Page 37 of A Dark Mafia Christmas

“I…” I think I’m supposed to say something, but my brain isn’t cooperating.

I study the picture. Emmett has somehow made me look beautiful but in a shy, understated way. I’m smiling out of thecanvas as if I’m posing in front of a camera, and I have no idea how he captured me so exquisitely when he barely seems to look at me.

“What do you think?” He’s watching me, gauging my reaction, waiting for me to speak.

“How…? I mean, when did you paint this?”

“At night, and when you thought that I was in town sorting out some business stuff.”

He almost sounds quite humble, and I tear my eyes away from the portrait to look at him. Emmett O’Hara is hot. I mean, it’s no surprise that he has a reputation for being a player. But right now, standing there with a painting of me in his hands, he looks like a regular guy trying to impress a girl. He looks almost vulnerable.

On impulse, I jump up from the sofa, run across the room, and throw my arms around his neck, almost bowling him over. “I love it. No one has ever given me a present like this before.”

“Aw, she’s done it again,” Sinead’s voice reaches us from her spot on the other sofa.

“Quick, guys,” Clare says. “Where are the tissues?”

Christmas dinner is a noisy,raucous, fun-filled affair. Patrick carves the turkey at the table; Emmett keeps the sparkling wine flowing; and we all wear paper crowns while telling corny jokes pulled from Christmas crackers.

For a while, I forget about how I came to be there. I forget about the murder on the rooftop, Emmett fucking me by the stream, our fake engagement, and the thought of flying back to NewYork. Granny Mary’s ring feels like it belongs on my finger, and I allow myself to revel in being part of this huge welcoming family.

When we’re all stuffed with turkey, roasted potatoes, pigs in blankets, and more vegetables than I can count, followed by homemade Christmas pudding and brandy butter, Patrick announces a toast to the future Mr. and Mrs. Emmett O’Hara.

My pulse races. I still don’t know how Emmett is going to react, even after seeing the portrait. I mean, he must have spent some time studying me to have captured the likeness the way he did but studying someone and having feelings for them are two entirely separate things, and I don’t even know why I’m still clinging to that glimmer of hope that what we did meant something to him.

So, my heart lets me down again when Emmett leans closer and kisses me on the lips while one of the twins holds a sprig of mistletoe above our heads.

Everyone around the table cheers. But I don’t hear them. I’m floating outside of my body, watching Emmett kiss me because I might have zero relationship experience to compare this to, but it sure as hell feels like he means it.

We spend the rest of the day in a food coma in front of the TV while the twins open all their toys and scatter them around the living room until it begins to resemble FAO Schwarz.

I must doze off duringWhite Christmas. When I wake up, the fairy lights are still sparkling on the tree, but Emmett and I are alone.

I yawn, blink back tears and sit up on the sofa. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A couple of hours.” His mouth twists into the hottest smile I’ve ever seen.

“You should’ve woken me up. I didn’t thank your parents for dinner.”

“You don’t need to thank them. I think… I think they’re enjoying having you here. And my mom would cook that much food if it was only the two of them here for Christmas.”

I smile. This is every Christmas I’ve ever dreamed of, rolled into one sparkling snowy ball. But there’s still something niggling away at the back of my brain, and I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t mention it now while I’ve got Emmett to myself.

“Emmett, is there…” I wish there was an easy way to come out with this. “Are you seeing someone back in New York?”

He strokes my leg absentmindedly with his thumb through the blanket someone threw over me while I was asleep. Round and around. Making circles on my thigh. And I think I already know the answer.

Finally, he looks me in the eye and says, “No, Mary. There isn’t anyone else.”

13

EMMETT

We spend the next couple of days playing games, eating food, drinking Prosecco, eating more food, and dragging sleds up the hill. Typical family Christmas. No one believes Mary when she tells us that she has never been on a sled before.

“Emmett, you’ll have to ride with her,” Mom says. “We don’t want her breaking her neck on her first Christmas with the family.”

Mary climbs onto a sled, sits down tentatively like she just agreed to a skydive, and I climb on behind her, trapping her between my legs. I can feel her body heat through my jeans, and when I lean forward and brush her ear with my lips, a shiver travels down her spine.

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