Page 62 of Till Death Do Us Part

“Lo.”

“Sweet!” Lo snatched it from her, holding it against her chest.

Damn, Elsa was good. She always had a habit of studying people, and she had bought gifts for my family that fit each one. The sweater was Lo.

“Enough!” My father shouted when Isabella started going for more. He turned around, ordered Lo to ride with me, then got back in his car, starting it. The high beams hit Isabella before he turned them down.

She stared at me for a second before her words slapped me in the face. “Mamma would be so disappointed.”

Elsa squeezed my arm. Lo whispered for me to ignore her and asked for my keys.

Besides the radio playing quietly in the background, Lo singing along to it, the ride was quiet. Isabella’s words had hit a nerve, but somewhere between the gala and realizing how out of control Isabella was with controlling my life, I got over caring about what everyone else expected of me.

I refused to exchange my life’s happiness for my father’s. He had his one true love.

What was so wrong with me having mine?

Chapter22

Roma

The Gwen Hotel was off Michigan Avenue, tucked away in River North. Hayden had decided it would be a good place to host the museum’s holiday staff party because they offered cocktails and curling on the rooftop. The space was decked out with holiday decorations, fire pits, and what looked like a mini area for ice skating but was for curling.

The mini version of a rink had four concentric circles in the center. What looked like weights with different colored handles and smooth bottoms were placed on opposing sides. We were told to separate into two teams. The object of the game was to slide the stones toward the target areas. Each team scored when they knocked the other teams’ stones out of the way.

Elsa told me in the Olympics they usually played with sticks and skated on the ice. We stood behind the ice line and slid the stone almost like a bowling ball for this improvised rooftop game.

Kerry, Elsa, and I decided not to play because we were pretty sure our asses were frozen to the sofa. We’d claimed seats in front of a flaming fire pit. I was wedged between them.

“Not even the fire pits help out here,” Kerry said. Her hot drink was smoking in its mug, it was so cold. “Who put Hayden ‘the competitive one’ Burton in charge of this year’s party?”

“He d-d-did,” Elsa said, shivering. “I d-d-didn’t recommend it, but he said it would be f-f-fun.”

“YEAHH!” Hayden screeched when he knocked the other team’s stone out of the way, pumping his fists in the air.

His face was neon red, either from the chapping cold or the glory of winning. He chugged whatever he was drinking in victory, dancing to Wham!’s “Last Christmas.”

Hayden was having the time of his life. His team was in the lead, and we all agreed it was only because he seemed insulated from the cold, like a fucking killer whale with blubber. He looked like the kid inA Christmas Storywho toppled over from too many layers. Most of the mere humans were getting drunk off hot cocktails to stop hypothermia from setting in. He’d reserved a room inside for dinner, but that was in forty-five minutes. We could all turn into ice sculptures by then.

“I need a mask made ofwooool,” Elsa slurred a little, chugging her spiked hot chocolate even faster. “My nose is fwozen—frozem—shit.Fro-zen.”

“Are your lips frozen?” I asked, moving mine around. “Mine sort of feel like it. They’re numb.”

My hot chocolate wasn’t spiked, because I estimated drinking one for every five minutes we were out here. They would have to defrost me off the sofa.

A gust of wind blew, sending the flames in the pit swaying sideways, and the three of us did the same, huddling even closer.

“That gust actually hurt.” Kerry rubbed the arm not pressed against me. “It feels like cold knives.”

My phone went off. The chat with my sisters.

Isabella led the charge, as always, reminding everyone to dress in the pajamas she picked out on Christmas Eve. Mamma took family pictures of us in front of the tree every year, and it became a tradition. Isabella was keeping it alive, along with Mamma’s love of the holiday. I never understood where Isabella found the time and energy. She had a husband, two kids, and we were pretty sure another one on the way, and a career at the farm. Yet she found time to decorate the farm, Babbo’s house, and spy on me.

Y:Thanks again for ruining Lo’s gift, Isabella.

After Isabella cornered me and demanded I show her my bags, like she was my mother or my conscience, the resentment in me only grew. Every chance I got I threw it in her face. It was a childish thing to do, but I couldn’t help it.

Alina:There’s always Epiphany Eve.

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