on screaming goofily like a cheerleader supporting the school team; exactly when he was about to lose any hope to see her pretty face again, she turned around. Damn… she had really turned around. And she was looking at him, visibly puzzled, and yet, indescribably beautiful: now that he could see them clearly, her blue eyes appeared to him as two silvery lake under the light of the moonlight, her full lips two candid rose petals and her hair a dark, astonishing waterfall. For at least a minute, looking at her pretty face, Robert forgot about the cold. Okay… that was without the shadow of a doubt the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen… and that meant, he really needed not to turn everything into a debacle –turning everything into a debacle, one of his greatest talents. He finally found the strength to speak again: "Oh, well, good evening, I guess. I, ahem… didn't hear the doorbell before, you know, I was watching TV and… Well, you don't care about it, right? Yeah, why would you care about that?", he said, practically talking to himself and not to her, "Anyway, ahem… if you want to sing…".
Surprisingly enough, since it little speech had completely sucked, the young woman came back in front of his door and graced him with a smile from ear to ear, Robert wasn't really sure he deserved. "Good evening, my name is Cora Levinson", she started, her sweet American accent immediately clear to his hear, "I'm helping the church charity, that is raising money for the homeless. Now, I'll sing you a song and then, if you want, you can make a donation" He faintly nodded to give his consent… and so she began to sing.
And it was there and then that Robert really heard her.
Silent Night, holy Night
All is calm, all is bright
Her voice was ineffable, enchanted, graced by the blessing of an extended vocal range, and yet magic because unique, unrivalled, an imaginary stream of silvery notes floating through the air, untouchable and yet warm.
Round yon virgin, mother and child
Holy infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Heavenly peace were exactly the two words he would have used to describe his current conditions. He wasn't even sure his feet were any longer touching the ground. He was in a brand new world, where only miss Levinson existed, with her sweet American accent, her soft features and…
And she had stopped singing. Dammit, how long had he been standing there fantasizing like a real psycho? Completely freaking out, he put on a very stupid and fake smile and tried to speak –though the little voice in his head doubted he could make anything look only slightly ordinary, at this point. "Sorry, I think I lost you at the first silent night", he stammered, almost breathlessly, "Dear God, you do have an amazing voice!".
The chilly air being his enemy, Robert couldn't be sure whether she was blushing or if it was just the cold making her cheeks turn pink. Either way, the little voice inside his head decided to internally scream. "You really think so?", she asked, and in her humble blue eyes a spark of pride appeared, a spark that only proved what a determined young woman she surely was, "Because I know I can hit the high notes, but the low ones…".
"No, no, no, no, no!", Robert promptly cut her off, gesturing crazily… Wait, how many times had he just said no? Four? Five? Why hadn't he said it one more time, while he was at it? Three was more than enough: three no's demonstrated that he wanted to prove his point, without sounding exaggerate nor mad. God, three! That was definitely the right number of no's allowed in a conversation! It was then that the little voice in his head decided to show up once again, reminding him miss Levinson was still in front of him. Yes, right… smiling timidly, he just added: "It was perfect. You were perfect".
"Thank you", she replied, scraping her nose, and then, after thinking for a second, she dropped a real bomb, "But… if you're such fan of singing, why were you trying to hide before?".
Crikey. So she had seen him… Well played, miss Levinson, he thought for himself, but the truth was, Robert Crawley was quite a tough nut to crack: the simple, insignificant fact she'd seen him hide didn't mean he wasn't going to be able to deny the obvious and do it so damn well she was going to believe every single word of his little speech. She was literally going to conclude she had seen a ghost before and not his silhouette. He was a businessman, after all: he spent every day selling, buying and negotiating… Come on, that was so clearly his natural environment: that Cora Levinson stood no chance. She was so beautiful and kind-hearted, that it almost seemed like a pity to trick her like that… yeah, but just almost. Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms with quite a bored and nonchalant look on his face, and began to talk… when something went very, very wrong. "Hi-hide?", he stammered, his ears and cheeks burning so violently, he was pretty sure he was as red as Santa's costume; okay, that was initially supposed to turn out so much better! What on earth had just happened? Why couldn't he just talk to that girl without sounding like a complete idiot? The concrete fear of actually being an idiot crossed his mind for a second –probably encouraged and sponsored by the cynical little voice in his head-, before he went on babbling helplessly. "I wasn't trying to… I… I absolutely don't know what you mean".
Almost like she could read his mind –Robert did hope with his whole heart she couldn't!-, she giggled shyly at his reply; she was so cute, when she laughed… even when she did it at him and not with him: okay, if she was going to chuckle sweetly every time he made a fool of himself, he was ready to embarrass himself, every day, every hour, every bloody minute. It was definitely worth it. "I'm pretty sure I saw someone ducking in front of the window, a few seconds before you came out", she explained politely, shrugging, "But maybe it was your girlfriend…".
