It was going to be a magical, romantic day. I’d even bought slinky festive underwear to ensure it went with a big bang.
I’d been living with my boyfriend for almost a year and was wildly obsessed with him.
When he suggested we spend Christmas Day alone, just the two of us, and have lunch at a swanky restaurant, I almost popped with excitement.
Our tree was sparkling proudly, photos of us kissing were decorated with glitter and glued onto baubles. And of course, Christmas stockings of various varieties had been purchased ready to be enjoyed. It was to be the day of dazzling days, filled with love and lust in equal measure and, like a child before Christmas, I counted the sleeps and woke up with butterflies as it approached.
On Christmas Eve, we popped in to drop off gifts to friends and family with side-ways glances and cheeky glints in our eyes, and waved goodbye with giddy smiles. Little did I know that I’d never be able to look them in the eye and smile again.
I fell asleep in his arms and woke up still locked in a love bubble; clammy and slightly claustrophobic, but I peeled myself away gently so I didn’t break the spell. I was spoilt with gifts and a smoked salmon breakfast in bed before it rocked and made its own Christmas tunes. I remember laying, stretched out under the twinkling Christmas tree, a rare ray of British sunshine streaming through the window and in that moment I felt contentment.
I wore a slinky dress and killer heels, rare for me but for the day of dazzling days, they were as essential as mistletoe. I’d bought them especially and spent more than I should, but reasoned I’d be spending hours in them what with the horizontal dessert that they’d be required for too. And with that, we were off to one of the most expensive restaurants in London.