A Branson Christmas

The little two-story house standing proudly in one of the quieter neighborhoods of Dublin was ringing out with laughter and cries of joy. Two over-excited children were happily bouncing in the sitting room as their father was finally placing the Christmas tree opposite to the fireplace.

"Daddy, when can we start decorating it?" asked eight-year-old Saoirse.

"When your mom has finished her cooking."

"And when will that be?" she persisted.

Tom sighed at the impatience of his daughter, letting a hand slide on his tired face. The week had been crazy at work, and he was exhausted. He had begun his new job as editor a few months ago but he was still struggling to find his steps.

"Look," he said finally at his expecting daughter, "why don't you go and sit a little bit with Michael to calm down? Read him a story and I'll go see when mama will be finished."

"Okay," answered the little girl not quite satisfied with her father's words. "Come on, Michael," she added, taking her little four-year-old brother by the hand.

She knew better than to annoy her father, especially so close to Christmas Eve. Tom smiled at their good behavior and then headed to the kitchen where Sybil had been busy cooking since the morning. As his mother had been sick lately, she was organizing the family Christmas dinner for the first time and wanted it to be perfect.

Tom stopped in the doorway and tenderly smiled at seeing his wife busy kneading some dough. He quietly entered the room and went to her. He slid his arms around her waist and placed his hands protectively on her slightly rounded belly, where their late addition to the family was slowly growing. Sybil jumped.

"You scared me!" she laughed.

"Sorry. The kids wanted to know when you'd be done. They're eager to decorate the tree now," he said softly kissing her neck, then the secret place behind her ear.

Sybil shivered then chuckled.

"Well, if you want me to be quick, you better stop distracting me."

"I don't know what you mean," he innocently answered, biting at her earlobe.

"Tom!"

"What?" he laughed.

"Just go away," she said, bumping her elbow in his belly to make him stop.

Tom sighed loudly then broke apart reluctantly. He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched her. She had flour in her hair and on her face, and he found her even more gorgeous than usual. He loved it when she was becoming all domestic.

"You've been at it since this morning," he moaned. "We'll only be ten this year. You don't need to cook a feast."

"I want it to be perfect," she said, hitting the ball of dough with her fist hard. "And I want to honor your family. Plus, I want you to be proud of me," she beamed at him.

"I'm always proud of you," he murmured, leaning to her to kiss her floured cheek.

Sybil raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Even the first time when your mother came and I burned the whole dinner? "

"Well, it wasn't THAT bad once the black coal had been removed."

Sybil rolled her eyes.

"I won't be long. I promise. Plus, it's your favorite so stop complaining."

"I'm not complaining and I love your cooking."

"Well, maybe a little bit too much," she chuckled, patting his belly with her hand.

Tom made an offended face before crossing his arms on his chest.

"I'm just showing you solidarity."

"Are you calling me fat now?"

"No, I think you're beautiful and you'll be even more so in a few months."

"All this flattery will get you nowhere," chuckled Sybil.

"Really? You're sure?" asked Tom, coming closer to her.

He then abruptly grasped her by the waist and turned her around to crush her against him. Sybil yelled and raised her hands over her head, not wanting to mess his shirt with her hands that were full of flour and dough, even if he was maybe deserving it right now. But how could she resist a passionate kiss from her husband?

Tom wasted no time and crushed his mouth against her, entering her mouth with his tongue, possessively. The kiss grew hotter and hotter; Sybil finally gave up her wish of not messing her husband's clothes. The desire to touch him was stronger.

After a while, Tom ended the kissed and smirked at her.

"So, Mrs. Branson…I'll just say that, despite what you said, it did get me somewhere…"

"You're so full of yourself!" said Sybil, patting his chest, not really mad at him. "But now, I'll let you explain to our children why you're covered with flour."

She stepped away from him and started again working on her dough. Tom looked at himself to see how messy his clothes were and then back at his wife, a Machiavellian smile on his lips.

"You are too."

"I have a good excuse. Not you. And I don't have flour on my back," she laughed.

"Well, maybe I need to change that."

He walked to her slowly, and Sybil's eyes went wide when she saw him reaching for the packet of flour on the counter. Understanding what he was about to do, she stepped back, holding her hands in front of her.

"Tom, you need to set the example for the kids. Don't play with food!"

"The kids are busy," he answered, plunging his hand in the packet.

