All’s Fair in Love and War

*A Christmas Tale by

Cécile Ama Courtois*

Si ça vous dit quelque chose, c'est normal ! Voici l'english version de ma nouvelle "Tous les coups sont permis". Cette nouvelle (que vous pouvez retrouver dans le blog) est initialement sortie pour Noël 2019 chez Something Else éditions, dans le recueil de Noël "À tes souhaits"

Je vous en propose pour ce Noël 2025 une version traduite en anglais, qui va parfaitement avec le thème : Erasmus, échanges, étudiants... romance de Noël !

Bonne lecture ! Et n'hésitez pas à envoyer le lien à vos amis qui ne lisent pas le français !

“Flight 975 to Paris, originally scheduled for departure at 4:38 p.m., has been cancelled.

Passengers are asked to contact their airline or their travel agency.”

Like hundreds of other passengers, I’m standing in line at the EasyJet counter, torn between anger, panic, and despair. I hear the hostess repeating the same explanations, customer after customer:

“We apologize for the inconvenience. We’ll do our best to find you another flight or refund your ticket. The snowstorm over Paris means no flights will be possible for at least two days, but we might be able to get you a plane to Brussels or Geneva.”

Unlike most of my fellow stranded travelers, that option doesn’t work for me at all. My fami-ly is gathered at Grandma Claire’s in Paris, and they’ll be starting Christmas Eve dinner in less than five hours. Waiting for the next flight to Brussels and then finding a train to Paris would get me there late in the night, at best… and if I miss Christmas Eve with my family, what’s the point?! I know my sister is flying back to Nice tomorrow morning to spend Christmas with her boyfriend’s family, and my parents are returning to their cottage in Landerneau, like they always do during school holidays. I have to face the truth: I’m stuck here.

And then a second truth hits me right in the gut: I’m stuck here with Anton.

Anton is my roommate. Well, one of the five people sharing the university apartment with me. I’m an Erasmus student at the University of Oslo, doing a master’s in international law, and I share the flat with two other girls and three guys. Natalya is Russian and quickly became my best friend. Prisca is Swedish, Peter Irish, Fabio Italian, and Anton is Croatian.

After nearly a year living together, we’ve built real bonds of friendship… except with Anton.

He barely takes part in the shared life of the flat, stays locked in his room most of the time, never parties, never goes out. He hardly speaks and limits interactions to dark glares or snapping at us if we dare try to start a conversation. It drives me crazy because, honestly, Anton is by far the most gorgeous guy I’ve seen since moving to Norway. When I arrived and we were introduced, I thought: jackpot! That one’s mine! I quickly lost my illusions…

I can’t even say he doesn’t like me, because actually, he doesn’t seem interested in anyone. In a year, he hasn’t approached a single girl, nor shown interest in any guy either. Nothing. No one. Nada. He’s an antisocial sociopath. Well, up until now I said that jokingly, out of frustration, but tonight… tonight I’m going to end up alone in the apartment with him.

I know he isn’t going home for the holidays. He almost never does. He went back just once last year, for his grandmother’s funeral, and that was it. During breaks, he works on his courses and takes extra shifts at the brewery where he has a part-time job, just to spend as little time as possible with us. Miserable, right? I can already picture my wonderful Christmas Eve: locked up in my room or alone on the couch watching Netflix… with him right there as the ultimate frustration, like a box of chocolates just out of reach, hiding behind his closed door.

To avoid sinking into despair, on my way back from the airport I stop at the supermarket next to the campus and go on a spree: sushi, appetizers, gingerbread, pralines. After a moment’s hesitation, I add a bottle of champagne, even though it cracks my budget. I desperately need comfort tonight.

When I get home, not wanting to draw Anton’s dark glances and grating remarks, I slip quietly into the kitchen and set down my groceries. I’m about to put the champagne in the fridge when I hear something I’ve never heard: Anton’s laugh.

Stunned, I freeze. I don’t dare move. His laugh is so… beautiful, so joyful, so free! It suddenly strikes me that I know nothing about him. I don’t know who he is, because I’ve only ever known him hidden behind his coldness and hostility. His laugh makes me want to know more. My heart beats faster. If I managed to crack that shell he built to keep us all at bay… what would I find underneath?

Deter-mined to find out, I close the fridge and head toward the hallway. Either he isn’t alone, or he’s on the phone, because I hear him speaking Croatian. I don’t understand the words, but his voice sounds cheerful, warm, affectionate. Curiosity burns through me. Who is he talking to?

I knock on his door. He cuts off mid-sentence, mutters something, then I hear him stand and walk toward me. He yanks the door open violently, his sullen mask back in place. No trace of the joy or warmth I just heard—only sheer, immense irritation.

“What are you doing here?” he snaps.

“My flight was cancelled. I’m stuck here for Christmas.”

I meant to reply dryly, but my voice trembles on the last words and I feel the tears—those I’ve been holding back since the airport—threatening to betray me. I clench my teeth and breathe in deeply. No way am I letting him see I’m upset.

