A Christmas Of Snow And Secrets
1649 Words
CHAPTER ONE – A CHRISTMAS OF SNOW AND SECRETS
Barcelona had always been a city of color and warmth — golden sunlight, terracotta rooftops, and crowded plazas buzzing with life — but this Christmas Eve was different. Snow, delicate as lacework, drifted over the city in slow spirals, settling on balconies and narrow cobblestone streets like a soft, shimmering veil.
It felt as though the entire city had paused… holding its breath.
High on Passeig de Gràcia stood the Whitmore winter villa, a mansion of pale stone and arched windows that caught every flicker of candlelight from within. Evergreen garlands wrapped around the balconies, golden ribbons fluttering in the cold breeze. A towering Christmas tree, visible even from the street below, dominated the grand hall inside, decorated with crystal ornaments that glittered like frozen stars.
Jane Whitmore stood on the upstairs balcony, wrapped in a cream shawl that fluttered lightly over her satin evening gown. Her breath formed soft clouds, melting into the cold air as she gazed out at the snow-covered gardens below. Rows of olive trees, wrapped with strings of warm lights, swayed gently in the winter wind.
Her heart should have been steady. It should have been calm.
Tonight was supposed to be magical — the perfect night to announce her engagement.
But instead, her heart trembled with a mixture of excitement… and an unexplainable unease she didn’t want to name.
She instinctively touched the simple gold necklace around her neck, a gift Frederick had given her two months ago. “A promise of forever,” he had whispered.
She had believed him.
The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed behind her.
She didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Frederick Langston.
He stepped onto the balcony, dressed in a deep charcoal suit that contrasted sharply with the white snow behind him. His presence was commanding, even in silence. His dark hair was dusted with melted snowflakes, and his expression — gentle but unreadable — softened as he approached her.
“You’re shivering,” he said, draping a gloved hand lightly across her shoulder.
Jane smiled faintly. “I’m only thinking.”
“Thinking,” he echoed, lowering his voice, “or worrying?”
She hesitated.
“My family… they’re not easy to love,” she admitted. “They expect so much. They judge so easily.”
Frederick’s fingers tightened gently over her shoulder.
“And yet,” he murmured, “you love them.”
Jane lowered her gaze. It was true. No matter how strict, demanding, or proud her parents were, they were still her family. Her home. Her roots.
“I want them to love you,” she whispered.
Frederick’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes flickered — a brief coldness that vanished almost instantly.
“They will,” he promised. “In time.”
Jane wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe in him, in their future, in the Christmas magic the snow seemed to whisper around them.
He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on her face.
“You look beautiful tonight, Jane.”
She swallowed softly, warmth rising to her cheeks. “Do I?”
“You always do.”
There was sincerity in his tone — warm, soothing — yet something beneath it felt… controlled, almost calculated. Jane didn’t understand it, and part of her didn’t want to search for it.
He kissed the top of her head gently, and she closed her eyes, letting herself be held by the moment.
Below, servants hurried about, preparing for the evening’s private engagement announcement. Soft music drifted from the villa — violins tuning for the night, glasses clinking, voices murmuring.
Jane placed a hand over Frederick’s.
“Whatever happens,” she said softly, “I want us to face it together.”
Frederick smiled — soft, perfect, rehearsed.
“Of course, darling,” he said.
Yet behind those words lay something cold, unmoving, and utterly hidden.
A snowflake landed on Jane’s eyelashes. She blinked it away.
She didn’t see Frederick’s eyes harden, ever so slightly, as he looked toward the Whitmore estate — the very symbol of the family he had waited years to undermine.
Tonight was the beginning for Jane.
But for Frederick?
Tonight was the beginning of the end.
---
CHAPTER TWO – THE FIRST CRACKS IN THE MIRROR
Christmas morning arrived with a soft glow that filtered through the villa’s tall windows. The scent of cinnamon pastries, freshly baked bread, and spiced oranges drifted through the corridors. Servants hurried about in festive aprons, their footsteps echoing faintly on the marble floors.
Jane awoke early, drawn by the muffled sounds of laughter and holiday preparations downstairs. Wrapping herself in a white robe, she stepped onto the balcony outside her room.
Barcelona glistened.
Snow dusted the rooftops like powdered sugar, and church bells in the distance chimed softly, announcing the first mass of Christmas day. Jane hugged her robe tighter and breathed in the crisp air.
It felt like the perfect start… but the knot in her chest from last night hadn’t vanished.