"Girl-girlfriend? Oh, no, no, no, no", he stammered once again… once again using the wrong amount of no's, "I haven't got… I haven't got a girlfriend. There's no one else inside. It's just me".
"Alone on Christmas Eve?", she asked, raising both her eyebrows.
He lowered his curly head, chuckling softly. "Yes… guess that makes the two of us…", he said, his tone quite grave, as if he had just become aware of his hopeless loneliness –God, he could almost picture himself eating ice-cream in his underwear listening to All by Myself. Then, a rapid frosty gust of wind penetrated in his bones, reminding him of how terribly cold it was outside. And guess what? She was there too… outside, in the cold. Her cheeks rosy, her nose red, her face half-covered by her scarf and hat. She looked so adorable and yet so clearly tired and cold… all he craved was for her to rest for a while. Robert had no idea where he found the drive to pronounce those words that followed, but he was sure the little voice in his head was quite proud of him in that moment: "Listen, you convinced me: I really mean to make a donation", he explained, "Come inside, so I can find my wallet and you can rest for a while".
This time, Robert was absolutely sure: her cheeks had turned pink. "Oh, please, it doesn't matter, I don't want to impose…", she just replied, her voice an embarrassed whisper, while she confusingly started to flap her hands nervously.
A sudden realization hit him: so, he wasn't the only one who felt awkward and slightly uncomfortable… good. That granted him another rare moment of lucidity and, surprisingly, an even rarer flash of self-confidence. "Oh, come on! You're clearly freezing out here. Plus, the snow is covering you from head to foot… and we don't want you to become the first living snowwoman in history, do we?", he exclaimed, winking, and smiled politely.
She seemed to think about it for a few seconds and then smiled gently. "Alright…", she murmured, nodding, "Thank you". Being a real gentleman, he held the door for her and let her in, so he could help her take her coat off and show her the couch. Actually, he wasn't sure what the hell he was doing, alone on Christmas Eve with a caroller he didn't even know, but then again, it wasn't like he had a very tight docket.
"So, miss Levinson, what's a young American girl doing all alone on Christmas Eve, chanting from door to door around London?", he finally asked, sitting beside her.
"I couldn't hide that I'm American even if I wanted do, could I?", she laughed and when Robert turned around, looking absolutely terrified and tensed, already sure he could add that fool move to his personal, long list, she clarified, "No, don't worry, I was joking. I know my accent gives me away easily, you did nothing wrong. Anyway, you can call me Cora".
It was time to seize the moment: he took her hand and shook it, so he could finally taste the softness of her skin against his rougher one. "I'm Robert", he said, "Robert Crawley".
"Pleased to meet you, Robert", she smiled softly, "Anyway… I study contemporary art here in London. It's a long way from home, but my parents saved some money so I could have a proper education… They're kind of weird, my parents, but they've always supported me… So… I was supposed to go home, this Christmas. I live in Newport, you see. I had my last test yesterday and so I had planned to catch a plane today… but then the storm ruined everything. All the flights were cancelled and I'm stuck here… so I decided to give a helping hand to some charities".
"I'm so sorry to hear that. I mean, I got stuck here too. I was supposed to reach my family in Yorkshire, but I had to work late yesterday, and it was a problem even to come back home".
She frowned. "Work late? On the 23rd of December?".
"Yeah, being a businessman sucks", Robert admitted, sipping his wine.
"Well, it depends", she observed, "Is that what you want to do?".
Robert couldn't help but laugh, both ironically and sadly. "Please", he replied jokingly, "I have no idea what I want to do with my life… guess I'm a bit of a wastrel".
The way she looked at him caught him completely unprepared: her features were filled with concern and preoccupation… It didn't make sense, though. Why would she be worried about him? She didn't know him. Well, maybe she likes you, the little voice hazarded. Like him? Why would she like him? Come on! She was almost perfect: she was stunningly beautiful, she was kind, she was sweet, she was a good listener and a great singer… She studied art, for God's sake! He had always wanted a girl who studied art, so they could spend the weekend visiting museums and not visiting parents and relatives. No, okay, she wasn't only almost perfect, she was absolutely perfect! And guess what? He was just a boring manager, who only had a perfect talent for causing trouble and being embarrassed all the time. "The way you feel about your future… It's perfectly ordinary, you know", she suddenly said, stopping his stream of thoughts and paranoias, "I love art and so I study it… but do I know what I want to be when I grow up? Of course not".
His heart suddenly warmed, as if the awareness that she felt just like him was enough to make the world look a bit brighter. His voice was a bit less melancholic when he spoke again, "Yes, but you surely are no wastrel, otherwise you wouldn't be wandering around London in the middle of a storm singing for a good cause. Look at me, I'm the worst, I'm here watching a movie and drinking mulled wine… oh, the wine! Let me get you a glass". He stood up and headed towards the kitchen, cursing himself for being such a careless host.
"Robert, it doesn't really…", Cora muttered, but Robert immediately interrupted her.
