I’m numb.
Is he fucking kidding me?
From the stables, I watch him walk back into the house via the mud room, unable to move. Misty nudges my hand, and I rub her nose absentmindedly.
He’ll come back, won’t he? He’ll realize what he’s just done, turn around, and come back to apologize. That’s what I tell myself, but the seconds tick by, and there’s still no sign of Emmett.
I think about what happened down by the stream, my face flooding with heat. What is wrong with me? I knew Emmett didn’t care about me, so why didn’t I climb back onto the horse and ride back to the house instead of letting him fuck me from behind against a tree?
I groan out loud, turning closed eyes towards the heavy sky.
Because Emmett O’Hara knows how to turn on the charm, and when he does, he’s fucking irresistible. No. I can’t blame it all on him. I had the chance to say no, and I didn’t, because he’s hot, and there’s a spark between us that wouldn’t have allowed me to walk away when there was a chance it was going to be fanned out of control.
I’m a goddamned floozy, that’s what I am.
“Fuck!” All those promises to myself to never let a man get too close, and what did I do? I let him screw me in broad daylight where anyone could’ve seen us.
My face grows so hot I could fry an egg on it. What do I do now? How can I face him in front of his family knowing what we’ve done? No wonder they were surprised to hear that we’re engaged to be married—they must all know that he’s an arrogant, egotistical fucker who fucks around with women’s emotions.
I wish they’d warned me. I wish Fianna had taken me aside yesterday and told me to run while I still had the chance. I thought she was on my side, but she’s his cousin, of course, she’ll see no bad in him.
I stare at the back of the house, at the fairy lights twinkling behind every window, and imagine the family inside preparing the next meal, cracking open a bottle of Bailey’s and a tub of chocolates, and arguing over which movie to watch first.
“You dumbass, Mary,” I mutter to myself.
I’m good enough to fuck, but not good enough to be a part of the O’Hara family. I fell for the oldest trick in the book. You’re so beautiful, Mary. You taste so good, Mary. I’m so full of fucking shite, Mary, I believe my own lies.
Confusion gives way to anger. I’m not sticking around for the next nine days, pretending to be his fiancée, even if it puts me in jeopardy. And I don’t care if the psycho thug from the roof knows the fucking Pope. Emmett O’Hara doesn’t get to treat me like trash and then shake me off like this.
Screw him.
Screw his family too.
Only I don’t want to screw his family because they’ve welcomed me into their home with open arms. They deserve a better son. Although I’m sure they’d never agree with me.
Determined to grab the clothes I arrived in and sneak back out of the house without anyone spotting me, I enter the mud room and almost collide headfirst with Fianna.
“There you are. I wondered where you’d got to when Emmett came back alone.” Her smile fades as she watches me remove the waxed coat and replace it on the hook. “What’s happened?”
Her tone has changed, becoming concerned rather than excited, and I have to chew my bottom lip to stop myself from telling her what happened by the stream.
“I fell off the horse.” I force a smile. “It’s fine, I’m not hurt. Emmett helped me up and gave me an impromptu riding lesson.”
Her smile is so genuine that guilt swirls about inside my gut all over again. “Did you ride Misty? Isn’t she lovely?”
She links arms with me, and we head back inside the house. So much for sneaking out unnoticed. I’ll spend some time with them and make an excuse to go up to my room as soon as I get the chance.
She keeps up a steady stream of chatter all the way to the living room. “We’re getting the games out. We need you to persuade Emmett to join in, he’s such a killjoy about these things. And a terrible loser. But you must already know that.”
Well, I would, if any of this was real.
The whole family is there. Elf is playing on the vast, flat-screen TV on the wall. The two grannies are sitting in armchairs, small glasses of sherry on the coffee table between them. Patrick and his brothers are sitting around a cribbage board set up on the long glass coffee table in the middle of the room, while the twins are arguing over a game of Guess Who?
Huge cushions have been scattered around the floor, and Sinead gestures for me to sit next to her. They’re about to open Cluedo, a Nightmare Before Christmas version.
“Choose a character, Mary. And watch out for Erin—she always cheats.”
“I do not.” Erin winks at me. “I can’t help it if I have a photographic memory.”
I’ve just gotten settled, if a little precariously, on a red velvet cushion, when Emmett comes in behind us.
“Emmett, you can join in too.” Sinead waves him over. “We’re having no Grinch behavior this year in front of Mary.”
He sits down on the carpet, cross-legged, his eyes barely skimming mine, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks again. How could he do the things he did to me and then feel nothing?
Tears sting my eyes. It obviously meant nothing to him. He said it himself: this changes nothing. So, why was I still clinging to the tiny glimmer of hope that it would?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!
“We need Prosecco.” I didn’t even notice Fianna leaving the room, but now she comes back with a bottle glistening with condensation and fetches some tall crystal flutes from a cabinet across the room.
Emmett opens the bottle expertly and Clare pours. A team. The family unit that operates like clockwork because they each have a role to fill.
I sip the liquid and feel my gums fizz. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins so quickly the Prosecco doesn’t even touch the sides. Maybe I’ll stay here and get drunk instead, show Emmett up because his fiancée can’t hold her drink. I swallow a mouthful and wait for it to work its magic.
