There are plenty of places in the world where Christmas is almost guaranteed to be white. Western Europe isn't one of them, though. And for the myth of a white Christmas, we have Charles Dickens to blame. Dickens' Christmases are invariably white, while the truth of the matter is that in those countries surrounding the North Sea, chances are that Christmas is like any other winter day: cold, wet, windy, and above all, grey.
So as Albert was driving to his grandparents' house on Christmas Eve --alone, as always-- the heating couldn't quite keep out the disconsolateness of the weather outside. Was it the season to be happy? Certainly not for the large German car that cut in front of him, forcing him to brake and swerve, lest he would start his Christmas holiday with a collision and possibly worse. He considered honking his horn and making an obscene gesture, but the other car had already crossed another lane and was speeding up the exit ramp.
He sighed, as he knew what lay before him. There would be his aunts and uncles, and his idiotic cousins and their equally or possibly even more idiotic partners.
There was Lucas, for example. He'd always been a bully, and lived together with a slut that went by the name of Sharon. He never quite understood why they still were together, because whatever there was in their relationship, love didn't exactly top the list.
Lucas' younger brother, Martin, invariably turned up with a different bimbo every time, whose chest size in centimetres was considerably larger than her IQ. Not that it mattered much: Albert figured that Martin's own IQ did manage double figures, but only with some effort.
Wilma, the product of different uncle/aunt pair, was perpetually 'in between jobs'. She hadn't actually worked a day in her life; instead, she spent her time complaining about foreigners, immigrants and other such miscreants that took our jobs and lived off the state. Thankfully, she was an only child.
Véronique had a nice name, but there the list of positive attributes more or less ended. She was heavily into new age and spiritualism, and would talk incessantly about 'energising' everyday objects and auras and such. Albert had found out that talking to her for more than five minutes had the exact opposite effect of energising.
Her younger brother, François, had a gift for anything electronic. From a simple radio to the latest large screen TV, he could fix anything. This gift didn't quite compensate for his inability when it came to personal hygiene. Presumably he knew what soap and water were, and perhaps even that they could be combined, but that was about the extent of it. Albert always made sure to be downwind from him, or if they were indoors, as far away as possible, preferably in a different part of the house.
And finally Hélène --their parents had a thing for French names-- who was in her mid-teens and therefore a demon from hell. She always got in a fit when people called her 'Helen', which was most of the time. With her being just over half his age, Albert had never paid much heed to her.
Véronique and François predictably didn't have partners; Hélène was far too young to bring any boyfriend, if she had one, to a family event. Which probably meant a bit of relief for the poor boyfriend in question.
Of course, there would be his parents, and his younger sister, Charlotte. He hadn't seen them in what must be a couple of months now. He'd call his parents a few times a month, and there was the occasional video call, but the job kept him occupied, as did his social circle. His sister... he couldn't even remember the last time he'd spoken to her.
There had been another sister, Bernadette. Their parents had liked the alphabetical theme. But when Charlotte was less than a year old, and their mother was busy with the baby, Bernadette had momentarily escaped her mother's attention. It was only a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Bernadette spotted a puppy across the road and ran to play with it.
Their parents had never recovered. They had become enormously protective of their remaining two children, and especially Charlotte was doted upon. They rarely left the house after that, except for school, and as a result, Albert and Charlotte had been very close as children, out of sheer necessity. This went on until Albert finished his studies, got a job, and escaped the virtual prison that their family home had become.
Albert remembered the older of his two sisters only vaguely. Mostly, he felt resentment towards her. This wasn't fair, he knew that, but it also wasn't fair that his childhood had not been as happy and carefree as it should have been. His relationship with his parents was cordial, but little more than that.
He was about ten minutes away from the big house where his grandparents lived. It would be the same as last year: how was he doing, how was the job going, how come he didn't bring a nice girl with him, wasn't it about time he settled down and started a family, wouldn't it be nice if they could be great-grandparents...
Albert heaved a melodramatic sigh, even though there was nobody with him to hear it. It was a bit like the falling tree in the forest. If he heaved a sigh and nobody was there to hear it, did he actually make a sound? But he was there to hear it. According to quantum mechanics, the very act of listening to him sigh changed the act of sighing, and it didn't actually make a sound until he heard it. Or something of the sort. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he nearly missed his exit. At the last moment, he swerved onto the ramp, soliciting an angry honk from the car behind him. Albert raised his hand in a conciliatory gesture, although it would be hardly visible through the small, tinted rear window.
His grandparents lived in a large, detached house a bit outside the village. What with having four children, they needed the space. Now in their seventies, the house was far too large for them, but whether out of nostalgia or sheer pig-headedness, they had been reluctant to move to a smaller domicile.
Judging by the assortment of run-down and cheap cars, most, if not all, of his cousins and their parents had already arrived. His father was the oldest of the children, and had done well for himself, but from there on it was a bit of a downward slope. It would be cruel to call his assortment of cousins 'good for nothing', but it wouldn't be very far from the truth either. He parked his car a safe distance away. His cousins thought of 'don't drink and drive' as a recommendation rather than the law, and he didn't want a dent in his car if one of them drunkenly reversed into him.
His grandparents' house was decorated modestly, even by European standards. If it were up to his grandfather, the house would decked out with coloured lights, inflatable snowmen, singing Santas and reindeer with flashing red noses. Grandmother, however, was very firm in this, so there was merely a wreath on the door, and a lit up star in one of the windows.
