I stifled a giggle.
Jack looped his arm around Royce’s shoulders. “Of course not, babe.”
“It’s a metaphor,” Byron explained. “Sure, there wasn’t music like that in Jesus’ time, but to him, that’s probably the equivalent of what their popular music sounded like.”
“Hey, I like that theory, By.”
“I should find Sienna.” I stood on my tiptoes and glanced around the foyer, but it was too crowded for me to see too far.
Jack took me by the shoulders. “Nope.”
“But—”
He cut off my protest. “I’m not letting Sienna’s problems ruin our date. You can talk to her tomorrow if you want.”
“He’s right. Let’s enjoy the evening.” Byron agreed, his eyes pleading with me.
Then the four of us made our way out to the street.
I shivered when the cold night air hit me. “I’m loving London, but I’m honestly not loving the cold.”
Jack took my coat from where it was hanging over my arm and helped me into it. When he tugged the front of it, I thought it was to fasten it, but he did it with enough force that I stumbled toward him. A devilish smile crossed his face. “Better?”
I flashed a small smile and nodded.
“Hey, you want to check out the park, you guys? It looks like there’s a Christmas market or something.” Royce pointed to the small garden across the street.
“Ah-ha, the Christmas grotto we were looking for! Let’s do it.” Jack took Royce’s and my hand, and I took Byron’s in turn. Then we made our way across the road when it was safe enough to do so.
An older woman smiled at us as we approached. “Hello there, welcome to our Christmas Market. Would you like to buy a bag of reindeer food as a donation to the East End Children's Home?”
I barely heard the rest of her spiel after she mentioned reindeer. “You’ve got reindeer?”
“Yes, we do.”
I opened my purse. “How much?”
“Two quid.”
Royce studied the laminated poster on the front of the lady’s rustic timber booth. “What does the East End Children’s Home do?”
“We help runaways and street children.”
Byron held out a one-hundred-pound note. “We’ll take one each. Keep the change.”
The woman’s eyes bugged out of her face. “Are you certain?”
Byron nodded. “Positive.”
“Thank you, sir, how generous of you,” the woman said as she put the money into her cash box.
“I know if it were my child in trouble, I’d be happy to know someone like yourself was there to help. Every penny counts, right?”
For some reason, Byron glanced at me with a wistful smile. With that single glance, all the joy of the evening fled my body. My stomach dropped like I’d swallowed a spoonful of lead. I wanted to run and hide before they saw the tears beginning to form in my eyes.
Would it always feel this way?
Would Byron, Royce, and Jack react to the news that I was infertile in the same negative way Tate had?