I’ve never played Cluedo before, and it doesn’t help that I can’t concentrate with Emmett sitting directly across the board from me. Every time I look up from my little notepad, he averts his eyes like he’s afraid I’ll think he likes me or something.
Erin wins. Clare accuses her of cheating. Everyone laughs. And Fianna fetches more Prosecco.
I’m close to winning the second game, but Erin wins this round too.
“Maybe we should pair up,” Fianna suggests. “I’ll play with mom. Someone needs to keep an eye on her.”
“I’ll team up with Clare,” Sinead says, “and Mary, you can play with Emmett, bring him some luck. He doesn’t like losing.”
Emmett smiles fondly at his mom and stands up. “I’m out. I have to make a few calls.”
“Not on Christmas Eve, lad,” his dad says from the sofa. “You stay right where you are, unless you’re fetching some fecking beers from the fridge.”
Emmett’s eyes meet mine briefly, and he’s the one who looks away. Is that guilt written all over his too-hot-to-be-true face? I hope it is. I wonder what everyone else in this room would think if they knew how the golden boy is treating his fiancée.
“Anyone else want a drink while I’m in the kitchen?” He glances around the room.
“Hold that thought.” Granny Mary eases herself forward in her armchair, white knuckles gripping the arms. “I want to show Mary my engagement ring.” She slides a hand into the pocket of her baggy cardigan and pulls out the ring that Fianna mentioned before.
I kneel in front of her, and she places the ring into the palm of my hand.
I sense everyone’s eyes on me and make a silent prayer to God to make me like the ring. My mouth is dry from the Prosecco, and my lips still feel swollen from Emmett’s kisses. How has no one noticed? Didn’t they wonder why we were both missing at the same time earlier, or were they all too busy to notice?
I peer at the ring in my hand, my eyes lighting up when I see the delicate star pattern made up of a single sparkling diamond in the center, a circle of emeralds, and an outer layer of tiny sparkling diamonds forming the star shape around the outside. I pick it up and hold it so that it catches the fairy lights from the Christmas tree, casting dancing patterns across the room.
“Whoa, what’s that?” The twins turn around to find the source of the golden light, and immediately resume their game.
I told Fianna that I wanted a simple engagement ring, but in truth, I never really thought about it before. Holding this platinum ring in my hand though, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful.
I glance at Granny Mary, who is watching me expectantly, tears welling in her pale blue eyes. “What do you think?”
“I love it.” My shoulders slump.
This kind woman is offering me her own engagement ring because she thinks I’m going to marry her grandson, but I already know that I can’t accept it. This isn’t real, Mary. When we get back to New York, we go our separate ways.
“It truly is beautiful, but I can’t wear it.” I place it back in her hand and close her fingers around it. Then I give her a hug, squeezing her tightly while I blink away my tears. “Thank you. It’s the most generous thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“Someone get me a tissue.” Sinead sobs from somewhere behind me.
“I don’t understand.” Granny Mary peers into my eyes when I release her. “It’s yours, Mary. It’s always been yours. Emeralds for your green eyes.”
I’m sure that I can feel Emmett’s eyes boring holes in the back of my skull, waiting for me to do the right thing. I wish that he would help me out here, but I know I’m in this alone.
“I…” Deep breath. Come on, Mary, let her down gently.
But before I can finish, Emmett appears behind the armchair, throws his arms around his granny’s neck, and plants a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Granny. I think Mary is a little overwhelmed right now, but she’s right. The emeralds will pick out the green in her eyes.”
He smiles at me, and my heart does that funny fluttery thing that belongs in all good romance novels. Then my traitorous heart skips a beat when he goes down on one knee in front of me, removes the fake ring, and slides Granny Mary’s ring onto my finger.
Everyone claps and cheers, apart from the twins, who are squabbling over their game of Guess Who? Another glass of Prosecco gets thrust into my hand and I clink it against what feels like a million other glasses.
I sip my drink, my eyes seeking out Emmett’s, but his expression is unfathomable. Did he only do that because he didn’t want to hurt Granny Mary’s feelings? My heart doesn’t know how to handle all the drama. Wouldn’t it have been better to let her down now rather than in the New Year? I wish I could get inside his head and understand what’s going on in there, but then I already know that I won’t like what I find.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of games, food, more and more alcohol, and preparations for the big day. At bedtime, the twins prepare a tray with a homemade mince pie and a glass of port for Santa, and a carrot for the reindeer which they leave in front of the fireplace. We all go outside to scatter reindeer food across the lawn, oohing and aahing when it glitters in the glow of the lights decorating the outside of the house.
Then, with the boys tucked up in bed, we get cozy in the living room to watch It’s a Wonderful Life. Emmett sits on the sofa and gestures for me to sit beside him, a fluffy blanket thrown across our legs. Like we’re a couple.
If he’s doing this for show, he has everyone fooled.
Including me!
It feels like the most natural thing on earth to be sitting so close to him, joining in the banter about the movie, laughing at the men when they get angry at themselves for losing a round of Rummy. At the same time, I’m hyper-aware of his thigh pressed up against mine, of the smell of his cologne with every breath I take, of his grandmother’s engagement ring on my finger.