"Please, I insist", he said out loud from the kitchen. He began to fill the glass and his thoughts began to invade his mind once again: okay, what was going on? Was he going to make any move on her or was he just going to keep talking as if nothing was happening? Because something was happening, that was a fact: the way she could make him feel… it wasn't ordinary: the way her voice made him immediately joyous, the way her eyes made him melt, the way her smile made him want to kiss her lips softly, delicately. It was odd, and absurd, and beautiful, and… what on earth was that precisely, by the way?
All of those unanswered questions were still stuck in his head, when he got out of the kitchen, and Cora promptly had another question for him. This time, at least, it was easier to reply. "So… mulled wine and Star Wars on Christmas Eve?", she asked.
"Yeah…", he admitted in a bittersweet tone, feeling a real loser, and handing her the glass, "Pathetic and super nerd, right?".
In response, she just giggled, shrugging lightly and looked right into his eyes. Okay, her blue eyes were so astonishing he was completely sure his heart had skipped a beat. Or even two… Maybe three. The little voice in his head felt the urgent need to remind him he wasn't there to count his heartbeats, but to listen to Cora. "On the contrary, I was going to say that's pretty cool", she explained, shaking her chocolate brown head, smiling; then, she pointed at the TV screen, "Episode VII, The Force Awakens, right?".
Okay, he had play it cool: he didn't really like The Force Awakens, he was only watching it because all of his other Star Wars DVDs were still in Yorkshire… yet, lots of fans of the saga didn't take criticisms very well. "Oh, yeah… yeah… the Millenium Falcon, Rey using Anakin's lightsaber, Kylo Ren trying to imitate his grandfather's adventures… cool stuff, right?".
"Yeah…", she paused for a second, staring at him with quite a guilty look in her eyes; what on earth was that supposed to mean? Was she going to start breathing in and out very loudly and exclaim No, Robert, I am your father? Eventually, the hard truth came out of her mouth: "Actually, I kind of hated Episode VII".
"Oh, thank God…", he sighed out loud and let out a quite funny and nervous chortle, pretty sure he was blushing too, "Thank God you said it… I didn't know how long I could keep on lying about it. I was afraid you were one of those Star Wars fanatics who can't accept any kind of comment".
"Don't worry, I grew up with Star Wars, my father and I used to watch it all the time when I was a little girl, I knew every line by heart… but if I didn't like one of the episodes, it's no problem for me to admit", she giggled, "By the way, this mulled wine is delicious".
Every new word coming out of her pretty lips was like a balsam to his soul: she loved Star Wars –just like him-, but she was objective about it –just like him… Damn, did this girl have any flaws? No, she didn't. She surely was some super-clever alien or something. "Do you want another glass?", asked Robert, noticing she had clearly enjoyed her drink. God, she had already finished one, while he was still halfway through his first one. Before she could answer, he kindly took the glass from her hand –making sure if fingers didn't touch hers, since he was pretty sure that any type of contact with her skin, at the moment, would probably make him scream in not a very manly way- and headed towards the kitchen once again. He was exactly there, filling the glass, when he heard his mobile ring a couple times from the living room and the mysteriously stop … He just shrugged: it was his mother for sure, nothing to worry about, he was going to call her back in a second. It just did seem quite odd that she wasn't already trying to call him again: he was a stubborn man, but only because he had inherited that lovely trait from his equally lovely mother. So, glass in hand, he went back to the living room and there… there, what he saw made him speechless.
His mother hadn't given up, oh no: his mother was talking to Cora on the phone. Which could only mean one thing: Cora had seen the phone on the sofa and had answered it.
Running like he had probably never done in his whole life, Robert basically threw the glass on the small table in front of the sofa –and it didn't spill, which was almost unbelievable- and took the mobile from Cora, who, frankly, didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
"Robert!", he heard his mother basically shriek earsplittingly on the other end of the line. Ah, it was always great to see how, year after year, she easily managed to dodge the Christmas spirit.
Okay, but there was no time for jokes, now… he had keep a cool head: his mother had just found out he was with a woman. Come on, what was wrong with that? There was no reason to freak out. "Mama, hey, hi, ahem… how… are you… doing?", he muttered in an improbable high-pitched voice. Alright, he was already freaking out.
"Robert, was that a prostitute?", she asked promptly, her voice an odd mix of rage, disappointment and her usual, unfailing sarcasm, "Did you hire a prostitute on Christmas Eve? Dear God, is nothing sacred? I can't believe you just…".
Why the hell did his mother have such a vivid imagination? A prostitute? How could she even think of that? He gritted his teeth, trying to speak in a low voice, so Cora couldn't hear, "No, Mama, I didn't hire a… that thing you just said. She's just an innocent caroller who was freezing to death and that I therefore decided to invite in for a drink"
"Why would an innocent caroller answer your phone?".
"And why would a…", he peremptorily replied, just to stop, unsure about how to continue the sentence, "Ahem, why would a personal entertainer answer my phone?".
