Page 29 of Christmas Vows with the Devil

His gaze burns into me, despite the distraction of the laughter and chatter of everyone around us. He hasn’t said much since we got back.

He’s been quiet, brooding.

Typical Dante.

I take a sip of wine. It’s sweet and light, immediately warming my chest. Maybe I need it. To relax. To stop overthinking everything.

I take another sip, then another, letting the warmth spread through me.

“Let the games begin!” Aunt Carla yells, holding up a deck of cards.

Great.

The annual pre-Christmas drinking game.

It’s a family tradition that always ends in chaos. Uncle Gino’s already smirking like he knows he’s going to win. Aunt Lucia’s winking at me like she’s in on some big secret.

I usually avoid this. I’m not much of a drinker, and my competitive streak always gets me into trouble. But tonight, the wine’s loosened me up just enough to not care.

“What’s the game?” I ask, trying to summon some excitement.

Aunt Carla laughs. “Oh, we’ve got something special tonight! It’s the ‘Oddly Specific Family History’ game.”

Everyone groans, except for Carla, who’s beaming like she’s invented the greatest game in history.

“Perfect,” I mutter, taking another sip of my wine. “Let’s do this.”

The game starts, and predictably, Aunt Carla’s questions are ridiculous.

Who broke Grandma’s vase back in 1998?

How many times has Uncle Roman crashed the family car?

How did Giancarlo convince his whole senior class to cheat on their finals?

It’s stuff only she seems to remember, but everyone’s too competitive to back down.

At some point, the wine kicks in, and I’m laughing harder than I have in months. Maybe years.

Matteo and the other kids have already gone to bed. The adults are just getting louder, more animated, and a little sloppier.

By the time Aunt Carla starts asking the more obscure questions—like how many times has Cousin Vinny stolen a hamster—I’m giggling uncontrollably. My head feels light. Everything seems a little blurry around the edges.

Dante’s watching me from his spot at the table, amusement in his dark eyes. He’s not drinking, of course.

Always in control.

Always calculating.

But tonight, there’s something different about him. Something softer. He’s not as distant. Maybe it’s the Christmas spirit, or maybe it’s the wine messing with my head.

Somehow the tension between us feels different. Less sharp, more...playful?

I down the last of my wine, barely noticing Aunt Carla holding up another card. Instead, I catch Dante smirking at me. Like he knows something I don’t.

The warmth from the wine pulses through me, making me bold. Reckless.

“You’re awfully quiet over there,” I say, leaning back in my chair, trying to wink but failing miserably.

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