He rang the doorbell. After a few moments, he heard the unmistakable firm step of his grandfather. The old man's face lit up when he saw his grandson. 'Alberto! Come va? Entra, entra!' He gave him a friendly pat on the back, which nearly knocked Albert off his feet. Grandfather had been retired for quite a while, but he was still a strong man.
Grandfather was Gaetano del Vecchio, from a village some distance from Bari in Apulia, or Puglia as the Italians call it. It's the 'heel' of Italy. He spoke the language of his adoptive country fluently --although Albert suspected that he exaggerated his Italian accent on purpose-- but he liked to speak the language of the old country. And the Italian language, it has to be said, is as beautiful as everything else in that country.
He had gone to the dreary north to work as a miner, as happened in the 1960s. It was not entirely clear why a young man from a region that had virtually no mining activity would travel the length of the continent to work as a miner. Albert had a suspicion that there were some issues with the 'Ndrangheta, the Calabrian crime organisation, but grandfather was always evasive on the issue, so Albert let it rest.
When Gaetano had been working for a few years, he met a local girl. He immediately fell for her long legs and blonde hair; she found his handsomeness and Mediterranean mannerisms irresistible. One thing led to another, they got married, and five months later Mario, Albert's father, was born. And whilst the wedding had more or less been forced upon his grandparents, it was obvious that they were still very much in love.
So that made his father 50% Italian. His mother, however, was the full 100%. Somewhere in the 1980s, his grandfather had taken all of them in their small Fiat for a family visit, on the gruelling drive across Europe and Italy. After all, northern Italy is closer to Western Europe than is the very south of the Italian peninsula. Mario del Vecchio had been in his late teens, and he had met a local girl. One thing would have led to another, had there not been the constant vigilant watch of a coterie of chaperones. But again, it had been a case of love on first sight. There had been letters; international phone calls were prohibitively expensive at the time. After many letters, there had been a marriage proposal. After the proposal, there had been much wrangling, wailing and drama by her family, but the young lovers persevered. There was a big and lavish wedding in the village, Antonella Proscia became Antonella del Vecchio, and followed her new husband up north.
As a result, Albert was 75% Italian. He was fluent in the language, and had a southern accent to it. His dark good looks ensured a steady supply of interested young women. His Italian ancestry, and the fact that he was one of the very few grandchildren that had made a success of himself, made him his grandfather's second-favourite grandchild.
Second-favourite, because there was no way that he could even hope to compete with La Principessa, the Princess. The adoration his grandfather felt for his sister Charlotte was only topped by his veneration of the Virgin Mary, and it was a close call between the two.
His grandfather ushered him into the house and seemed to make a glass of red wine appear out of nowhere. 'Lizzano,' he said, 'from the old country. It's magnificent.'
'The old country' meant Apulia. Gaetano del Vecchio would not stoop so low as to get a wine from further up north, like Lazio or, God forbid, Piedmont. Piedmont was practically France, and according to Gaetano del Vecchio, the French knew nothing about winemaking. Albert had long ago decided not to argue the point.
Albert took a look at the carnage that was his collection of cousins. Lucas and his partner Sharon looked bored. Martin had a girl with him that went by the name of Bambi and who was wearing an outfit that would have been inappropriate for any occasion, except perhaps for a porn shoot. Wilma was complaining about something to her mother. Véronique was de-energising her youngest uncle and François sat alone, engrossed by his younger sister's smartphone, which she was playing with without even a sideways glance at her family. Kinds these days. 'Hi Helen,' Albert said, just to rile her a bit. Hélène shot him a poisonous glance, but continued to ignore the world around her.
By the looks of it, his parents and his sister hadn't arrived yet. As far as he knew, Charlotte still lived at home with them, even though she would be 20 years old by now. While he was ambivalent about seeing his parents --too much had happened for their relationship ever to return to normal-- he was, indeed, looking forward to see his sister, who was five years his junior.
Not too long after that, the doorbell rang again. He heard the voice of his grandfather. 'Carlotta! Mia bellissima principessa!' Ah... that would be his sister and, obviously, their parents.
His father walked him, spotted Albert, and shook his hand.
'Son.'
'Dad.'
His mother hugged him tightly, but let go when she felt his stiffness, tracing a mournful hand over his chest as she released him. Finally, accompanied by a big smile from grandfather, Charlotte del Vecchio entered the room.
When Albert had left the house, his sister had been in her teens. She was a young woman now. And although Albert had seen her occasionally over the years, it still amazed him how the little girl, to whom he had read bedtime stories, had blossomed in such a fine specimen.
Charlotte looked very Mediterranean. Long, dark brown hair fell in waves past an angelic face. Her eyes, the brown of caffé latte, were almond-shaped. Her delicate nose and ears gave her an almost doll-like appearance.
Her body was no different. She wasn't fat or even full-figured; she was just very curvaceous. Her breasts were a bit larger than average. What she inherited from her grandmother, though, were her long legs. All in all, if Albert had to compare her to a famous person, it would be Sabrina Salerno.
Sabrina Salerno had started her career by winning a beauty contest, continued with modelling, and then started a singing career. Her biggest hit was 'Boys boys boys', mostly because of the video. It featured Sabrina jumping around in a pool, wearing a white bikini that was at least two sizes too small to hold her very generous bosom. It had been an instant hit.
Sabrina Salerno in her forties still looked better than most other women do in their twenties. But where Sabrina was a bit of a slut --actually, quite a bit of a slut-- his sister was, well, his sister. Whenever he saw her, he would see the little girl clutching her teddy bear.
Charlotte spotted Albert from across the room. 'Bertie!' she yelled, and leapt forward in a few great bounds. She threw her arms around him and hugged him so tightly that he was momentarily out of breath.