His mother paused for a second before replying. "Is that a theoretical gentlemanly way to say prostitute or is that some kind of riddle I'm supposed to solve?", she asked, without actually leaving him time to reply, "Anyway, I'm pretty sure she had an American accent… is she American too?". From the bitter, almost disgusted way she pronounced the word American, Robert was pretty sure that, in his mother's personal ranking of worst sins and crimes, being American was not very far behind being a hardened criminal. Classic Mama: even on Christmas, she always managed to express her reactionary and retrograde ideas at their finest.
Since he couldn't groan out loud –that was surely going to cost a never-ending earful-, the little voice kindly decided to groan internally for him. "Yeah, Mama, she is", he said, using his free hand to cover his face: no one was good at exhausting him like his dear, loving mother.
Another pause. Then, another question… just, a very different one, that made him jump on the spot: "So she's an American prostitute?".
"Dear God, Mama, she's just American!", he exploded, "A-m-e-r-i-c-a-n! You know, she simply comes from the so called United States of America, where girls are not necessarily… that thing you just said".
"Listen, Robert, Rosamund tells me you've got some almost acceptable feminine friends there in London. English friends, of course. Why messing around with an American girl?".
Right, when his mother started talking about women, it was high time to cut the conversation short. "Oh, is that the time?", he exclaimed, his tone so false he had to pull himself together not to laugh out loud, "Sorry, Mama… I must… I must remove the chicken from the oven… It was a pleasure hearing from you, merry Christmas! Bye!".
"Robert Crawley, don't you dare hang up the phone, your father wants to…".
"I said, bye!", he almost yelled and, despite his mother's threats, he dared hang up. He stood there, watching his mobile with a confused look in his eyes: that little device had just witnessed one of the most bizarre chats he had ever had in his life. And yet, it wasn't the only witness in that room: turning around slowly, Robert saw Cora practically dying laughing, a pearly hand trying to cover her mouth and, with it, the constant giggling coming out of it. It was hysterical, to her… it absolutely was. Clenching his fists and breathing slowly, Robert tried to calm down and, most importantly, he struggled to make some sense out of that situation: so… there was an unusually gorgeous caroller on the sofa of his living room, who, at the moment, was too busy cracking up to even look at him. He took another deep breath before walking towards the couch and kneeling in front of her. "Why on earth did you answer my phone?", he asked, still incredulous: the Cora he first met in front of his door was a gentle, clever young lady with impeccable manners and a very sharp sense of humour, not a laughing prankster.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she opened her mouth, but she couldn't quite contain another very loud laughter. Too loud, actually. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. "I don't know", she managed to babble, still grinning, "It just seemed too funny not to…".
"Cora! There's nothing funny in…", he interrupted her, stumbling on every word that was coming out of his mouth, "Dear God, Cora! Are you high or something?".
"No, it's just…", she managed to mutter, never stopping chortling, "You know, I usually don't drink. I was too young when I was in America and it didn't feel right to buy a fake ID… And now that I'm here in London, my friends and I normally have just a beer, so…".
At least thirty interminable seconds passed before Robert, now staring blankly at the wall, could shape any coherent thought and put it into words. "So… you're drunk", he whispered, completing her sentence, both hands on his face, "I got a caroller drunk on Christmas Eve". Was… was that a capital sin or something? Getting a caroller drunk the day before Christmas? He wasn't sure. Actually, he wasn't sure there were paragraphs about carollers in the Bible… still he felt quite dirty, deep inside. It couldn't get any worse than that.
And, of course, right on time, it did get worse. "So, thank you very, very, very much, Robert", Cora suddenly exclaimed, once again very, very, very loudly, and jumped off the sofa: for a few never-ending moments, Robert was sure she was going to fall on the floor… which she didn't, eventually, making him breathe a long sigh of relief. He wasn't very fast, he couldn't picture himself catching her as she fell; he could easier imagine himself helplessly tumbling down with her… at least, not landing on her, hopefully. "I must go now! I've still got many houses to visit", she added, apparently overwhelmingly happy and proud of her spirit of enterprise, and when she opened her pretty, full lips to keep on talking, a little burp came out of them, immediately followed by an excessively delighted giggle, "Oops, hope that doesn't happen when I sing".
Alright… that was enough: he had to act! Without thinking twice, he stood up and came between her and the door; he was going to say, with all the impetus and respectability he could muster, You'll go out over my dead body… then he realized he didn't know that Cora that much and maybe, even though he was desperately attracted to her and her (sober) wit, there was a remote chance his words could sound more like an invitation than a threat to her. No, he had already gotten a caroller drunk, he didn't want to be beaten by one too; he therefore developed a more diplomatic line of action: "Cora, please, just… let me make some coffee, you can't go out there in these conditions".
She just shrugged. "What conditions?".
"Cora… you're drunk!".
"I know! That's so fun, isn't it?", she replied, giggling.
Robert couldn't believe he was actually having that conversation. "No… no!", he exclaimed, hands up, "It is not fun… Since when are carollers supposed to be drunk?".
