Page 231 of Beautiful Collide

An hour later, I do not own every property on the board.

Far from it.

Molly’s completely bankrupt, Anna’s sitting on an empire of hotels, and I’m one bad roll away from total disaster.

“Pay up,” Anna says, holding out her hand like a queen collecting taxes as I land on her hotel-stacked Boardwalk.

“You’re the worst,” I groan, slamming my last pathetic stack of cash onto the table.

Molly can barely breathe, laughing so hard she’s clutching her stomach.

I turn to her, feigning outrage. “You were supposed to be on my side.”

“You’re on your own,” she says through fits of laughter, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“You’re ruthless,” I mutter, but I can’t stop the grin tugging at my lips.

Anna stretches dramatically, standing up and tossing her hair over her shoulder like the reigning champion. “Monopoly is too easy. Let’s play charades.”

“You mean cheat at charades,” I call after her, dodging yet another pillow.

It doesn’t take long for charades to turn into absolute chaos.

Anna’s “dancing giraffe” has everyone crying with laughter, and Mom’s over-the-top impression of a bodybuilder has Dad practically falling out of his chair.

But the real show is Molly trying to waddle across the room, arms pinned to her sides, attempting to be a penguin.

“Penguin,” I whisper, leaning in just enough to make her jump.

“Stop sabotaging me!” she hisses, swatting at me, but she’s laughing too hard for me to take her seriously.

“Not my fault you’re a terrible penguin.” I grin when she glares at me.

“You’re going to regret this.” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Oh, I’m terrified,” I deadpan.

By the time Anna declares herself the victor again, the room is filled with groans.

Of course she won. She cheated.

Molly is now curled up in the corner of the couch.

Anna stretches with a yawn. “I’m done. You guys suck.”

“Thanks for cheating . . . again.”

Anna makes sure to flip me off before she heads up the stairs.

As Mom and Dad follow, the room feels quieter, softer.

The only sound is the occasional pop of the fire. I glance at Molly, who’s staring into her mug like it might tell her the mystery of life.

“You held your own tonight,” I say, breaking the silence.

She shrugs, her eyes still on the mug. “It was fun. Your family’s great.”

“You say that like it surprises you.”

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