They arrived home to find Ophelia in the living room.

She was curled up in an armchair, a heavy book propped open on her lap. Her red hair spilled over her shoulders. The room smelled like her rose-and-vanilla perfume. Ben murmured something about checking on the kids, vanishing upstairs.

"How were the kids?" Louise asked.

Ophelia closed her book. "Angels."

She hung her scarf up. "Liar."

"Well, Vienna threw all of her toys in the toilet," Ophelia said. "And Hugh refused to go to bed until you both got home." She stretched her arms up, wincing slightly. "But we got there eventually."

"Where's Andrew?"

Ophelia nodded to the couch. Lord Andrew Hazelton-Scott was curled up around a bag of crisps, sound asleep. Red and blue marker streaked his face, and he had a princess sticker on his forehead.

Louise bit back a smile. "Is it wrong of me to take a picture?"

"Oh, don't worry," Ophelia said. "I already have." She popped the book in her bag. "How was it, then? Your date?"

Louise gave her a look. "It wasn't a date."

"So you didn't kiss him?"

"Of course not." Louise hung up her coat. "Honestly, Fi. It was just a dinner between..." The word friends sounded too intimate. "People."

Ophelia smiled. "Whatever you want to call it."

They woke Andrew and said their goodbyes. By the time Louise made it upstairs, Ben was sprawled out in bed, deep asleep in his green shirt and chinos. Louise smiled. She tiptoed into the bathroom, changing into pajamas and washing her face; Ben was still asleep when she returned.

Louise nudged him. "Langford?"

No response. She poked him again.

"Langford?"

"Louise?" His voice was rough with sleep. "Am I dreaming?"

"No." She switched on the lamp. "You fell asleep in your clothes."

He was also — more crucially — hogging most of the bed. Ben must have realized this, because he sat up, running a hand over his face.

"Oh." He blinked. "Shit. Sorry."

"It's okay," Louise said. "It's been a long week." Ben didn't move. She tugged on one foot. "Go on. Get up. You can't sleep in that."

He flopped back down. "Why not?"

"At least take off your shirt," Louise said. "You'll wrinkle it."

"I can't move."

Ben's voice was slurred. Almost petulant. He sounded like Vienna refusing to get out of the bath, and Louise pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Those cocktails at dinner must have been stronger than she'd realized.

She climbed onto the bed. Ben watched closely as she hovered over him, her fingers going to the button at his throat.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

The words came out slurred, more like what're y'doing? Louise popped open the button, moving down to the next.

"You're such a lightweight," she said. "Hold still."

His eyes were dark. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"If I was trying to seduce you," Louise said, "we wouldn't be wearing any clothes right now." Heat rose in her cheeks, and she focused on the last few buttons. "There." She pulled the shirt free. "Do you need help with your trousers?"

Ben's throat bobbed. "No."

"Okay." She leaned back. Assessed him. "You're not going to be sick, are you?"

"Please, Bentley," Ben slurred. "I know my limits."

Privately, Louise disagreed. She hovered nearby as Ben stood, hopping — rather ungracefully, to her amusement — out of his chinos. Her amusement vanished when he turned. His muscles were on full display again. Those tempting, stupid muscles.

"Right." Her mouth was dry. "To bed."

She switched off the lamp. Sheets rustled. Louise could feel her pulse racing, trying to outrun her self-restraint. Ben's breathing was ragged in the darkness.

She swallowed. "Langford?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you...?" Louise paused. "Never mind. It's stupid."

This whole idea was stupid. He shifted to face her, and she could feel his warmth radiating across the bedsheets. Ben held out a hand.

"C'mere," he murmured.

She did so.

He found her in the darkness, rubbing soothing circles just above her wrist. Sensation radiated outwards, cocooning her in warmth. Louise's eyes fluttered closed.

She slept.

Louise woke to warmth.

She blinked in the early morning light. Fuzzy thoughts crowded her brain, sliding like a projector that was going in and out of focus. The room smelled of pine cologne. Something was pressing against her back, and it took her a moment to realize that the hands in front of her weren't her own hands. They were large hands. Male hands.

It all came rushing back to her.

Drinking. Bar. Ben.

Ben.

Oh, god. She stiffened. They were... cuddling. Or whatever they were doing. She wasn't sure that cuddling was the right word for it; it sounded too innocent, considering that Ben was wearing boxer shorts and his mouth was pressed against her neck.

Slowly — ever so slowly — Louise began to extricate herself.

Maybe she could escape, Louise thought hopefully; maybe Ben never had to know how close they'd gotten to crossing a line. Yes. That would be ideal. She shifted his heavy arm, ducking under it—

Her phone rang.

The tinny sound cut through the room. Ben went rigid, shooting to a seated position. His eyes were clouded in confusion. Louise dove for the phone, flipping it over, and almost groaned. Her older brother was calling.

Brilliant.

"I should take this," she managed.

Louise shoved her feet into a pair of slippers and ran for the bathroom. She lowered herself onto the rim of the bathtub, punching the green button.

"Hello," Max said.

"Hi. Hello. Greetings."

She winced at the bright chirpiness of her voice. There was a blare of traffic on the other end of the call, and then Max spoke, his voice amused.

"Hi, hello, greetings," he said. "You alright?"

"Great," Louise said.

"You sound weird."

"Must be the connection," she lied. "What's up?"

There was a knock on the bathroom door. She knew it was Ben, even before he called out; nobody else knocked with so much purpose. Like he was trying to tear down the door with his knuckles alone.

"Bentley?" he called. "You're not getting sick in there, are you?"

"I'm good." She covered the speaker. "Just on the phone to Max."

