Chapter 7 - Christmas at Pinecrest
Christmas Eve arrived at Pinecrest Manor wrapped in a blanket of thick, white snow.
The grand manor, once dark and silent, was alive with warmth, light, and music. A twenty-foot balsam fir tree stood in the grand foyer, decorated with gold ribbons and handcrafted wooden ornaments that the children and Grace had painted together over the past week.
The entire house smelled of roasted chestnuts, spiced mulled wine, and Grace’s signature vanilla sugar cookies.
At six o'clock, the dining room table was set with fine china and sterling silver.
For the first time in three years, Vincent sat at the head of the table surrounded by all three of his children. Toby sat beside Grace, giggling as he sneaked small pieces of roasted turkey to Chief, the big golden retriever Vincent had adopted for the family two weeks prior. Mia was babbling happily about her new ice skates.
And then, as Grace was pouring fresh gravy into a silver boat, a soft voice spoke from the chair beside her.
“Pass the rolls, please, Grace.”
The room went dead silent.
Arthur froze near the sideboard. Mia stopped talking. Toby blinked.
Vincent looked up slowly, his eyes wide with profound shock.
It was Leo.
The nine-year-old boy who had not uttered a single word since the day his mother died three years ago was looking directly at Grace, his small hand pointing toward the basket of warm brioche.
Grace felt her throat tighten with intense emotion. She carefully picked up the basket, setting it down in front of him.
“Here you go, Leo,” Grace whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Leo picked up a warm roll, broke it in half, and looked up at his father.
“Grace made them,” Leo said clearly, a small, timid smile breaking across his young face. “They’re good, Dad.”
Vincent closed his eyes for a long second, his powerful chest rising and falling as he fought back the wall of emotion crashing over him. When he opened his eyes, a single, clear tear glided down his cheek before he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
He looked across the table at Grace.
In that single, shared look, everything was spoken without a word.
After dinner, when the children were upstairs in bed dreaming of Santa Claus, Grace stood by the tall glass doors in the parlor, watching the snow fall gently over the darkened pine garden.
She held a warm mug of hot cocoa in her hands.
Soft footsteps sounded behind her on the rug.
Vincent stepped up beside her, wearing a dark velvet smoking jacket over a white shirt. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box.
“This arrived from New York today,” Vincent said softly, his voice thick with deep emotion.
Grace looked down as he opened the box.
Inside rested a antique silver pendant, shaped like a delicate rose, with a brilliant blue sapphire resting at its center—the exact color of her eyes.
“Vincent...” Grace gasped softly. “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”
“It isn't enough,” Vincent murmured, stepping closer until his chest pressed gently against her shoulder. “You brought light back into this dark house, Grace. You healed my children. You brought my son back to me.”
He took the necklace from the box, stepping behind her to place the silver chain around her neck, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of her collarbone, sending a wave of warmth straight through her heart.
He turned her around gently, his large hands resting on her waist—the curve of her waist that Colin had once deemed unworthy, but which Vincent held as if it were the most precious treasure in the world.
“I love you, Grace,” Vincent whispered, looking deep into her blue-gray eyes. “Not just as the heart of this house. But as the woman who saved my soul.”
Grace looked up into his handsome, fierce face, tears of pure joy spilling over her cheeks.
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“I love you too, Vincent,” she whispered.
Vincent leaned down, sliding his hand up to cradle the back of her neck, and brought his lips down onto hers in a deep, passionate, protective kiss that sealed their future forever.