Before he could add anything, she drew a ridiculous Santa hat from her purse and firmly put it on his head; then she took an unstable step back to look at him in his new outfit and concluded: "Well, then you're coming with me, so at least one of us will be perfectly sober".
Robert lowered his head, shaking it a couple times in disbelief: this was almost certainly going to be the strangest Christmas Eve of his life. "Cora, this is not…", he began, hoping to talk some sense into her, but as soon as he lifted his head again, he realized with horror that the room was deserted and the door was wide open… Damn it, she had gone out! Cursing himself –accompanied by the little voice, which seemed particularly angry at his distraction-, he ran off in the snow, only to remember he was still only wearing the Game of Thrones t-shirt and, since he was far too young to die of hypothermia, he quickly came back in and put a sweater and a coat on… Good, now, he needed to be as fast as possible: that unusually attractive and even more uncommonly drunk caroller was way ahead of him. Getting out once again, he ventured in the dense fog and the thick glacial snow, which immediately clouded his vision and messed with his sense of direction: he had no idea where he was going and, even worse, he had no clue where Cora had gone. He'd been wandering for at least five minutes when, suddenly, he noticed a slim silhouette turning the corner of a house and though he couldn't see properly, he could feel inside it was her. It had to be her.
Putting his head down, he ran after her and, hoping it was really Cora, he put a hand on her shoulder, exclaiming: "Here you are!". Luckily enough, it was really her and not just a random stranger, otherwise that night would have gotten even worse. As if it wasn't already absurd enough.
Unexpectedly, she threw her arms around his neck. "So you really came!", she yelled in his ear, once again way too loud, but he didn't care, he didn't care about anything in that moment: he didn't care about the snow, he didn't care about the wind, the cold, the mist, the Christmas lights… he didn't care about anything at all. Because she was there, smiling, almost glowing, in his arms. Happy. Happy and safe.
Thanking God again and again, he suppressed the impulse of hugging her back and, taking a step back to look at her, he tried to sound as overbearing as he could. Yes, as if that had ever worked. "It's not like I really had a choice. You're a very beautiful person, Cora, when you're not… this way", he explained and, from the way she giggled, he knew for sure that he was completely incapable of sounding bossy, "I couldn't let you appear ridiculous. And, above all, though it's calmer now, we're still in the middle of a snowstorm! It's too dangerous to let you go alone".
"Nah", she replied, shrugging, "You worry too much".
"How can I possibly worry too much? We've just met!", he reacted, puzzled.
She stuck her tongue out to mock him. "Yeah, that's the point… But thank you for coming, anyway", she said and, before he could even think of replying, she took his hand and Robert, Robert felt so much in that moment, that he really believed his head was going to explode –which would've been improper… it was Christmas Eve, he surely didn't want to cover the white, pure snow with bloody pieces of his brain. He felt dizziness, stun, warmth, stupor… all at once. He couldn't hear, nor see, nor smell anything that wasn't her soft voice, her beautiful face or the sweet smell of her skin. He was completely out of his mind when her drunk tone brought him down out of the clouds: "Wait, what's this music?".
For Robert, it was like awakening from a long, stormy dream, as sweet as honey, as intense as a hurricane. Music? Was there music out there? Wasn't Cora's voice a music of its own as well? No, okay, he had to focus on the real world… there actually was the distant sound of some Christmas song, probably coming from a speaker. But where could that…? Suddenly, he understood: "Oh, yes", he muttered, "There's a merry-go-round in the square around the corner. I didn't know it could work even with this weather conditions".
"A carousel you said?", she asked, her mouth open in surprise and amazement.
"Yes, exactly, why do you…". Why do you ask, he was going to say. But completing the question was absolutely useless: he knew exactly why she was asking.
Indeed, five minutes later, there they were… on the carousel… and Robert also had had to pay for her ticket. Actually, he should have expected that: as he had considered before meeting Cora, carollers were kind of freaks. And freaks always tend to be a little childish, don't they? Somewhere inside him, the young man was sincerely beginning to regret following Cora through the snowstorm and yet, as he delicately held her sides to make sure she didn't fall from the little fake horse, Robert couldn't stop smiling at how cute and satisfied she looked.
"Come on… get on one of the horses too!", she shouted in his ear.
In response, he just rolled his eyes. "Cora, please, I can't!".
Visibly puzzled, she stared at one of the mechanical horses in front of her, as though it contained, well hidden inside its complex wheels, the answers to all the unsolved questions of the universe. "Of course you can, they're not that tall!", she then stated, nodding a bit too vigorously, clearly proud of the evidence she had just proved.
"That's not…", he began, breathing in and out a couple times to make sure he wasn't going to lose his temper, "Cora, that's not what I meant. I can't let go of you, you have no balance, you're surely going to fall".
