Page 20 of A Dark Mafia Christmas

We collect two glasses of champagne from his dad, Patrick, who scrunches up his face when he sees me and plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “My future daughter-in-law. You’ve no idea how happy we are to have you here for Christmas.”

“Thank you.” Guilt sticks in my throat like an apple core. “I’m happy to be here.”

“He’s drunk,” Emmett murmurs as he drags me into the conservatory where The Pogues are belting out:The boys of the NYPD choir were singing ‘Galway Bay’. My favorite Christmas song. The one that never fails to bring tears to my eyes. “Take no notice of him.”

How can he be so coldhearted? Doesn’t he even care that he is going to break his family’s heart when he tells them that there isn’t going to be a wedding?

“How can I take no notice of them when they’re obviously so happy?” I keep smiling, like a marionette with a sinister grin painted on.

Everywhere I look, people are watching us, their faces beaming with excitement not only for Christmas but for the good news the returning son brought home with him.

Upstairs in Fianna’s room earlier, I looked at my reflection in the mirror and tried to see myself through the family’s eyes. Am I everything they wanted for Emmett? After their warm welcome, I’d allowed myself to believe that perhaps I was the daughter-in-law they’d been hoping for, but now I can see that I was wrong. They’re only being nice to me for Emmett’s sake, while he’s playing them all for fools.

The joy and anticipation I’d felt coming down to the party with Fianna is evaporating rapidly, replaced by the gut-wrenching reminder that none of this is real.

I spend the rest of the evening going through the motions, smiling, nodding, following Emmett’s lead when he answers the guests’ questions.

“How did you meet?”

“How long have you known each other?”

“How did he propose? Did he go down on one knee in front of an audience, Mary, or did he do it privately at home?”

I try to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, especially when Emmett is being so attentive. But as the seconds tick by, and the evening gets louder, more raucous, more boisterous even than the twins who’ve crashed out on sofas in the living room where the Christmas tree lights are twinkling, the more I dislike what we’re doing.

There must’ve been an easier way.

Granny Mary calls us over, and Emmett guides me towards her, his hand on the small of my back. She’s in the same seat in the kitchen where we found her when we arrived earlier in the day, her cheeks rosy with the heat of all the bodies in the house and the whiskey she’s consumed. But her eyes are clear.

“Let me get a proper look at this diamond of yours, Mary love.” She pulls a pair of spectacles from her pocket and places them on her nose with one hand, while pulling my ring finger closer. She examines the ring closely like she’s a professional jeweler. “I wish you’d spoken to me first, Emmett.”

Emmett’s expression doesn’t falter—the man is a coldhearted asshole. “This was what Mary wanted.”

She looks at me, and I smile back at her, praying that she can’t see right through me to the uneasiness crawling through my veins.

“But you didn’t give her the choice.” Granny Mary removes the spectacles and takes a slug of whiskey. “Did he tell you about my ring?” she asks me.

“I…”

I know the story we’re running with, but if I say yes, I’m going to offend her—I haven’t even seen the ring I’ve supposedly refused—and if I say no, I’m going to make Emmett look bad.

“Granny, why don’t you show Mary the ring tomorrow?” Fianna appears from nowhere and throws her arms around the old woman’s neck, planting a sloppy kiss on her papery cheek. “Then she’ll see for herself how beautiful it is.”

Fianna winks at me and straightens. “Enough talk about these two lovebirds. I want to dance, and you’re coming with me.”

She pulls me away and doesn’t let go until we’re in the conservatory where everyone is now dancing the Macarena. Apart from Ronan, who follows us in, and watches Fianna with a bemused expression on his face.

It isn’t long before Emmett comes in and stands guard next to Ronan, his spine ramrod straight giving him his full, intimidating height. Not that Ronan appears intimidated. Without warning, he comes over to join us pulling some John Travolta moves that make the older women giggle.

Emmett’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t want to dance, but he doesn’t want me to dance either. What is his problem? Is it all to do with this Ronan guy, or did he not expect me to have fun while I’m here?

I watch him as one cheesy pop song ends, and another begins. I’m not going anywhere. I remove Fianna’s shoes, wincing as I tear the skin off the top of the blister on my heel, and dance barefoot.

The music gets louder. The room gets hotter. Patrick fetches us drinks and encourages his son to let his hair down before returning to the kitchen to resume his role as bartender.

Three glasses of champagne later, and the room is spinning a little. It’s the most alcohol I’ve ever consumed in one sitting, and I want to find a quiet spot in a darkened room, lay down, and close my eyes. But Emmett hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and I don’t like trying to preempt his mood when I know so little about him, but I am not going to stop just because it’s what he wants.

If he wants me, he can come and get me.

---