"If you do what I think you're about to do, I swear that you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

"Don't care," he said, marching to her with a devil smile.

He then threw a handful of flour at her that hit her face. Sybil gasped then glared at his laughing face. Taking advantage of his inattention, she took the packet back from his hands and threw some flour at him. That was what started the flour war that followed, the couple chasing after one another, making a mess in the kitchen but not bothered about it and laughing like kids.

Tom trapped Sybil against the table, hovering above her with a big handful of flour, but careful not to crush her little bump.

"Are you surrendering, Love?"

"No way," laughed Sybil liking, maybe too much, the feel of the weight of her husband on her.

"Then…"

He let go of the flour in his hand and it landed on her throat. He took advantage of her trying to wipe it from her to catch her hands and lift them above her head. She was now almost lying on the table, Tom on her, their breaths jerky, looking intensely at one another, waiting for the next move.

"I want you," Tom finally said against her lips, gridding against her.

"I want you too but we can't here," breathed back Sybil. "The kids…"

She was interrupted by a knock at the main door. They both turned their heads to the kitchen door, half expecting the kids to walk in on them like this but neither of them moving an inch.

"I've got it!" called Saoirse's voice through the house.

They heard running steps on the floor and Sybil turned back to face her husband.

"We shouldn't let her open the door all by herself."

"I know," he answered, looking in her eyes. "It's probably my mam. She said she would come to help set up the tree."

"Then we better get up."

"No!" said Tom forcefully, earning him a surprised look from his wife.

"Tom! We can't let your mother see us like this!"

"I'll be quick."

He then kissed her passionately, letting his whole body caress hers, losing himself in her warmth and tenderness. They shut down the outside world for a short moment, forgetting about the knock at the door or the kids in the other room. They were alone in their own world. His hands were sliding under her skirt when someone cleared his throat from the kitchen door and they both abruptly stopped what they were doing, turning their heads at the same time to the annoying sound.

Sybil's eyes went wide and Tom's cheeks went red as they looked at none other than the Count and Countess of Grantham, looking back at them, mortified. The silence was thick, but quickly interrupted by the giggling of two kids, rather happy to see their parents seeming to be in trouble.

"I think that mommy and daddy have been naughty," she said to Michael. "Look at the mess! You know, Santa won't probably get you anything this year," she added.

She then took her little brother by the hand and turned back to leave the adults to themselves.

Sybil and Tom hadn't moved yet and it was another clearing of the throat from her father that put Sybil in action. She pushed her husband away and tried to smooth her clothes as naturally as she could while Tom was tucking his shirt back in his pants.

"Mama! Papa! What are you doing here? This is a surprise!" she exclaimed, going to them.

She hugged her mother, then her father.

"We wanted to surprise you," murmured her mother, not sure how to react at what they just witnessed.

"We thought we could spend Christmas with you if you don't mind," said her father, reluctantly shaking hands with a still disheveled Tom. "Edith and Mary were invited to their in-laws and we thought we could come over to visit you and see, at last, your new home."

"You're welcome, of course!" exclaimed Sybil. "I'm cooking this year as I was telling you, Mama, in my last letter. Tom's mother had some health issues lately and I decided to take over."

"I hope it's not too serious, Tom?" asked the countess.

"She's getting over a bad angina. Thankfully, she had a great nurse to take care of her and she's doing better and better every day. She should stop by in the afternoon," he answered while smiling tenderly at Sybil.

"Well, you're obviously busy. We don't want to impose," said Robert. "We're staying at the Gresham Hotel. We can come back later."

"You can stay, we don't mind! It's a wonderful surprise and the kids would be happy for you to stay for tea and dinner. Isn't that right, darling?" she asked, turning to Tom.

"Of course. "

"I was just finishing cooking…or at least, trying to finish," she added glaring, with a half smile, at Tom.

"Why don't you go upstairs and change, Love?" said Tom. "I'm sure Saoirse can entertain your parents while you're doing so. I'll take care of the cleaning here and then make some tea. You can give your parents a tour in the meantime."

"That's a lovely idea, and thank you," answered Sybil, pecking her husband's lips before smiling to her parents. "Shall we?"

She gestured to the door and her parents followed her, eager to forget what they saw and to catch up with their grandchildren. Once they were gone, Tom closed the door behind them and leaned against it. He closed his eyes and sighed loudly.

