Page 11 of A Dark Mafia Christmas

I lose track of time with the gentle rumble of wheels on tarmac and the heat inside the vehicle. I empty my mind of all the bad things I want to do to Emmett O’Hara when Christmas is over, and instead, concentrate on the moving vista. Like a child on a family day out, I still want to yell, “Sheep!” whenever I spot some, but I don’t.

Emmett has made it quite clear that we are only keeping up the pretense in front of his family. We are not in a relationship. We don’t even have to like each other because, come January, I’ll never have to see him again.

But inside, I feel as if I can never go back to being the Mary Chrysler I was before yesterday. This might be a game to Emmett O’Hara, but he might just have changed my life with his actions, even though I haven’t yet figured out how.

We turn off the road and drive through a set of wide, open gates. I sit closer to the window, my breath creating a ghostly white patch on the glass, expecting to see Emmett’s family home. But all I can see are more fields, hills, and woods in every direction.

Emmett’s arm snakes around me and he points to a spot beyond the trees. “This is our land. Through there is a salmon stream, and this way—” he gestures to the view from his side of the car “—you’ll see the house once we’re clear of the woods.”

Woods? A salmon stream? Is he fucking kidding me right now?

A scoff escapes my lips before I can stop it.

“What?” His eyebrows are so low his eyes look kind of stormy, and I instinctively back away from him. “It’s just home to me.”

How could this ever bejust hometo anyone?

When the house finally comes into view, I sit back and gape at it, and I don’t even care. It’s so vast, it’s like ten houses have grown together over the years to create this building of many parts. I mean, it’s not a stately home or a castle, but rather a house made of gray stone that couldn’t make up its mind what shape it wanted to be, and all at once, I’m eager to get inside and explore.

Emmett is smiling when we pull up outside the door that’s decorated with the kind of giant wreath I’ve only ever seen in the movies. His face looks younger, like a boy who can’t wait to come home and tell his parents that he scored his first goal in a soccer match, and I remind myself that it’s Christmas. Even Emmett O’Hara won’t be an asshole during the holidays.

Then he looks at me, and the smile fades. “I know it isn’t going to be easy, but I’d appreciate it if you keep this between us.”

5

EMMETT

She doesn’t wait for Dave to kill the engine and open the passenger door. She’s out of the car, her shoes crunching gravel as she walks around it towards the porch.

“Mary, wait!”

Too late. The front door opens, and my mom is standing there wiping her hands on her faded Christmas apron, her face rosy from the heat of the Aga in the kitchen.

“Emmett! Thank God you’re here. The twins have been driving us crazy to go and choose the Christmas tree, and I keep telling them that we can’t do it until Uncle Emmett is here.”

To prove a point, my eight-year-old twin cousins Joseph and Jamie come bounding around the corner of the house and almost knock me over with the force of their embrace.

“Uncle Emmett, can we go and get the Christmas tree?”

“Everyone else has their tree up already.”

“I don’t know why we had to wait for you to get here. You’re always late.”

The twins are identical with red hair that refuses to be tamed, a smattering of freckles across their noses, and boundless energy. Their mom, my Aunt Clare, says that if they don’t do after school activities every day of the week, and then go sailing with their dad on the weekends, she’ll never get them into bed. It’s one way to put people off having kids, spending time in the twins’ presence.

“Whoa, I’m pleased to see you too.” I watch them, trying to figure out which one is Jospeh, and which one is Jamie. “Joseph?” I raise my eyebrows at the one wearing the Spiderman sweater.

“I’m Jamie. He’s Joseph.” Sometimes I swear they lie to me because they think it’s funny.

“You have to wait for me because I have the final say on what tree we bring home.”

“That’s not fair,” one of them says, but they’re already running back inside the house, no doubt to inform everyone that I’m here.

“Ach, stop ye teasing.” My mom pulls me in for a hug, and I breathe in her familiar smell that still reminds me of when I was a kid.

She pulls away, and that’s when she realizes that I’m not alone.

Her eyes flicker back and forth between me and Mary, more questions on the tip of her tongue. “You never said that you were bringing someone home for Christmas.” Her smile is there,waiting for me to introduce her, and I know what she’s thinking: dear Lord, please let him finally be settling down.

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