Daddy's Coming Home For Christmas

Chapter One: The Italian Angel

Ten Years Ago…

Bethany

I walked down the hallway at Townline High School, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible. I had a grey beanie pulled down over my flaming red hair, but there was little I could do to hide my homemade clothes, or my army surplus backpack.

It was hard enough to be the new kid, even harder when you are a misfit on top of it.

“Nice dress,” someone sneered. “Did your mommy make it for you?”

I didn’t look up to see who was speaking, but kept my eyes on the threadbare industrial carpeting. “As a matter of fact, she did,” I muttered under my breath.

While I avoided looking up at my mockers, I plowed into something very hard. Or rather, someone. That someone grasped my shoulders to keep me from bouncing backwards, and I was forced to look up, way up, to see the brick wall I had just crashed into.

One of the Italian Angels stared back at me.

That’s what I had nicknamed the two Segretto brothers. I already knew that Gabriel Segretto was a sophomore, and Raphael was a senior, but I wasn’t entirely sure which one was staring down at me now. I just knew that he had gorgeous eyes, the color of warm, golden honey, with long dark lashes. I kept staring at them, unable to look away.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice deep and surprisingly friendly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Yeah, that was the goal,” I said, adjusting the heavy bag on my shoulder. I could feel my face growing warm with embarrassment, as I felt several pairs of eyes on me, and heard the titters of the students that had witnessed the collision. I heard their stage-whispered comments too.

“Church Girl just plowed into Rafe Segretto!”

That’s what they called me, Church Girl. Somehow, word had gotten around that I had transferred to Townline from the Four Corners Church private school, which only went up to grade eight.

Four Corners was a very strict, very conservative church. Some would say it was sort of a cult. But that’s where my parents fellowshipped, and where I went to school, until this, my freshman year.

I finally pulled my gaze away from the angel, who I then knew was Raphael, pulled out of his grasp, and scurried down the hall to my third period class. I took the first empty seat in the back and then bent to pull my books out of my ugly canvas backpack.

The Segretto brothers were practically teenage celebrities at Townline. I didn’t know anyone, and I hadn’t made any friends in the few weeks I’d been attending high school, but the other kids talked about them all the time. Their father owned a bunch of resorts in Europe or something, so they were filthy rich. And although they were only teenagers, they were already physically matured far beyond their peers. They were tall, broad-shouldered, visibly muscled. Rumor had it they had even done some small time modeling gigs.

Everywhere they went they had a fan-club following them. Dreamy-eyed girls who wanted to date them, and boys who wanted to be them.

You would think, with all that attention on them, they would be insufferable snobs, but everyone said they were actually really nice. My run-in with Raphael seemed to provide evidence to support that theory.

After all, he didn’t yell at me, or insult me, or push me aside.

He had smiled at me, and he had a dimple in his left cheek.

Not that it mattered. I was not going to be a part of the Segretto fan club. They might be nice enough, and very pleasant to look at, but they were never going to bother with a girl like me.

“Miss Hall!” I jerked out of my reverie and looked up at the teacher.

“Yes?” I asked meekly.

Mrs. Harlow glared at me. “Take your hat off in my classroom!”

There was a chorus of snickers from around me as I slid lower in my chair and pulled the crocheted hat off my head, allowing the thick, red-orange curls to fall down over my shoulders. I refused to look around the classroom, but instead glued my eyes to my World History textbook. I ignored the teacher, who continued to drone on with a lesson, writing important historical dates on the wipeboard with a squeaky blue marker.

I didn’t need to take notes. I already had the dates memorized. I just doodled in my notebook and waited as the minutes ticked by slowly. As soon as the bell rang, I pulled the hat back over my head, stuffed as much hair under the cap as I could, and joined the herd of teenagers moving through the hallway.

Fourth period was my lunch block, but before I went to the cafeteria, I wanted to stop at my locker and offload some of the books from my heavy bag. My locker was down the library corridor, which was one of the quieter hallways. I stopped, spun the combination into the lock, and pulled open the metal door.

Slipping my history and math textbooks into the compartment, I then grabbed the worn insulated bag that held my lunch. When I banged the door closed again, I almost jumped out of my skin, because the Italian Angel was there, hiding behind the open door.

He flashed me that sinful dimple. “Hi, again.”

I looked around, because he couldn’t possibly be addressing me. However, the hallway had cleared out, and we were practically alone.

“Um, hi.” A lock of my hair escaped the hat and dangled in front of my eyes. I pushed it back impatiently.

“I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier. I’m Rafe.”

I didn’t answer him. I was still waiting for something bad to happen. I had the feeling I must be the butt of some practical joke, and kids were hiding just around the corner, with phones in hand, waiting to memorialize my humiliation on every social media platform known to man.

“And you are?” He prompted.

I let my hair fall back in my face, and hoped he hadn’t noticed the zit that was starting on my chin. I looked down at my feet. “Beth,” I said quietly.

“Beth. Is that short for Bethany?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

What a weird, surreal conversation! I wondered if I might have actually fallen asleep in History class, and this was some sort of lucid dream.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, just to fill the awkward silence. I picked up my backpack and swung it up on my shoulder, stepped around the angel, and started toward the cafeteria.

To my horror, he fell into step beside me. “I noticed we have the same lunch block,” he said casually. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

I was too perplexed to say anything cute or savvy. I stopped abruptly and blurted out, “Why would you want to do that?”

He grinned back at me, “Because you seem like an interesting girl, and I’d like to get to know you.”

And that’s how it all started. Raphael Segretto came to sit at the misfits' table, and then his brother Gabriel joined him, sitting on the other side of me so that I was sandwiched between their big bodies. Suddenly, the misfits' table became the cool-kid table, and somehow, I found myself befriended by the two most popular boys in Townline High school.