'Easy, sis,' he said when he could breathe again. 'I'm still here.'
'Oh Bertie, I haven't seen you for so long! Why don't you come and see me more often?'
'You know why, Lotte. It's not you, it's just... there are too many memories when I come back to that house.'
Finally, she released her tight grip, without actually letting go of him. Her hands were on his shoulders as she looked into his eyes.
'Yes, I know,' she said. 'But that doesn't make it any easier. I miss you, you know.'
She gave him a little smile. 'But,' she said, 'because you didn't bother talking to your darling sister, you don't know that I have a place of my own now.'
Albert's eyes went wide. 'Really?' he asked. 'You moved out? How did Mum and Dad take it?'
She cast her eyes down momentarily, before looking at him again. 'As well as could be expected. Which is, not very well. But I'm 20 now, they can't lead my life for me. Not any longer.
'And anyway, it's not even that far from where they live. I can't afford a car, so I'm still quite dependent on them.' She looked a bit sad as she said that, averting her eyes from her brother's.
But then she fixed her gaze upon his, and spoke firmly. 'But I'm working on that. I have a job, and I'm saving. Next year when we come here, I won't be coming with Mum and Dad.'
'That's brilliant, sis,' said Albert. 'I'm really happy for you.' He gave her a hug and kissed her on the cheek.
'Yeah,' she said. 'I doubt that you know what it was, being alone with them in that house. Those were really the toughest three years of my life. Before, I had you. But when you left, I had to deal with them on my own.'
'I can imagine,' said Albert, his tone betraying part regret, and part guilt.
'Don't take this the wrong way, Bertie, but no, you don't. It got worse.'
It was perhaps a good thing that the light in their grandparents' dining room was mostly ambient, so that the mist in her eyes didn't show so much.
'Let's go to the salotto,' said Albert.
The 'salotto' was the formal sitting room. In English, it would probably be called a drawing room. This was the room with the expensive furniture, and certain classes of people --not the Del Vecchio family-- would cover the furniture in plastic. Gaetano has insisted on having one of these in the house, but nowadays it hardly got any use. The family life took place in the kitchen, or if there were many guests, in the dining room. So it was the ideal escape if one needed a bit of privacy.
Inside the tastefully decorated room --needless to say, with furniture designed and manufactured in Italy-- there was the traditional table with family photographs. Albert's and Charlotte's photos were considerably larger and in a more prominent position than those of the other grandchildren. The Del Vecchios were honest people, and made no secret about who were their favourites. In between Albert's and Charlotte's photographs sat a smaller frame, with a black ribbon partially obscuring the image of a cute girl of about three years old.
The siblings sat down on the sofa together. They sipped their wine, as Albert gave his sister a bit of time to recover. Not knowing what else to talk about, he decided --foolishly-- to talk about relationships.
'So,' he asked, 'are you seeing anybody?'
She looked at him sideways. 'Me? No.'
'Hey, a pretty girl like you could get any guy she likes.'
'You'd be surprised,' she replied.
He tried some light-hearted humour. 'Come on, Lotte, I find that hard to believe. Or are you, um, more interested in girls?'
Her eyes went aflame. 'No. Are you?'
Ouch. Never cross verbal swords with a woman, especially if she's of Italian heritage.
'OK, sis, sorry about that. That was out of line. But I still think that with your looks... I mean, you look amazing.'
'You think so?' she asked, while holding the wine glass in front of her mouth. It made her face more difficult to read.
'Yes, well, of course. I mean, you're my sister and all that, but from a purely esthetical point of view, you're pretty much in a league of your own.'
She lowered her eyes, perhaps to hide the expression in them. 'Yeah, I know. It's what everybody has been telling me, and men try, but...' Her voice trailed off.
'But you haven't found Mr Right, is that it?'
She paused for a few long seconds. Her intense gaze made Albert somewhat uncomfortable.
'Let's just say I haven't found Mr Appropriate yet.'
'That's... a very strange thing that you just said,' Albert replied. 'Do you mean that... that you've met the right guy, but he's not appropriate? That doesn't make any sense.'
'Forget I said that, OK? I shouldn't have said it anyway.' She leaned back, and her body language indicated that this conversation topic was closed.
Thankfully, their grandfather peaked into the room at that moment. 'Ah, here you are! I was looking for you! Come, come, dinner has been served!'
The siblings went into the dining room, where they found their seats at the large table. Their grandmother has thoughtfully given them adjacent seats, close to her and Gaetano, and as far as possible from the more obnoxious of their cousins -- although that distinction was a hard one to make.
Albert helped his sister with her chair. 'Look,' he said when both of them were seated, 'I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that, after three years, you are very different from what I remember.'
'No longer a little girl?' She gave him a teasing look from under her long lashes.
'Yeah,' he chuckled, 'I suppose so. It's just that I can still picture you in a little summer dress and ribbons in your hair.'
'Oh,' she replied, 'I still wear little summer dresses.'
He gave her a look. 'I bet you do,' he finally said.
'And I could wear ribbons in my hair, if that makes you happy.'
Her brother could only smile at the image. 'Maybe not the time of year for that.'
'It's warm inside,' she countered.
'What you're wearing is just fine, sis,' he said. In fact, it was actually a rather sophisticated outfit, considering her limited budget. She wore a black chiffon top with a petrol-coloured short jacket, and a black pleated skirt over black tights. Maroon pumps were the perfect complementary colour to the jacket. The black of the top contrasted with the paleness of her skin --another trait she inherited from her paternal grandmother-- of her face and her cleavage. Albert couldn't help but notice that quite a bit of that cleavage was showing; not that his sister had to try very hard for that.
His grandfather, who had downed quite a few glasses of wine by then, turned his attention to them. 'Alberto,' he called out. 'How come a nice boy like you hasn't found himself a good wife, eh?'
Oh dear. This was the moment that he'd been dreading. Charlotte had a 'hey, don't look at me' expression on her face.
'Don't embarrass the boy,' his grandmother said.
'Hey, it's a reasonable question,' said Gaetano. 'I'm an old man, I'd love to be a great-grandfather. Alberto's my best hope.' He gave a scornful look to his other grandchildren. 'And God willing, my only hope,' she spoke under his breath, just loud enough for Albert and Charlotte to hear it.
'He, and the principessa of course!' he added.
'Grandfather! I'm only 20!' Charlotte protested.
'Ah, when I was your age, your father had already been born,' the old man mused. 'Things were different back then.'
He continued with Albert. 'So no nice girl at all? They must be lining up to be with such a good-looking Italian like you.'
That was not entirely untrue. In fact, it was rather accurate. But Albert had never found that one spark, the spark that told him that this was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
'I'm still looking, grandfather,' he said. 'I'm not in a hurry.'
'That's easy for you to say,' his grandfather muttered. 'You still have your entire life ahead of you.'
Presently, dinner was served, and the siblings spoke about nothing much in particular between bites.
Towards the end of the meal, Charlotte's phone chimed. She took it out of her evening bag, looked at the message, produced a huge grin, and mouthed something to the ceiling. To Albert, it seemed like it was 'thank you, God'.
Then, his own phone chimed as well. It was the specific sound for a weather warning. He fished the phone out of his pocket and saw the message.
'It says it's going to snow,' he said. 'Like, pretty soon.'
'Yes, that's what mine said, too,' replied his sister.
'I'd better be on my way then,' he said. 'It's a long drive for me.'
'No!'
The rest of the table looked at Charlotte; she had actually shouted it.
'You'll never get home before the snow, and then what?' she told him. 'You'll get stuck and who knows what will happen then. Do you want to spend Christmas night in your car freezing to death? I'm not letting you and that's it. Full stop.'
'But then what am I going to do? I don't want to bother Nonno and Nonna; they're old people. And I'm most definitely not staying with Mum and Dad.'
'You could stay with me,' his sister suggested. 'It's only like a 20 minute drive from here. We can unwrap the presents, help them clear up, and be at my place before it starts snowing.'
Albert considered it for a few moments. 'I suppose I could... You're probably right. OK, why not? Looks like I get to see your new place.'
Charlotte beamed at that. 'Wonderful!' she said. 'Don't worry, there's enough food and drink and anything else we might need.'
Her brother chuckled at that. 'Well, didn't you think of everything?'
'Pretty much, yeah,' she smiled.
After dinner, it was time to unwrap the presents. Their grandparents had presents for all children and grandchildren, as did parents, children and siblings for one another. Between uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces and cousins, they had the understanding that they wouldn't give each other presents, because that would cost everybody a small fortune, not to mention that it would mean an enormous amount of presents that would take ages to unwrap.
Charlotte opened the present that her brother had given her. It was a gold pendant with a long-stemmed rose ornament. 'Oh, it's beautiful!' she cried, and kissed Albert on the cheek, perhaps a bit closer to his mouth than was really appropriate.
She, in turn, had given him a pencil drawing in a frame, showing both Albert and her. It was drawn after a photo that he knew, when he had celebrated his 20th birthday and Charlotte was 15. It was actually quite well done. It captured the expression in their faces accurately.
'This is really nice,' he told her. 'Did you find an artist to do it for you?'
'I drew it myself. You like it?'
'Really? Lotte, this is really good. You're talented.'
'Thanks,' she said. 'I, um, didn't really have to money to get you something expensive. So I got you something personal instead.'
'Sis, this is one of the best Christmas presents I've ever got. I really appreciate it.' And he kissed her cheek in turn. She was wearing a nice fragrance.
After they helped their grandparents clear up, it was time to leave. They said their goodbyes to everybody, and went outside in the cold. The first snowflakes were already gently falling down.
As they arrived at Albert's car, Charlotte hollered. 'Whoo, brother, well done! I bet that all the girls love it. I do, for sure.'
'Hey, it gets me from A to B,' Albert said defensively.
'So does the bus. And the bus isn't red, has more than two seats, and doesn't have massive wheels.'
'Of course a bus has big wheels, what are you saying?'
'Big alloys? On a bus? What size are these anyway?' asked Charlotte.
'19 inch. And it does have a back seat, you know.'
'Which barely fits a cat. Admit it, Bertie, you bought yourself a chick magnet.'
'If you say so,' Albert muttered. 'Fat lot of good this thing does in this kind of weather.'
His sister was waiting next to the car, looking expectantly.
'Aren't you going to open the door for me?'
Albert raised his hands in exasperation. 'Fine, give me a moment,' as he opened the passenger door for his sister.
'Thank you,' she said as she got in, showing him a big smile.
The drive to his sister's flat was uneventful. He had to drive carefully, but the snow was still light. Charlotte lived on the third floor of a modern block of flats. They took the lift to the floor, which had another seven units.
Once inside, Albert was favourably impressed. The flat was small, but despite her limited means, his sister had managed to make it a proper home. He recognised some of her old things, and there were some new things as well. The place was dimly lit, just enough so that you wouldn't stumble and fall flat on your face, whilst creating an intimate atmosphere.
She had also spent a lot of effort on Christmas decorations. There was a small wreath on the front door, and a Christmas tree in a corner. There were Father Christmas and snowman figurines scattered about, as were little penguins wearing Christmas scarves and hats. Then Albert looked at the ceiling.
'Say, sis, was the mistletoe on special offer or something?'
Everywhere he looked; everywhere a person could sit, or walk; above the sofa, above the small dining table, in doorways; there was mistletoe hanging literally everywhere.
'Oh, that?' Her face flushed red. 'That's, um, a joke really. I wasn't actually expecting anybody.' She rummaged around with some things that didn't need rummaging around with, but it gave her an excuse to avoid his gaze.
'Not expecting Mr Appropriate then?' he teased her.
She stopped rummaging and looked straight at him. 'To be honest, I don't give a shit about Mr Appropriate. I want Mr Right.'
Albert had no response to that, and an uncomfortable silence fell.
'Why don't you sit down on the sofa and I'll get you a drink?' Charlotte told her brother. She disappeared into the kitchen and presently returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
'Chardonnay? Don't tell Nonno,' Albert joked.
'Hey, I can't afford his special wine. I'll save that in case he'll come over one day.'
They chatted a bit about work and their plans for the next year, as they drank the wine. Sooner than Albert had expected it, they had polished off the entire bottle.
Charlotte got up, slightly unsteady on her heels. 'I'm going to... change my clothes. Won't be a minute.'
Albert leaned back, his head slightly abuzz from the wine. His sister had decorated the living room rather elegantly. Given her low budget, most of the furniture came from flat packs, but with little ornaments and accessories, she had managed to give her own flair to the place.
She even had a little table with the traditional family photographs on it. There was a photo of him, too. In fact, there was more than one. Actually, the majority of the photos were of him.
There were also some of her pencil drawings on the wall. She had drawn a self-portrait, which Albert thought was rather good. She had captured the sadness, which was all too often present on her face, really well. But the other four drawings were of him.
In one of them, he had his hair long. He must have been around 17 at the time. Another showed him at his graduation ceremony. A third one saw him in swimming trunks; she had perhaps exaggerated his musculature to some extent. And the fourth one, centrally on the wall opposite the sofa, was staring back at him with an intense gaze.
Albert started to feel somewhat uncomfortable. Had he walked into some sort of shrine, dedicated to him? His sister and he had always been close, and he knew that she looked up to him, but this was a bit creepy.
Presently, Charlotte returned to the living room. 'Well, what do you think?' she asked.
Albert's mouth fell open. His sister was wearing what could be called an elf outfit, if Santa's elves were hot young women. It was a little red Christmas dress with fake white fur around the edges. It barely reached below her crotch. Underneath it, she was wearing black stockings with an intricate leaf pattern. Albert realised that the leaves were mistletoe. On the other end of the dress, her ample bosom threatened to spill out, and it was constrained, to a greater or lesser extent, by what looked like a black lace bustier. On her feet, she wore low-heeled black boots that went up to about mid-calf, and to top everything off, she wore a red-and-white Santa hat. She wasn't wearing any make-up. She didn't need to.
On an intellectual level, Albert knew that his sister was a woman, of 20 years old, and an attractive woman at that. But he wasn't quite prepared for the image of divine perfection that graced his eyes. His sister was seriously hot. But she was his sister. It brought up all sorts of conflicting thoughts, and to make things worse, he had to shift his position somewhat because his black jeans were suddenly uncomfortably tight.
Charlotte's face fell when she saw his expression. 'You don't like it,' she said.
'Oh no, Lotte, it's lovely, and you look fantastic. It's just that... I'm not used to seeing you like this.'
'So you like it then?' she asked.
'Yes, I like it.'
'How much do you like it?' she insisted.
'You look beautiful, Lotte. Beautiful and hot. God, I can't believe I'm telling this to my sister. It must be the wine.' He closed his eyes. That, at least, removed the direct visual stimulus, but the image in his mind lingered, and her scent didn't help much either.
He felt the sofa depress to his left. When he opened his eyes again, he sister was sitting right next to him. His eyes involuntarily dropped down to her cleavage. His sister's cleavage. And what an incredible cleavage it was.
Desperately, he tried to think of something else. Teddy bears! If he could think of teddy bears, he could think of his little sister as, well, little, and not so disturbingly grown up.
'What are you thinking about?' she asked him.
'Teddy bears,' he blurted out.
'Teddy bears? Why, of all things, teddy bears?'
'I can't really tell you,' he said. 'It's a bit, um, personal.'
'You're being silly,' she smiled. 'Anyway, so is that babe magnet of yours working?'
'Eh? What?'
'Your car. That little red hot thing that took us here. Is it working?'
'In what sense? The car is working. It drives.'
'No, dummy,' she said. 'Is it scoring you any chicks?'
'Well, um, recently no, not really. I've been busy at work, and...' His voice trailed off.
'So you're not seeing anybody?' she wanted to know.
'Right now, no,' he admitted.
'Oh, poor little Bertie. Haven't found Mrs Right yet?'
He looked at her for a couple of moments before speaking. 'Nor Mrs Appropriate for that matter.'
'How come, Bertie?' she asked him, while she traced a delicate finger over his chin. 'You're a nice boy. Any girl would be so lucky to have you.'
'I don't know, sis. There's something missing, I guess. Something that I'm looking for, but that's never there. And at some point, you just give up because you don't want to be hurt every time.'
'How long has it been?' she asked.
'It's been a while,' he said in a sad voice.
