Remembering Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

Not that looking slightly ridiculous would deter Alex from buying and wearing an unflattering sweater or pair of skinny jeans. His utter self-confidence was endearing, to James at least, the reason he’d fallen in love with him.
    â€œCome on in, everyone is dying to catch up with you.”
    Even the most jaded New Yorkers paused when entering this room, taking a moment to admire the quality and grandeur of the furnishings. Leo had entrusted the lavish appointment of his and Alex’s home to the most sought-after professionals, experts in the decorative arts, scholars trained to appreciate the subtle nuances of Duncan Phyfe and English Regency cabinetmakers.
    â€œI want to show you something,” Alex said, in that sly, conspiratorial whisper James knew so well. Alex picked up his guest’s hand and squeezed, a secret handshake acknowledging he shared a bond with James more significant than with anyone else in the room other than Leo.
    â€œLeo had a fit about this, but I insisted. Look,” he said, leading him to the impressive Christmas tree.
    Sure enough, prominently displayed in a place of honor on the enormous long-needle pine was a cheap ornament, purchased in a Hallmark’s card shop by James for Alex on their first Christmas together. All these years later, James cringed at the sentiment, FOREVER, painted on the glass ball, a tacky eyesore among the exquisite British and German antique ornaments acquired by the decorators. And, regrettably, standing in front of the tree, feeling desperately alone though Alex was by his side, James began to cry.
    For all his faults and his many shortcomings, Alex always rose to the occasion in a crisis. He whisked James off to the kitchen without attracting attention and set him down among the busy caterers who were too protective of future lucrative engagements in the household to complain about the obstructions in their midst.
    â€œDrink this,” Alex said, handing him a shot of bourbon.
    â€œI’m sorry. I can’t believe I just did that.”
    â€œWhat the hell is going on with you?” Alex asked, the words far harsher than his comforting voice.
    â€œErnst. He has pancreatic cancer.”
    â€œWell, did you really think he was going to live forever? What is he? One hundred and six?”
    â€œDon’t be sarcastic.”
    â€œI’m not, James. For the life of me, I don’t understand why you still talk to that nasty old shit.”
    â€œI don’t know why I still talk to you! ” he snorted, blowing his nose.
    â€œBecause I am utterly irresistible, and you are still madly in love with me,” Alex teased, laying on the Blanche DuBois affectations for effect. “And, don’t forget darlin’, I love you too.”
    James laughed as he accepted the drink, no words needed to acknowledge that Alex had spoken the absolute truth.
    Short and round, cursed even in his leanest youth with budding love handles that had blossomed into the comfy body of a plush toy, Alex Bedrossian would have been described as husky or stocky by the many who were charmed by him and fat by the less charitable, one of them being Felix. He certainly cut a distinctive figure among the chiseled, carbohydrate-starved bodies of his social set. He kept his dark, wiry hair cropped close to his skull after it began thinning in his late thirties. His thick, expressive eyebrows complimented his feral black eyes. He was no beauty, not by a long shot, and some even considered him ugly. But he crackled with energy, burst with enthusiasm, and was gloriously unconstrained by the caution and tentative self-confidence that James wore like a hair shirt. James loved Alex—who, according to the latest Publishers Weekly, had just successfully brokered a record-breaking advance from William Morrow for his brandname-author client’s next two military espionage thrillers—for being everything he wasn’t.
    â€œI like your hair, James,”