A Villain for Christmas (The Holyoake Christmas Series, Book 2)

Miming the Cues

She finally released a breath - and then shrank under Phee's amused stare.

"Oh, that's how it is then," Phee drew out.

"It's not what you think! I just admire him as an actor!"

"Uh-huh, and it's not about his dark locks, blue eyes, and his endless legs, innit?" Phee gave a cheeky wobble of her head.

Billie slammed the folder shut and got up. "You know I'm not interested in men, Phee. Just like Delia, I'm ace." She shoved the paperwork into a drawer, closed it sharply, and leaned against her desk. "I need to go to bed early today. I have to be at the Hall at nine."

"But who else is coming?" Phee asked.

Billie ignored her, already picking her toiletries and her bathrobe.

"Ugh, you're no fun, Sybs." Phee rose as well. "You're such a grinch! Good thing the gossip mill in Fleckney works so well! We'll know all the details in no time."

Unfortunately, Phee wasn't wrong.

***

Billie overslept. You'd think, surely not on a day like this, and yet–

She often did, there was no denying it. Poor time management and an overpowering grogginess in the morning were among many other flaws that she didn't share with her all-around-perfect relatives.

She had only one option now - to cheat. Unlike 99.9% of visitors to the Nidhogg Hall, the Harewickes didn't have to arrive at the Bjornsson manor through the main gate. Due to certain past circumstances of a scandalous nature, there was a narrow path that led through the woods, from the Harewickes' Crow's Vespers, by the Ekollon cottage, and ended at the back gate of the Fólkvangr garden, the hidden private part of the 3,000 acres of the Bjornssons' garden.

As Billie ploughed through the freshly fallen snow, her heart beat frantically, full of an emotion that could be best described as trepidation. Alternatively, she was just unaccustomed to this amount of cardio.

In a way, the vase incident had been a blessing in disguise: it distracted her from the fact that in just a few minutes she'd meet a whole crowd of new people, who would no doubt give her an even stronger sense of inferiority than the one that she experienced daily. On top of it, one of these 'demigods' would be none other than the best Henry Tilney of all times. She had managed to deceive Phee, since the latter had zero interest in literary men - and the affiliated media - but it wasn't "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!" that made Billie tremble in anticipation of meeting Billingsley. On the 'bright side,' her two main current worries - having hit a living, real-life person on the back of their head, and potentially being held accountable for the destruction of a valuable antiquity - overpowered any sort of jitters one would feel before meeting an even bigger star in the flesh.

She was forced to waste a few extra minutes, making a detour on the outside of the hedge wall of the Trojaborg Maze in the heart of the gardens. Going inside the labyrinth would be pretty much a suicide - at least a social one, because getting out of it without a map would take two hours, and that is, for a person with the normal sense of direction, which Billie didn't possess - and she was already mortifyingly close to being late.

Later she would blame the fact that she was staying on the side of the path on trying to avoid the gravel, which would be noisy and could alert an unlikely passerby of her unauthorised presence in the garden. She sharply turned a corner of yet another path - and slammed into a wide back of a person standing their hands in their pockets of their trousers.

"Oh my goo–" Billie started her apology - when a large hot palm pressed firmly over her mouth.

Billie's eyes boggled. 

Oh god, what was his name, in the name of all deities?! 

At least, she was relieved to know that he was well enough to stand - and to loom over her, his heterochromia eyes shockingly close to hers. 

But what's with... muffling her?

Also... oh. My. God.

His palm was calloused, and she sucked air in with her nose, panic quickly rising in her - when he jerked his hand away from her. He mouthed an obvious 'sorry' - and pointed at a tree to her left with his eyes.

Oh...

The bird was beautiful - rather large for a thrush - with its gorgeous greyish-brown upperparts, a long tail, and a plump white belly, with heavy, dark brown spots.

The man was staring at it, his eyes widened, his lips softly parted. Billie looked him over in confusion. That was surely an unexpected level of interest in an aviary for a modern man of his variety. Not that Billie's well-versed in male varieties. But still–

The man watched the bird, pecking at the berries on a green plant wrapped around a branch above them; while Billie watched the man. She had been right the previous night: he was massive! The top of Billie's head wouldn't reach his sternum, even though she wasn't a minuscule doll, like other redheads in the county. And what's with the overall lumberjack appearance?! Billie wouldn't know if that was something fashionable these days, but his thick dark beard and the mane of his dark curls, sort of wild and tussled, made her think of Edmond Dantès escaping the Château d'If. At least that's how she imagined one of her favourite male protagonists. Also, that would be Edmond in a 1950s adaptation, when the make-up made all actors' faces look like terracotta pots, and they all appeared way too put together for the scenes they played.

He turned her head and met her eyes. Billie wasn't prepared for the excited, boyish expression on his face. Also, he had just mouthed something - and she was distracted by his lips moving to understand what he was trying to say.

"What?" she whispered.

His lips moved again, and he seemed to say 'bird.'

Billie nodded, showing she understood. "Yes, it's a thrush," she whispered. "It's a mistletoe thrush."

He whipped his face and gawked at the tree. Clearly, the green balls of the plant were unfamiliar to him, since he faced her again, pointed at them, and his eyebrows jumped up.

Billie nodded again. "Yes, this is mistletoe," she whispered slash mouthed again. "You know, the Christmas plant. The one that people kiss under."

His eyebrows crawled even higher.

He seemed to try to articulate 'what?' and Billie tapped her finger to her mouth.

"Mistle-toe," she silently articulated each syllable separately...

...and he took a step forward, leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers.