Page 16 of A Dark Mafia Christmas

“It’s like twice the size of this. My parents use it when they’re here.” Fianna opens the doors to a tall wooden wardrobe and stands aside, her gaze flitting back and forth between me and the rack of clothes hanging neatly inside. “Do you always wear black?”

“Um…”

I’m not often lost for words—I’m quiet because I choose to be, and not because I have nothing to say—but when it comes to clothes, I’m so used to trying to blend in that I don’t even know what suits me anymore.

“I wear black to work.”

“What about when you go out?”

“My idea of a night out is grabbing a pretzel and doing some window shopping on Fifth Avenue.”

“But you go out with Emmett, right?” Faint lines have appeared between Fianna’s eyebrows.

Fuck!It’s hard being someone who isn’t me. Someone who would attract a man like Emmett O’Hara and then keep him interested enough to propose.

“They’re usually dazzling events where everyone is dressed to kill.” I shrug nonchalantly, like I’m blasé about the kind of social life a lot of people would kill for. “But yes, I generally choose black.”

Her eyes narrow briefly, and I don’t know if she bought it or not, but she’s obviously too polite to press me further. “This is your night, Mary. You and Emmett. Auntie Sinead and Uncle Patrick will want to show you off, so I think we should give them something to talk about, don’t you?”

Do I? I’m not so sure Emmett would agree … so perhaps I do after all.

“Ye-es?” What the hell! I’m here now, no turning back. He wanted a pretense, and that’s what he’s going to get.

Fianna rifles through her clothes and turns to me with a mischievous grin. “We have two choices: we either complement your hair with brown or dark green or…” She pauses for effect. “We go all out and make sure everyone notices you.”

“I don’t know…” I can see her hand fluttering towards a dark red dress. “Red isn’t really my color.” It’s another lie—I’ve never worn anything red in my life.

Growing up, I had no one to talk to about style or fashion or what does and doesn’t work with red hair—it’s not a priority for kids in the foster care system—but I do know that red clashes with red. I mean, it’s basic dress sense, isn’t it?

“This will be, Mary, trust me.”

7

EMMETT

She’s doing it deliberately. Holing up with Fianna on the pretext ofborrowing some clothes, when what she’s really doing is avoiding me.

That little stunt she pulled in the car, rubbing her breast against my arm, is going to get her nowhere because if she thinks that she can make this relationship real and blackmail me when we get back, she’s picked on the wrong person. We’re getting through Christmas and then, that’s it. I’ll never have to set eyes on Mary Chrysler again.

“Don’t be nervous, Emmett.” Granny Nina pinches my cheek hard; as a child I told myself that she’d stop doing it eventually, but she never has. And it still hurts. “Mary’s lovely. Your mom is already besotted with her.”

That’s what fucking worries me. She’ll get everyone on her side, and then I’ll be the bad guy when we call off the engagement.

“I know.” I keep my smile in place and remind myself that I’m supposed to be besotted too.

With food covering every available surface in the dining room and kitchen, Auntie Erin comes and stands beside me. Even after everything, I’ve always been her favorite nephew. “It’s not like you to be so nervous, Emmett.”

What’s with everyone thinking I’m nervous?

“It’s obvious that you and Mary are made for each other. I bet your mom is already counting down the days till she holds her first grandchild in her arms.”

Jesus fucking wept.

“It’ll be a while before that happens.”

I’m not even convincing myself with the enamored lover act. Get a grip, Emmett. Ten days of this and then you’re a free man again.

“Don’t keep her waiting too long. Life’s too short, you know.” Erin swallows, her eyes growing large with tears. “Anyway, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

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