“Sorry for bothering you.”

I turn to flee down the hallway, but after two steps his hand closes around my arm and stops me short.

“Wait!”

He swallows hard, sighs, and lowers his head.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I apologize.”

I’m so stunned I could drop dead on the spot. Anton, the brooding, inscrutable Anton, apologizing? He looks terribly uncomfortable, eyes fixed on the floor, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. Suddenly, I’m moved. I want to hug him. He looks like a little boy afraid to ask for a cuddle.

“It’s fine, I get it,” I reassure him. “You thought you’d have peace for two days and now you’re stuck with your clumsy roommate… well, so to speak!”

I mime horror, he gives me a startled look, then realizes I’m joking and gifts me the most disarming smile I’ve ever seen. My heart goes wild. How many faces does this man have?!

I’m dying to ask who made him laugh like that on the phone, but I’m too afraid he’ll shut down again and this magical moment will vanish.

“I bought a few things… Would you have Christmas Eve dinner with me?”

Risky, yes—but I really want to get to know this other Anton better, and what better way to melt the ice than a glass of champagne? Yet his face suddenly closes again, draining of color, and I think I see real pain in his eyes.

“I… uh… I have work,” he stammers, before turning away and locking himself back in his room.

Okaaaay… got it.

Well, actually no—I didn’t get anything. His reactions don’t look like those of a misanthrope. I no longer believe he hates people or hates company. It’s something else. And by the spirit of Christmas itself, I will find out what’s eating him alive.

With fresh determination, I grab my purse and leave the apartment… heading for the mall. Three hours later, the living room is decorated for Christmas and candles glow on every flat surface, filling the room with warm light. On the coffee table, beautifully arranged plates of sushi, salmon and foie gras canapés (nearly impossible to find in Oslo!), and most importantly, bijelo! After digging around online, I found a few traditional Croatian Christmas dishes and wanted to surprise him. Not easy! I even managed to find a traditional dried fruit loaf in a small Slavic grocery downtown… You can find anything in a big cosmopolitan city!

I showered and put on light makeup. I slipped into the purple dress I had planned for Christmas Eve with my family. It highlights my curves nicely while smoothing out the “more voluptuous” ones. Yeah, I’m nowhere near Vogue standards… anyway, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and I’ve never felt this nervous in my life.

From Anton’s room, while I was getting ready, I heard his voice several times. More muffled than earlier, but still warm and tender. A tone I apparently don’t get to hear. When I run out of excuses to delay my plan, I click the remote. My iPod’s Bluetooth speaker softly starts play-ing the first track of the playlist: “Veselje ti navješćujem,” a traditional Croatian Christmas carol.

That part was easy to find—apparent-ly Croatians love Christmas. Type “Croatian Christmas songs” on Deezer and you get hundreds. Learning that made me even sadder for Anton. I realized how hard it must be for him to be far from home on this particular night. I don’t know why he didn’t go back, but hearing him talk for hours on the phone, I doubt it was his choice.

Little by little, I turn up the volume until he cracks his door open, probably drawn by the music. His face when he walks into the living room! Worth a medal. He looks like a child meeting Santa Claus… or an accountant facing a UFO. Amazed, bewildered, teetering on panic.

Then his eyes land on me. They widen, his lips part as if to speak, then close again. That pain I’d seen before flashes through his gaze. He’s about to flee again, so I act.

“Anton! Please… stay with me a bit. I won’t bother you for long, I promise. But please, don’t leave me alone.”

He hesitates, visibly torn.

“I know you don’t like me much, and you probably prefer your solitude. And I’m sorry I’m forcing your hand like this. I know it wasn’t fair to use your nostalgia for your home to get you here, but… please, just for one night, one single night… could you pretend you don’t hate me?”

He blinks at me like I’ve grown horns, or like I’ve just said the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. His eyes wander around the room again, noticing this time the dishes from his country, the warm festive atmosphere, the music of his childhood… A tear rolls down his cheek.

What did I do?! What did I say?! I panic, certain I messed up somehow. I step closer, take his hands in mine, and squeeze them.

“I’m such a dunce! The queen of idiots! I keep messing everything up. Look, I’d really like us to talk and bury the hatchet, at least for tonight. But if it’s too much to ask…”

“No, I’m the one being stupid,” he protests gently, a contrite smile ghosting on his lips. “You’re right, Lia, I can’t ruin your Christmas.”

Thrilled—and over the moon that he used my name for the first time—I drag him to the couch.

“Great! Sit. Want a glass of champagne? Or something else? I’ve got Coke, vodka… even some Prošek!”

“But… how did you find all this? And why?”

“I wanted to stack the odds in my favor, so I figured if you were as homesick as I am on Christmas Eve… Well, it’s a gift.”

I hold my breath a little. Did I do the right thing?

“It’s the best Christmas gift anyone’s ever given me,” he says, voice trembling. “But… I have nothing for you.”