For the first time ever since they had met, Cora put on an extremely offended face, which made her look halfway between a grumpy cat and a particularly stubborn –and yet very, very cute- four years-old girl. "No way!", she almost shouted, and Robert had the feeling that, at the moment, his eardrums weren't particularly happy with his new acquaintance, "I used to ride a pony when I was eight…", she went on, constantly smiling, "Actually I rode her three times during summer but I was really good at it!".
He sighed out loud. "Cora, please, don't be such a child…".
"I'm not being a child", she threw a tantrum, "You are, since you're not even brave enough to ride a horse!". Yes, but he was brave enough to follow her in her crazy adventures… It wasn't nothing!
Needless to say, the moment he let go of her hips, she immediately lost balance and, giving out a loud and high scream, she fell on her back. Damn, he couldn't help but thinking, his heart thumping in his chest like a hammer on the anvil, damn, damn, damn! What if she had hurt herself? Oh, God, she was so silly… and yet it was all his fault, all of it! He should have taken real care of her, without giving up to her request… for God's sake, no one listens to a drunk! And listening to a drunk caroller, somehow, seemed even more foolish. Feeling guilty and a complete idiot at the same time, he ran towards her and kneeled beside her, taking both her hands in his. "Cora, are you alright?", he asked, his voice filled with concern… until he saw her laughing uncontrollably; he smiled, relieved, and pretended to scold her to mock her: "What did I tell you?".
"I guess you're right, I'm a really a child after all", she chuckled, and wrapped her arms around his neck, so she could whisper in his ear: "But don't expect this to be a standard, I'm usually right!".
He blushed profusely, her tepid breath tickling the bare skin of his neck. "Yes, because you're not usually drunk", he teased her, softly patting her cheek and nose; then, putting both his hands under her armpits, he gently made her stand up, adding, "Come on now, on your feet, we've got some good deeds to do!".
Secretly, Robert had hoped that that innocent fall would finally stop Cora's resourcefulness… but of course he was completely wrong; they had just left the carousel when, passing in front of a mall, Cora noticed a sign: inside, there was Santa Claus meeting children.
Oh, no… he already knew what was coming.
"Cora, for God's sake, you can't go and meet Santa, you happen to be an adult!", Robert sighed, before she could even ask. After that night, at least he knew something for sure: one day, he was going to a very, very patient father.
"Oh, come on, what's wrong with this?", she groaned.
Dear God… then it was all useless: all of his cares, all of his worries, all of his reproaches were completely pointless… she was clearly insane! Mad! Out of her mind! Gesturing crazily once again, not even the little voice in his head was able to hold his horses, this time. "This… what? This night spent with a girl I barely know walking around aimlessly trying to make sure she doesn't get into trouble? This absurd Christmas Eve that I'm undoubtedly going to remember until the very last of my days, unless I die tonight in some insane adventure you drag me into? This crazy connection I feel with you for absolutely no reason?", he almost yelled the whole speech, but he wasn't angry, nor tired… just puzzled, since he couldn't understand what was going on inside his heart on that nonsensical Christmas Eve, "This what?".
Cora had been silent for the whole time of his outburst… had she finally come to her senses once again? Robert, whose heart was still racing madly, waited with bated breath to her reply to find out. "So… I can go!", she screamed, exulting.
No, okay, she hadn't definitely come to her senses yet.
"No, Cora, please, I didn't say you…", he promptly squealed, but it was too late, and Cora had already slipped through his hands and rushed inside the mall, "This must be a dream. This. Must. Be. A. Dream", he kept on whispering to himself and, massaging his temples with his teeth clenched and his eyes closed, he decided to follow her. He wasn't only going to be a very patient father: he was going to become a saint at best.
Dashing slowly and painstakingly through the cold breeze and the thick snow, he had finally arrived to the main entrance of the mall, asking himself what precisely he had done to deserve a night like that –the little voice actually had a couple ideas, but Robert was far too exasperated and it just didn't feel like the right time to point out his mistakes-, when, out of the blue, Cora rushed out of the mall… had she already spoken to Santa? Or had she really come to her senses, now?
From the way she was weeping like a five-years-old he could gather that no, her state of mind hadn't changed one bit. He grinned almost maliciously, ready to tenderly deride her and her crazy –and yet, he had to admit it, even pretty brave, somehow- idea, but before he could utter a single word, she held him close, her tiny body desperately pressed against his massive one, her hands dipping in the fabric of his coat, as if she never wanted to let go of him, her head buried in the crook of his naked, shaken by constant sobs.
"They said I'm too old to talk to Santa", she sniffed, grabbing his sleeve quite childishly.
"Oh, Cora, I'm sorry…", he said sadly, internally cheering –could he go home, now?-, and, at the same time, benefitting of her warmth, "Have you tried to explain to them that when you're drunk you regress at the mental state of a baby?". His jokes, however, didn't work very well and she started crying once again, desperately. Under the falling snow and the colourful light of the Christmas trees and the decorations, Robert hugged her close. "Here, hush… it's alright, nothing bad happened", he whispered in her ear, one hand caressing her hair, the other massaging her back delicately; as unpleasant and odd that night had been, he couldn't help but being all protective when it came to Cora… because okay, she had turned his Christmas Eve into a marathon, basically, but at least, she had been with him She had been with him the whole time… and, somehow, she had opened his heart, first with her brilliance and her sweetness, then, with her vulnerability and her exaggerations, "Don't cry, Cora, don't you…". But before he could finish the sentence, he suddenly felt something very, very cold against the skin of his neck and back that made him jump.
Snow. She had slipped a giant, damp and ice-cold snowball down the collar of his shirt.
"Got you!", Cora laughed, wiping the tears from her face and admiring his face instead, red in anger, confusion and even consternation. What the hell!
Flapping like a fish, in the unproductive and very comical attempt of getting rid of the snow, the little pieces of ice and the drops of cold water running down his skin and making him shiver, he was literally going round and round, trying to warm up, wanting so bad to remove his shirt and yet, knowing he didn't quite feel ready to freeze to death, unable to do it. "Oh, Cora, come on! The snow went down the collar of my shirt, please, you…", he grumbled in an unexpected whiny voice, but before he could go on with his long list of complaints something absolutely unimaginable, unanticipated and wonderful happened; at first, he really believed he had to be dreaming, for it seemed impossible that something like that was actually happening to him. But no, there was still snow against the skin of his back, and wind blowing in the winter air, and stars shining in the night sky. So it was all real.
Yes, it was all real. And Cora, Cora had just kissed him.
Cupping both his cheeks with a fervour she had never showed before, she had drawn his face closer to hers, her unsteady and somewhat husky breath caressing the skin of his neck, and her lips had captured his, with intensity, with passion, with everything she had; at first, Robert had no idea what to do: where was he supposed to put his hands? Could he kiss her back? Could he hold her? They barely knew each other, that whole thing seemed so strange… and yet so easy, so familiar, so intimate and comfortable, as if he had been waiting his whole life for that specific moment. Soon, his dumb thoughts were put aside by his hunger, by his need of knowing more of her, touching more of her, having more of her. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and pulled her close, deepening the kiss, delicately brushing his tongue against her lips to ask for access; when she gave it to him, their tongues collided and the world around just seemed to stop, as if nothing really mattered outside their new, little galaxy made of silence, soft moans and body heat. "Okay, that was definitely worth every snowball in the world… no, in the universe", he finally hummed in her mouth when they slowly parted; he looked at her and got lost in her eyes: their profound, unique blue made him shiver, much more than the drops of water still falling down his neck. They were looking at him with admiration, with need, with something he had never seen before in anyone else's eyes. Suddenly, looking at her, a certain doubt sneaked inside his mind: "Wait… you're not… drunk".
She smiled up her sleeve. "My head still spins a bit from time to time, but no… I'm not drunk, no".
He took a step back, letting go of her without even realizing it: alright, that changed everything… but he was too confused to actually mutter anything at least barely coherent. "But then… I don't understand… what…".
Promptly, she interrupted him, putting a hand on his forearm: "You see, I was kind of tipsy when I answered your phone, but I only did it because I thought it was mine. We have the same ringtone. Then the conversation between you and your mother…".
"Wait, could you hear what she said?", he asked, absolutely dismayed.
"Yeah, she kind of screams at the phone", she giggled and tried to wash away that shocked look on his face by caressing a wild, wet curl that kept on swaying before his eyes, "Anyway, your conversation was so hilarious that I felt the uncontrollable need of pulling a small prank on you. I had already raised enough money with my singing, so I had plenty of time to do it".
Little by little, Robert was beginning to realize. "So… the carousel… the fall… sitting on Santa's lap…", he murmured.
She grinned, putting a hand on the back of her head, a little embarrassed. "It was all fake… sorry".
Robert cleared his throat, somewhat uneasy. "No, don't worry…", he tried to lie, "Actually, it was… kind of fun".
Cora couldn't help but giggle. "No, it wasn't".
"No, okay, you're right, it wasn't, I was going mad", he replied, chuckling in turn, "But why would you do that to me? You barely even know me".
Placing a wild strand of hair behind her ear and crossing her arms on her chest like a real boss, Cora smiled and looked directly into his eyes, with a certain defiance. A defiance that, somehow, Robert really liked: it showed him that the real Cora was seriously back. "For two reasons: one, I wanted to get revenge after you tried to hide from me ducking in front of the window", she said, smirking ironically, and before Robert could find some silly excuse to babble, she went on, "Yes, I saw you clearly, I was sure it was you… but don't worry, you made it up to me: you behaved like a real gentleman tonight, never letting go of me even when I was being really annoying", she paused for a few seconds, still smiling; the provocative look in her bright blue eyes had faded away, replaced by a tender light… something like gratitude and affection. Something that made Robert blush very, very violently. And that was nothing compared to what was coming: before she kept on talking, Cora removed one of her gloves and reached out to take his hand. That… that he wasn't expecting, he realized, holding his breath: the moment her ivory, warm fingers touched his frozen ones, he felt over the moon, on top of the world, flying so high that Santa and his reindeers, in comparison, were mere amateurs. "Reason number two…", she went on, and her voice became somewhat low and raspy, almost a husky whisper, equally sweet and saucy, "I wanted to find an excuse to kiss you… which I did, eventually, though it required me to cover you in snow. When you were yelling at me before, you said you feel a crazy connection with me for absolutely no reason… I agree. From the first time I saw you, I felt… something. Your kindness, your hospitality, your sweetness, your humour… even your embarrassment. I just… felt there was something strong between us…".