Ben's footsteps retreated. Louise raised the phone to her ear once more; Max must have turned on to a quieter street, because the sounds of the city had faded. When her brother spoke, his voice was laced with suspicion.

"Was that Langford?" he asked.

"Yup." She popped the p.

"Why would you be getting sick?"

Louise wiggled her toes in her slippers. "We went out last night for drinks. We got a little carried away."

That was one way of phrasing it, anyway. She thought of Ben's chest pressed flush against her back a few moments ago, and heat rose to her cheeks. Jesus. How was she meant to look him in the eye over breakfast?

"I thought you hated him," Max said.

"I did."

Her brother's footsteps slapped against the pavement. "But not anymore?"

"It's... complicated."

"Louise." Max's voice was a warning. "Tell me you're not sleeping with him."

She switched her phone to the other ear. "Of course not." At least, not in the way that her brother meant. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Louise—"

"Look," Louise interrupted, "I need to go make the kids breakfast." This was true. It was also a great excuse. "Did you need something?"

"Ella and I are thinking of coming to London for Christmas."

All her irritation vanished. "You are?"

She could hear the smile in Max's voice. "We're looking into flights today."

"Stop." Giddiness filled her, swelling in her chest like a balloon. "Please don't get my hopes up unless you're definitely flying over."

"We're coming."

Louise did a little happy dance, which mostly consisted of waggling her hips and pumping her hand in the air. Embarrassing? Yes. Necessary? Also yes. Max and Ella were coming to London. She'd assumed their tour schedules would keep them busy until spring, but they were coming to visit soon.

She bit her lip. "Can you come before December 22nd? Hugh has a Christmas nativity play. He'd be so excited to have you there."

Hugh was reprising his role as the shepherd. Unfortunately, his costume had been left in the attic to fester, and when Louise unearthed it, she'd found it covered in black mould. So Hugh was now sporting a white Killers t-shirt and a crook they had fashioned out of some tree branches.

Still.

He'd be ecstatic to have his Uncle Max there. They all would be.

"Sure," Max said.

"Fab." Louise scanned the bathroom for a pen. "I can look into extra security. And disguises. And a back entrance to the school, so you don't have to—"

"Louise." Her brother's voice was filled with fond amusement. "It's a Christmas play, not a sting operation. Calm down."

She grinned. "I can't wait to see you."

"Same here."

They said their goodbyes, and then Louise hung up, pushing back into the bedroom. Ben had changed into jeans and a navy pullover. He was folding a pile of laundered clothes, a coffee steaming behind him.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

There was an awkward pause. Ben folded a toddler-sized shirt.

"I'm sorry about this morning," he said. "I didn't mean to.. uh..."

He glanced at the bed. Louise felt her cheeks warm, and she turned away, plugging her phone into the charger.

"It's okay," she said. "You were drunk."

"That's no excuse." Ben's voice had an edge. "You asked me not to touch you, and I did." He folded a pair of trousers. "I recall you threatening to run over my vinyl record collection if I ever put a hand on you. So you can. If you want."

Louise shrugged on a housecoat. "I don't think I said the whole collection."

He held her gaze. "Seriously, Bentley. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She moved to his side, folding a small dress. "That was Max. He and Ella are coming to visit over Christmas."

"Oh," Ben said. "That'll be nice."

"Yeah." Louise swallowed. "While they're here, I think it might be best if we... I mean, it might look strange. Our living arrangement."

She kept her eyes trained on a pair of Spiderman pajamas. It took Ben a moment to understand what she was getting at.

"Oh. Oh."

"Yeah," she said.

"That's fine." Ben picked up his coffee. "I can take the couch. Or we can rearrange the bedrooms."

"Thanks."

"Speaking of Christmas..." Ben turned for the dresser. "Here." He passed her a piece of folded paper. "Hugh gave me this, too."

She picked it up. "A letter?"

"Yeah."

"Why would he write to us?"

"Oh, it's not for us," Ben said. "It's for Santa." He took a sip of coffee. "He asked me to mail it this morning."

Louise's heart soared. Hugh hadn't asked them for anything since his parents' accident; not new shoes, or stationary, or even a hug. She would buy him everything on this list. All of it. Race cars, a Wii console, dolls — whatever he wanted.

"Go on." Ben nodded. "I haven't read it yet. What does it say?"

She scanned the lines.

Deer Santa,

I am sorree that I was nawty this yeer. Ples bring bak Mum and Dad and I will not be nawty agen. Thank you.

Love,

Hugh

Louise gripped the note. She leaned against the dresser, fighting back a wave of nausea. Ben touched her shoulder.

"What?" he asked. "What is it?"

Wordlessly, Louise passed him the note. Ben offered her the coffee cup, and she took a sip; the liquid was growing cold. Ben went rigid.

"Shit." He let out a breath. "I just... God."

"Yeah."

Louise took another sip of lukewarm coffee. The folded laundry stared at her mockingly, sorted into its neat little piles; she had the sudden urge to shake the bedsheets, toss it all up like a salad. Ben blew out a breath.

"What do we do?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

There was no manual for this sort of thing. No instruction guide for how to break a child's dreams. How did you explain to a six-year-old boy that his parents weren't coming back? How did you explain that the world wasn't a fairytale, and that people didn't always wake up if you just loved them enough?

"I want this to be a good Christmas," Louise said finally. "I know we can't replace Millie and James, but I want the kids to remember that there's magic in the world." She looked up at Ben. "You said your brother was a dreamer, right? That's what I want for them. I want them to dream."

Ben's green eyes were bright. He took the coffee from her hands, and for an odd moment, Louise thought that he might kiss her. But he merely interlaced their hands: large and small; calloused and smooth; Ben and Louise.

"Okay," he said. "Let's give them magic."