'And what is it that you're looking for? The thing that's missing?'
He sighed. 'I wish I knew. Then it would be easy. But I can't put my finger on it. It's like it's just outside my grasp, yet right before my eyes.' He made a gesture as if grabbing thin air and opened his hand again. 'Elusive. That's what it is.'
'So... it's been several months since you last kissed a girl?'
'Yeah. Let's say "several", and leave it at that, or I'll cry.'
Somehow, she had moved a bit closer to him. Her scent was even more obvious now. It made his head spin even more than the wine did.
'We're underneath the mistletoe,' she pointed out.
'That's not really a surprise, is it? Probably the only place in this house where you don't have mistletoe hanging is in the toilet.'
'Well, actually...'
He held up his hand. 'No, don't tell me. Too much information. I don't want to know.'
Then, her remark started to sink in. She had mentioned the mistletoe. Surely, she couldn't be suggesting... or could she?
'Why did you say that about the mistletoe?'
'About the toilet?' she asked.
'No, not about the toilet! I mean, why did you point out that we're sitting underneath it?'
'Oh, it's nothing really. I was just thinking, maybe he wants to kiss a cute girl. But apparently you're not interested.' She feigned indifference, toying with a loose strand of hair.
'You mean, kiss you?' he asked.
'Are you seeing anybody else in here?'
'It would probably be a bad idea,' he said.
'Oh, it would most definitely be a bad idea,' she replied.
'What with us being siblings, I mean,' said Albert.
'I know what you mean, bro.' She inched yet closer him. Her face was very close to his. 'It would be a very bad idea. We really shouldn't do it.' Her mouth was mere inches from his lips.
'Yeah,' he said lamely.
'Exactly,' she concurred, while continuing to decrease the distance between their faces, until her lips ever so gently touched his for a few seconds.
It was a nice kiss. It wasn't a toe-curling, no-holds-barred, mind-blowing kind of kiss. But it was the first kiss in a very long time, and it made Albert's head swim, not in the least because it had been his sister kissing him.
'A terrible idea,' he said.
'Absolutely disastrous,' said Charlotte.
'We shouldn't have done that,' he said.
'I completely agree,' she replied. 'So, you want to try it again?'
'OK.'
This time, she didn't hold back. She put everything in that kiss, grabbing his head in her hands, pressing her lips to his, hard, probing with her tongue into his mouth. Albert's conscience narrowed, reduced to the sensations from the kiss, until they both had to come up for air.
'My God, Lotte, what are you doing?'
'What does it look like I'm doing?' she asked.
Albert swallowed before answering her. 'If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're seducing me.'
She gently stroked his hair. 'That's a fairly accurate description of what I'm trying to do, I'd say,' she said. 'So, is it working?'
'As much as I hate to admit it, I think so.'
'Ah, brilliant.' She give him a radiant smile.
'But why?' he demanded. 'Why me? Your own brother?'
'Why? Oh, that's simple really. Because I realised that I'm in love with you. And I can't shake it, try as I might. So I decided to act on it. That's why.'
'And how did that happen? How did you fall in love with your brother? When did you realise?' he asked.
'When you left the house, Bertie. It broke my heart. I've had boyfriends and dumped them, because there never was a spark. Like with you, you never found that spark either. But when you left, I was devastated. I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to eat. I became a wreck. It's then that I realised. How it came to be, I don't know. I'm guessing that our family situation has something to do with it. We're pretty fucked up, and this just fits the pattern.'
He averted his face, looking at the self-portrait his sister had drawn. 'Leaving you was hard on me too, Lotte. It hurt a lot. But I never thought of it that way. I just soldiered on, was the tough guy. At least, when there were other people around. In private... actually, I don't really want to talk about that.'
She took his face in her hands. 'Think about it, Bertie. Why do you think you never found Mrs Right?'
'Because none of them could measure up to you,' he replied slowly.
'Exactly. And none of the boys came even close to you. You were what I've come to expect a man to be. You spoiled me for life, Bertie.'
'So you found your Mr Right...' he said.
'...who happens to be extremely inappropriate,' she finished his sentence.
One of her hands slid down to his neck, while she trailed the other one lower and lower, until it came to rest on his crotch.
'Now that would be a really bad idea, sis.'
'A terrible idea,' she concurred, as she undid the top button of his jeans.
'I mean, kissing is one thing,' he said.
'You're right, we shouldn't do this,' she said. The second button went.
'It would be incest, right?'
'Most definitely,' she said, as she undid the third button.
'Isn't that illegal?' he asked.
'No,' she said simply, as the fourth and final button came loose. She placed her hand on his erection.
'Say what you like, bro, but somebody seems to think it's actually a pretty good idea.' She gently pushed down the elastic of his underpants and placed her hand directly on his now exposed penis. She sucked in her breath as she finally had in her hands what she had been coveting for so long.
To Albert, it was as if an electric shock went through his body. It had been a long time, a very long time indeed. But the wrongness of his sister touching his most private body part made it incredibly more exciting.
'Oh Bertie, I've waited so long for this. It feels wonderful in my hand.' She started stroking him up and down, slowly but firmly.
Albert closed his eyes. If it felt wonderful for his sister, it felt positively phenomenal for him. He let the sensation, of his sister giving him a hand-job, wash over him.
'Keep doing that,' he managed to utter.
'Like it?' Charlotte asked.
'Love it, sis. As fucked up as the whole thing may be, it feels fantastic. Right now I couldn't care less about propriety.'