He looks overwhelmed with shame. And suddenly, maybe I glimpse the root of the problem.

“The only thing I want is for you to spend a little time with me,” I reassure him. “And maybe not snap at me for once, that’d be cool.”

My joke lands; a half-smile flickers.

“That’s not what you think,” he says. “I don’t hate you. Not at all. It’s just that…”

“Let me guess—you’re struggling financially, and your oversized pride keeps you from admitting it? Don’t get mad! Just hear me out, ok? It wasn’t an insult. We all know how hard student life is when you’re on a scholarship, and more than half the students I know work part-time just to eat. You’re not the only one, Anton. If you’d told us from the start, do you really think we’d have judged you?”

He sighs heavily.

“No, of course not. I know you wouldn’t. I just don’t want anyone’s pity. I take care of myself. I always have. I don’t live beyond my means, that’s all. If I’d refused to join your parties or outings because I couldn’t afford them, you guys would’ve insisted and pooled money so I could come.”

“Well… yeah, obviously! That’s what solidarity is!”

I’m getting worked up, but I really don’t understand his logic.

“So you looked down on us and pushed us away just so we wouldn’t help you? That’s completely…”

I was about to say “stupid,” so instead I shut my mouth, grab the Prošek, pour two glasses, and hand him one.

“Zdravlje! Cheers, Merry Christmas, and here’s to your idiocy!”

I wink teasingly; he blushes like crazy. Adorable.

“To you,” he replies, raising his glass, “who is so… incredible.”

He runs out of words, but his eyes say enough. I’m overheating. I want to touch him, hold him, and the months I’ve spent hopelessly fantasizing about him only make it worse. I laugh to ease the tension. He relaxes and turns toward the food.

“This all looks delicious,” he says, serving himself.

The magical moment passes. I swallow my disappointment and take a sushi.

After a few drinks and harmless conversation, Anton seems relaxed enough for me to bring up what’s been on my mind.

“So… would you tell me who you were on the phone with? Someone in your family? A girlfriend?”

His dark eyes settle on me, serious again. Will he answer or shut me out?

“There was my little sister, Ana. Then my older sister, Mirna. Then my mother, and lastly my grandmother.”

“You miss them a lot?”

“All the time.”

He looks so sad.

“We’re very close. Very family-oriented. So… yeah, it’s hard.”

“Only girls in your family?” I joke to lighten the mood.

“Now, yes,” he says, even more gravely. “Both my grandfathers died during the War of Independence. One in 1992, the other in 1995. I never knew them. My father died of cancer five years ago, and my little brother was hit by a car twelve years ago. So it’s just me now. It’s hard for my sisters, my mom, and my grandmother to know I’m far away.”

I’m speechless, eyes burning. So much for lightening the mood.

As my silence stretches, he gives a bitter half-smile.

“And there you go, I’ve ruined your beautiful Christmas…”

I see the return of brooding Anton, hiding behind fake detachment and sharp irony. He looks away and pretends to be fascinated by the remaining canapés.

“Stop doing that, Anton,” I say sharply. “It’s ridiculous, it’s mean, and it solves nothing. Am I wrong? I don’t think so.”

I know I’m being harsh, but I need to break that damn armor once and for all. My words run ahead of my thoughts.

“Does it make you feel better to hurt people who are trying to care about you?”

I freeze. So does he. His eyes lock onto mine; he inhales sharply. I slap a hand over my mouth, horrified by what slipped out. I’ve messed up big time.

“That’s not what I meant,” I stammer. “Forget it.”

I try to backpedal, but he looks disappointed. Disappointed, troubled, sad. As if I hadn’t reacted the way he hoped… Could it be…?

I decide to risk everything. Consequences be damned.

I stand, kneel in front of him between his knees, take his hands before he can pull away, and speak.

“No, actually that is exactly what I meant, Anton. For months, I thought you hated me for some reason. I thought you found me ugly, stupid—everything crossed my mind! And tonight I find out the problem wasn’t me but… you. And that you pushed me away only to protect your pride. So now tell me, Anton. Tell me you’re not interested. That I have no chance. Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you, touch you, spend time with you. Say it, and I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He’s not breathing, but the vein in his neck is pounding. His hands in mine are damp and shaking. I deliver the final blow.

“Tell me you don’t want me. Or kiss me. Now.”

His tongue flicks over his dry lips. My own part in anticipation. He swallows. I smile to encourage him.

“It’s just… I’m not…”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Are you making excuses? I won’t accept any, Anton. It’s yes or no.”

I’m betting big—really big—but I won’t retreat now. Not when victory is this close.

He smiles. Fully. From ear to ear. And two miraculous dimples appear in his cheeks. I could cry from happiness.

“You’re a demanding mistress,” he teases.

“You have no idea…”

Then he pulls his hands from mine, cups my face, and seals the truce with a dizzying kiss.

In love, as in war… all’s fair.