She tried to shake it off.
A soft knock sounded from behind her.
“Jane?” Frederick’s voice.
She turned. He stood in her doorway, this time dressed in a navy winter coat, silk scarf neatly tucked at his neck. His hair was still damp from a morning walk.
“You’re awake early,” she said with a smile.
“I went out for a bit,” he replied, stepping in. “Had to clear my head.”
Jane blinked. “About last night?”
He smiled immediately, a smooth curve of reassurance.
“No. Just enjoying the snow.”
He walked toward her, brushing a strand of hair behind her shoulder.
“Are you ready for breakfast? Your family is waiting.”
“Are you ready?” Jane asked carefully. “My father is… intense.”
“Let him be,” Frederick said lightly. “He can’t intimidate me.”
Jane tried to laugh, but something in Frederick’s tone had sharpened, if only briefly.
---
The Christmas Breakfast
The Whitmore dining hall was a masterpiece — long polished table, red-gold table runners, poinsettias lining the center, and golden candlesticks flickering beside crystal plates.
Christmas music hummed lightly from another room, and sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, painting the walls in shades of ruby and emerald.
Jane’s parents, Eduardo and Victoria Whitmore, sat at the head of the table, dignified in posture and presence. Her older brother Lucas scrolled through his phone, and her younger sister Alicia pretended not to stare suspiciously at Frederick.
“Good morning,” Jane said, kissing her mother’s cheek.
“Merry Christmas, darling,” Victoria replied warmly… then her eyes shifted to Frederick — observing, measuring, judging.
Frederick pulled out Jane’s chair first before taking his own.
Eduardo cleared his throat.
“Well, Frederick,” he began, “our daughter tells us you’re planning to make her a Langston.”
Jane stiffened.
Frederick nodded politely. “With your blessing, sir.”
Victoria set her fork down.
“You do understand what marrying into this family requires?” she asked.
“Responsibility. Influence. Stability.”
“And loyalty,” Eduardo added.
Frederick smiled, unbothered.
“I understand perfectly.”
Jane watched him closely. He was confident — too confident. Almost as though he had rehearsed every response.
Alicia leaned toward Jane, whispering:
“He’s charming, but something about him feels… off.”
Jane nudged her lightly. “Alicia, not today.”
But the comment lingered.
---
The First Disagreement
After breakfast, while Jane helped serve hot chocolate in the parlor, Frederick stepped aside to speak privately with Eduardo near the fireplace.
Their voices were low, but the tone was unmistakably firm.
“You’re ambitious,” Eduardo said. “That’s not always a good thing.”
Frederick’s reply was calm.
“Ambition built your empire, sir.”
“And it destroyed many others,” Eduardo countered.
Jane froze mid-step.
Her father wasn’t usually this confrontational — especially on Christmas. Hearing tension in his voice made her heart twist.
Frederick didn’t falter.
“With time,” he said, “you’ll see I only want what’s best for Jane.”
Jane heard every word.
But she also heard something else — the subtle shift beneath his voice, like a rumble before a storm.
Eduardo looked unconvinced.
“You say the right things, Mr. Langston,” he said. “But words aren’t character.”
Frederick’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Character will reveal itself.”
Jane stepped forward quickly, trying to diffuse the tension.
“Father, Frederick—please. Not today.”
Both men turned toward her. Frederick softened immediately, placing a steadying hand on her back.
Eduardo exhaled heavily and walked away.
But the tension lingered in the air like frost.
---
Later That Evening
As the villa quieted and guests prepared for the night’s celebration, Jane stood alone in the garden, hugging her shawl.
The garden lights flickered. Snowflakes fell in slow spirals. Christmas carols drifted softly through the open terrace doors.
She felt Frederick approach — she could always tell by his footsteps.
“You disappeared,” he said gently.
“I just…” She took a shaky breath. “I’m worried, Frederick. My parents—”
“They’ll accept us,” he interrupted. “Soon enough.”
“But—”
“Jane,” he said, his voice firmer now, “trust me.”
She hesitated.
His eyes softened — warm, inviting, reassuring.
She wanted to trust him.
She wanted the perfect Christmas.
She wanted love to be simple.
She leaned into him, letting his coat brush against her cheek.
But as she did, the wind carried a faint whisper of her father’s warning:
“Words aren’t character.”
And on that quiet Christmas night…
Jane felt the first c***k form in the mirror of her perfect dream.
- Writer