Charlotte, meanwhile, had managed to take off the little Christmas outfit by alternating the hand with which she was stroking him. He could now see her lacy bustier, which was struggling to contain her breasts. Below, she wore a garter belt that held up her stockings. Below that, she wore a pair of panties with yet more lace. Albert just about managed to notice that the panties were, in fact, on top of the straps of the garter belt.'God, Lotte, you're absolutely gorgeous,' he panted.
'Ah, you approve? Is my lingerie getting you all excited?'
'You have no idea, sis. Oh, keep doing that.'
'Keep doing that?' she asked. 'So... you wouldn't want me to do... this instead?' And she lowered her head, until her mouth was practically on his cock. She gave it a gentle kiss.
Albert was too far gone to care about the repercussions. 'That's actually pretty nice as well... oh my God.' Charlotte had placed the tip of his cock in her mouth.
She was bobbing her head up and down, sliding him in and out of her mouth. Her hand kept pumping him, and her tongue caressed the sensitive underside of his cock.
Albert was in heaven. It was wrong on so many levels, but he realised that he had finally found the spark that he had been looking for. He had no idea where this would lead them, but right there and then, he didn't particularly care.
'Lotte, I'm not going to last long,' he told his sister.
At that, she suddenly let go of him. He wondered for a split second whether she had changed her mind, but then he saw that she yanked down her panties. He had a few precious seconds to admire the beauty of her smoothly shaven pussy, before she pounced on him again.
'I want you to come in my pussy,' she said as she straddled him. 'I let you come in my mouth as often as you like, but the first time, I want it in my pussy.'
Albert felt something wet and hot at the tip of his cock, and then the incredible feeling of entering a woman: the heat, the moisture, the envelopment. Charlotte lowered herself, until his cock was completely embedded in her pussy.
'Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes,' she whimpered. 'Finally I have you in me.'
Charlotte began moving up and down, taking his cock almost out of her pussy, before pushing it all the way again. Albert was lost in the sensation, and let her do the work. All too soon, he felt his orgasm approaching.
'Lotte, I'm going to come,' he panted.
'Oh yes, come in me, come in your sister, Bertie. I want you to come in me. I want you to fill me up with your sperm. Come in me, Bertie, come in me, come in me, come in meee!'
'Coming... ah, ah, aaah!'
That familiar sensation, that is almost --but not quite-- like pain, built and built, more and more, until he exploded inside her.
'Oh yes!' she cried. She kept her frantic rhythm, which only heightened his orgasm, until he had to force her to stop because his cock was too sensitive.
'Stop, Lotte, stop. You're killing me.'
Somewhat reluctantly, she ceased fucking him, and leaned forward, putting her large breasts in his face.
'Bertie, that was wonderful. I've always wanted that. You made me so happy.'
She kissed him on the lips again, but gently this time.
'So, are you glad you came?'
Albert had managed to gather his wits after the most intense orgasm of his life. 'You mean, that I came to your place, or that I came inside you?'
She giggled at his little joke. 'Well, one was the prerequisite to the other, wasn't it? So are you glad? Or wasn't it up to scratch?'
'It was fucking amazing, sis,' he said. 'Or amazing fucking, whatever. And yeah, I'm glad I came. Both to your place and in your pussy.'
His cock had deflated by now and slipped out of his sister's pussy. 'God, what a mess we made,; he groaned. 'And I don't have a change of clothes on me.'
'Don't worry about that,' Charlotte said. 'I've bought you underwear. And a bathrobe. And some clothes to wear around the house... that is, if you want to wear clothes to begin with.'
He looked at her incredulously. 'You really thought of everything, didn't you?'
'Pretty much, yeah,' she laughed. 'And there's enough food. We won't have to leave the house for at least a week. I suppose you won't go back to work until the new year, right?'
'No, I hadn't planned on going back to work. I hadn't planned on anything, really.'
'Not even on having sex with your little sister?' she teased him.
'Most certainly not,' he said. 'Not that I regret it, mind you,' he added quickly. 'But tell me, how long have you been planning this? Because I know you. You must have been planning this for ages.'
'All in all? A little less than a year, I'd say. After the last time I saw you, at Nonno and Nonna's Christmas party last year.'
'Wow,' he said. 'You impress me, sis. All this, just for me?'
'Bertie,' she said, 'I would have done anything to get you. But yes, everything was planned. Getting my own place. The mistletoe. The lingerie and the little dress. Spare clothes for you. I've been ordering stuff online since spring. It's cost me a small fortune, but it was worth it. I went over all possible scenarios and how I would have to deal with them. The only thing that I couldn't figure out was how to get you to stay with me. And then came the snow.'
'The only thing you couldn't have planned,' her brother mused.
'It was a miracle. I went to church every day to light a candle, and it looks like it worked.'
'You? To church? I didn't know you were that religious.'
'Ha! I'm not, but I figured that it wouldn't hurt either. The priest was really happy to see me.' She smiled. 'Little did he know that it was Leviticus 18:9 that was on my mind.'
'Bear with me, sis, but I don't know the Bible by heart.'
'Oh,' she said, 'it's the part that says that you can't fuck your sister. Not in those exact words, obviously.'
She paused for a few seconds. 'Yes, it was a lot of work, but it was worth it. I got what I always wanted. You.'
Suddenly, she looked anxious. 'But... will you stay with me? I don't want this to be a one-night-stand. I want it to last. Please, stay with me,' she pleaded.
'God, sis, it's all a little bit much and a little sudden. You're asking quite a lot.' He walked towards the window and looked outside. There was a white hump where he had parked his car.