"Great," he breathed, "just what I needed to be on the good side of my father-in-law…"

Christmas Eve

The dinner had been a success. Sybil had earned a lot of congratulations from her family-in-law but also, more surprisingly, from her parents. Her mother even told her she would let Mrs. Patmore know how good her cooking was and that was something that filled Sybil with pride. It also had been the second encounter between Tom's mother and her parents and things had been great. They talked together, especially Mrs. Branson and her mother. The Countess was rather eager to learn more about the daily life of her daughter, suspecting that Sybil embellished things in her letters. But she was surprised to learn, through Mrs. Branson's words, that it wasn't the case. Her daughter was really enjoying her new way of living.

They were now all gathered in the sitting room where the decorated tree was waiting for Santa.

Tom's brother, Kieran, reached for his violin and the kids squealed with excitement. It was already late but they were still full of energy, excited to have their English grandparents at their home for the first time. The first notes sang and all conversations stopped to listen to the joyful music. The kids were clapping and bouncing all over the place under the smiles of the grownups. The mood was festive and Tom, seated near Sybil on the couch reached for her hand to squeeze it. He was so happy he thought his heart could explode from happiness and love. She squeezed back and smiled at him, trying hard to contain the tears she felt forming in her eyes. She was so happy, too. Having her parents here in Ireland, in her new home, witnessing how Tom and she had successfully found their place in their professional lives and in their marriage. She was so proud of.

Her daughter, who was insisting to dance with her father, pulled her out of her thoughts .Tom let go of her hand and kissed her cheek before following Saoirse to the middle of the room. She got up on his feet and they started to turn and laugh, Michael bouncing around them, asking for a round on his father's feet too. Sybil smiled tenderly at them and, sensing her mother's eyes on her, turned to her. Cora was watching her, tears in her eyes.

"You're really happy, aren't you?" she said softly.

Sybil beamed at her.

"Yes. Tom is a wonderful husband, a loving father and I have a great job. This is the life I always wanted and he gave it to me."

"I'm happy for you," answered Cora, reaching for her daughter's hand, "and I'm sorry we didn't understand it sooner."

"You know, when Tom proposed to me, he promised me to devote every minute of his waking life to my happiness. And he did and does just that. We have our bad days of course. But there isn't another place where I would want to be. He's my home. "

"Then you should go and dance with him."

Saoirse, who left her place on her father's feet to her little brother, jumped on her grandfather's lap who was seated next to his wife and daughter, and was listening to their conversation silently.

"I'm feeling a bit tired," answered Sybil. "This music is too quick for me tonight, I'm afraid."

"Mama can't dance too fast because of the baby," stated Saoirse as innocently as a kid can be.

"Saoirse!" exclaimed Sybil, frowning at her.

The little girl, realizing what she just said, put her hands on her mouth and looked down.

"Sorry, mommy. I know it was supposed to be a secret…"

"You're pregnant again?" asked Cora.

Sybil nodded.

"I am. I'm due in May."

She smiled at her parents then reached for her daughter. She hugged her and kissed her head.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"I'm sorry I let the secret out."

"It's not a big deal, Sweetie. I should have told them anyway."

The truth was that they had a disappointment the year before when Sybil had a miscarriage in her third month and, this time, they wanted to be sure that everything was okay before officially announcing it. They told the kids just a few days ago.

"Then congratulations," said Cora.

Sybil was about to answer but her husband, bending over her and reaching out for her hand, interrupted her.

"Milady, would you please accept this dance with me?"

"Tom, you know I can't dance to this music."

"I asked Kieran to play something slower. Come now, Love," he said, winking at her.

Sybil gave him her hand and followed him to the center of the room. There, under the loving stares of their family, they started to turn slowly on the floor of their sitting room, tightly hugging each other, lost again in each other's eyes.

On the couch, Cora felt her husband's hand slip in hers. She turned to him and smiled when she saw the tears in his eyes. He looked at her and leaned to kiss her lightly on her cheek.

"I feel like a fool for having been blind for so long with these two," he said softly. "Our little girl is truly happy."

"Yes, she is," answered Cora, squeezing his hand.

They then turned back to the couple that now had their arms filled with their kids wanting to share the dance with their parents. The four of them were laughing and Cora smiled.

Her daughter was right. She couldn't imagine her anywhere else.

The end