"I did too. Really", he interrupted her, not to be rude, oh, no! How could he ever be rude to her? He just wanted, needed, craved her to know everything he was feeling inside; he squeezed her hand a little tighter, his eyes never leaving hers, and he caressed her hair with his free hand, savouring their softness with his fingertips, "I didn't want to open the door, you see… but the moment I saw you… the tables turned. I kept asking myself, who is that charming, beautiful stranger?, and so…".
"So you came out and started babbling in order to catch my eye?", she laughed, making him chuckle too. Yes, that sounded a lot like him. Even the little voice inside his head agreed on that.
"Yeah… I guess that's what I did", he conceded, "It's kind of my style".
Suddenly, her free hand started tracing back the length of his arm, caressing it slowly, until it cupped his cheek; her thumb slowly traced the contour of his lips, the sensation of being connected with her growing stronger every single time their skins touched. "Well, I like your style… Not as much as I like your big, blue eyes or your ash blonde curls, but it's not that bad…", she mocked him and, once again, she kissed him, slowly, passionately, Robert responding with a delicacy he had never known he had. Maybe it was all about Cora: maybe she was the only one who could bring out that side of him. A side of himself that, surprisingly enough, he didn't even despise.
When they finally parted, he knew exactly what he had to say: the overwhelming feeling of having her in his arms was enough to loosen his tongue and make him become the bravest of men; even the little voice, infinitely proud, decided it was time to leave: there was nothing more it could teach him. "Listen", he began, drawing lazy patterns on the small of her back, "I know we've just met and it's crazy… but… there is something between us. I don't know what it is, but I can feel it, you can feel it… it's… it's real and it goes beyond mere physical attraction", he paused for a second, to gain the strength to make his big request, "So… would you like to spend the rest of Christmas Eve with me, at my place?".
"Let me think…", she murmured, gently resting her head against his chest, making his pulse accelerate wildly, "Do you still offer me Star Wars and mulled wine?".
"Cora, there's no way you're getting more of that wine", he replied, causing her lips to curve in a smile against the fabric of his coat, a smile that shortly turned into a small, sweet laughter, "I can give you cocoa, though", he proposed.
She tilted her head to look at him and though the sky over them was filled with grey and white clouds, Robert was sure he could see all the constellation of the universe reflected in her eyes of blue. "So it's still going to be a pathetic and super nerd Christmas Eve, right?", she asked, caressing his cheek.
"Most definitely", he said, nodding, and, closing his eyes, he kissed her forehead, "Most definitely".
Yes, it was really going to be a pathetic and super nerd Christmas Eve, filled with snacks, hot chocolate and movies, but it was also going to be much more than just that: it was going to be a night filled with Cora, her warmth, her beautiful smile, her crystal laugh, her cleverness, her humour. Her, her and her only. And it felt so astoundingly good, that no foul weather, no impassable roads and no frost could make him lose heart.
It was going to be a pathetic and super nerd Christmas Eve, but it was going to be filled with something new. Could that be...
"Lead the way, Robert Crawley", she murmured against his ear, with an innocent, shy smile, cutting off his thoughts. Yes, it made no sense to think, now: all he had to was feel. Feel her, and be happy. Whatever that "something new" was… even because he was under the impression he was going to have a great deal of time to find that out. And that certainty made him even happier.
He smiled back politely, stroking the hair from her cheek, careless of the cold and, breaking the embrace reluctantly, their fingers intertwined, her small hand fitting exquisitely in his. "Very happy to do so, Cora Levinson".
And so, in that white ocean of ice and snow, they headed home, two hearts warm in the cold of the night.
Hello, everyone! I've been working pretty hard on this one-shot and, frankly, I wasn't even sure I was going to finish it. Anyway, I did and this is my very own way to wish you a merry, merry Christmas. I know it's a silly piece, but I hope you enjoyed it… it was mostly inspired by my insomnia, How I Met Your Mother and the beauty of this time of the year –that would be absolutely perfect, if I didn't have to study like crazy. But, anyway, a couple things:
1) Star Wars fans, don't hate me for making Cora and Robert hate Episode VII, I'm actually one of you! May the Force be with you, by the way;
2) please, do REVIEW!
Thank you for reading this, once again, merry Christmas,
Elisa xx