Afraid to pop the cozy Christmas bubble, I don’t move until the movie ends, and everyone stands up to say goodnight. I wish I could’ve stayed in this moment forever, but when Emmett moves away from me to wish his mom goodnight, his absence is a stark reminder that this isn’t going to last. It’s make-believe. An act. And sadness crashes through me like a tidal wave.
Emmett walks me to the door of my guest room. The closeness of the evening spent in the living room was nothing like the closeness of our moment by the stream, but they’re both equally bewildering.
I wish he would open up and tell me how he feels. How he really feels. Then at least I would know, one way or the other, and I could brace myself to deal with the consequences.
“Emmett…” I face him outside my bedroom door, unable to wrench my eyes away from his lips.
“I didn’t want to hurt Granny’s feelings. We can leave the ring here when we return to New York.” He doesn’t wait or expect a response. Instead, he kisses my forehead and walks back to his own room as if nothing has changed.
Everything has changed, I want to scream at him.
Everything has changed for me!
I go into the guest room that I’d entered with such eagerness the day before. Now, even with the bedside lamps switched on and the covers turned down, I shiver. I don’t belong here.
At least I know where I stand, I guess.
I sit on the edge of the bed. Tomorrow, everyone will wake up excited, happy, smiling faces eager to open gifts and pitch in with preparing Christmas dinner. If I stay, I’ll experience the kind of family festivities I’ve only ever dreamed of. The holidays will never be the same for me again because nothing else will ever live up to this.
Ever.
I take a deep shaky breath. I know what I must do.
When the house is slumbering, waiting for Santa’s arrival, I put on the clothes I arrived in, drag my shoes on over a pair of Fianna’s thick socks—I’m sure she won’t miss a pair of socks—and find my jacket hanging in the wardrobe. It won’t provide much warmth, but it wouldn’t feel right stealing one of the warm coats from the mud room.
Leaving Granny Mary’s ring on the dressing table, I open the door a crack and peer into the shadowy hallway. Silence. Tiptoeing outside, holding my breath, I close the door behind me with a gentle click.
I don’t breathe as I hurry past Emmett’s room. I can’t hear a sound above the thump-thump of my heart, and the blood gushing around my veins, but I keep moving down the stairs and outside through the mud room which is furthest away from the bedrooms.
Outside, I stand on the doorstep taking deep breaths and wait for my pulse to regulate. The ground is covered with a fine film of white frosting. Just bloody perfect! Tomorrow the family will wake up to a white Christmas, and who knows where I’ll be.
Because it’s only just hit me that there’ll be no public transport running on Christmas Day.
No turning back. If I don’t leave now, I won’t pluck up the courage a second time. Instead, I’ll play happy families for the next nine days, getting to know Emmett’s family the way his future wife would, and it’ll be even harder to go back to New York when the holidays are over.
Deep breath. Come on, Mary, you can do it.
I step out onto the gravel driveway, my shoe crunching on icy frost. A snowflake lands on my nose, and I tilt my face towards the sky. The sky is gray-white, heavy with the snow still to come. I start walking, and it seems that with each step, the snowflakes grow larger, thicker, colder.
Fuck my life.
Head down, I pull the collar of my jacket up around my ears, hunch my shoulders, stuff my hands inside my pockets and keep walking. One foot in front of the other.
My blister is stinging before I reach the end of the driveway. My fingers are numb. Why didn’t I pick up a pair of woolen mittens from the mud room before I left? Hypothermia is a thing, especially when someone has no clue where they’re going.
Recalling the trip to pick up the Christmas tree the day before, I turn left when I reach the road and follow it back towards the closest village. I have no idea how far away it is or how long it will take me to walk there, but I hope I reach some form of civilization before morning.
I can’t feel my toes. It’s like walking on two blocks of ice, my shoes skidding occasionally on the fresh layer of snow. I haven’t gone far when I start shivering uncontrollably. There are no street lamps along this rural road, and I’m surrounded by silent skeletal trees in both directions.
I shouldn’t have drunk so much Prosecco. My eyes keep straying to the darkness lurking behind the thick trunks, imagining pitch-black eyes following me, my ears straining for the snap of a twig.
The shivering is making it hard to walk. This was a mistake, but I can’t go back now. No one will be awake to let me into the house, and besides, I don’t want to ruin their holidays if I wake up with a fever in the morning.
Especially when none of this is real!
My brain feels frozen too, locked onto the mantra: right foot, left foot. Where is the village? I was so absorbed by Emmett’s closeness in the car that I can’t remember how long it took us to drive there.
I’m so cold, chilled to the bone, that even my blood no longer feels like it’s pumping around my body, and I almost cry with relief when I spot a small bus shelter on the side of the road.
My legs are trembling when I reach it. Made of toughened plastic, there’s a wide opening, and a narrow wooden bench running along the back of the shelter, barely wide enough for me to lay on. Out of the snow and the wind, the immediate warmth provided by the meager shelter makes my eyelids heavy.
Huddled inside my jacket, my face resting on the cold bench, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