Charlotte came next to him. 'Well, it looks like you're not going anywhere anytime soon, though.'
'Damn right. Oh, what the hell. Look, Lotte, I cannot promise you anything. And it's going to fuck up our lives. But I'm willing to give it a try.'
She hugged him and kissed him on the lips. 'That's all I'm asking, Bertie. Give it a shot and see what happens. I'll do everything I can to make you happy.'
'You already do, sis. You already do. Nobody makes me as happy as you do.'
They hugged some more, perfectly happy to be with each other. After a few minutes, Charlotte whispered in her brother's ear.
'Want to go to the bedroom?'
'What else did you plan for me, you vixen?'
'Oh, nothing else, really. I figured that, once I got you to fuck me, you'd know what to do in the bedroom. Although, there's mistletoe over the bed, obviously. And it's where I keep my toys.'
'I'd like to try those toys on you,' he said.
'I was hoping you would say that,' she smiled. 'Let's go then.' She took him by the hand and guided him to the bedroom.
* * *
It was Christmas Eve, and Albert found himself driving the familiar route to his grandparents' house, for the tradional family get-together. He was looking even less forward to it than other years. Things had changed forever, and he was afraid there would be a confrontation. Too late now; what happened, happened, and he would have to deal with the consequences.
Outside, it was the familiar cold and wet greyness of late December. But inside the car it was cozy. Soon enough, there was the exit ramp to go to his grandparents. He carefully checked his mirrors, indicated, and took the exit.
Once at the Del Vecchio residence, he parked his car a safe distance away from the yard sale that comprised his cousins' cars. As he got out, he noticed a smudge on the bonnet and used his sleeve to wipe the blue paint. He walked to the passenger side and opened the door.
'Thanks,' she said as she got out. 'Are you ready?'
'To go in? Aren't you forgetting something?' he said.
'Oh, shut up already,' she replied. 'That joke is getting old now.'
'Hey,' said Albert, 'you were supposed to have thought of everything.'
She rolled her eyes, as she walked to the rear door of the car. 'Fine, I forgot one little thing. No need to keep rubbing it in.'
'A little thing? You call it little?'
'Look,' she said as she turned to him, 'in the act of fucking, there are two parties: the fucker and the fuckee. Both have equal responsibility when it comes to birth control. You forgot it just as much as I did.'
She opened the door and got the baby out. Donetella del Vecchio, born on the 25th of September, was sleeping soundly in her baby seat. 'And anyway, do you regret that we made this?' She showed his daughter to him, and his heart melted.
'No, not at all,' he spoke softly. 'Sorry, Lotte, I'm just afraid of what Nonno and Nonna are going to say. Especially Nonno, he's such a traditionalist.'
'Well, he got what he wished for,' his sister pointed out. 'He became a great-grandfather.'
'Indeed he did. But I bet he didn't count on his two favourite grandchildren to make a baby together.'
Charlotte raised her shoulders. 'Beggars can't be choosers. It is what it is. Could you get the baby bag and the presents from the boot?'
Albert collected the bags and walked up to his sister, the mother of his child.
'Ready?', she asked again?
'Yeah, let's do it.' They walked forward and rang the doorbell.
A little while later they heard Gaetano's familiar footsteps.
'Here goes nothing,' said Albert.
The door opened and a great hand grabbed the baby, seat and all, from Charlotte's hands.
'Ah, la mia bellissima principessina!'
Charlotte looked at her brother. 'Well, so far, so good.'
They followed their grandfather inside, who had somehow managed to produce two glasses of wine from somewhere while still holding the baby.
'Masseria L'Astore, from the old country,' he said. 'It's magnificent.'
They followed him somewhat sheepishly into the dining room, where the rest of the family was gathered. Everybody looked at them, but said nothing.
His mother and father approached cautiously. Mother hugged Charlotte tightly, and seemed reluctant to let go. Much to his surprise, his father hugged Albert as well. He tapped his back, not knowing what else to do.
'Albert, we're sorry. For everything. It was just... We shouldn't have...'
'It's OK, Dad. It's in the past now.'
'It took your Mum and me quite a while to come to terms with... with the baby. But we're happy for you. As long as children are happy, we can't ask for more.'
'Thanks, Dad,' said Albert. 'It means a lot to me, and to Lotte.'
They let each other go, and saw that Antonella had managed to prise her grandchild from Gaetano, hugging the little girl and singing lullabies in Italian. Mario walked to join his wife, to admire his first grandchild. As these things happen with babies, the parents were completely forgotten.
'Shall we go to the salotto?' Albert asked his sister.
'Yeah, let's go,' she replied.
Once in the quiet room, they sat close to one another on the sofa.
'That went better than expected,' said Charlotte.
'Yes,' her brother agreed. 'Dad actually hugged me. It's early days, but I think they want to make up for lost time.'
They sat in silence for a few minutes, holding hands and enjoying the precious time together.
'You know that I'm still not on birth control, right?' Charlotte asked.
'Yeah, I know. But you can't get pregnant immediately after childbirth.'
'It's been three months, Bertie. We're sailing close to the wind. It's that we barely get to have sex, but sooner or later we're going to hit the jackpot again.'
'I know, sis, I know. So you want to go on birth control?'
She didn't reply to that, at least not immediately. 'I don't know,' she said eventually.
'Lotte... are you saying you want another one?'
She looked him in the eye. 'We probably shouldn't, eh? What with the higher chance of birth defects and all that. We were lucky that Donna is healthy.'
Albert looked pensive. 'Yeah, it would probably be a bad idea.'
His sister chuckled. 'A terrible idea.'