Filthy Little Games

Ch. 8: The Sinful Gift

EMERY

Christmas was always a difficult time for my family. My parents did the best they could to conceal their stress but I knew. Even at five years old, I knew. But despite thousands of dollars in medical bills, they made sure Christmas morning was special. They made sure that the dark space between the tree and the floor was packed with bright-colored boxes, with bows that sparkled. Maybe that's why, when I got older, I was never drawn to things that shine. They often simply mask the darkness. Never fill it. Not permanently.

This morning is different. Though I am surrounded by glitter and gold, by the scent of fresh pine and sweet cinnamon toast, it doesn't feel artificial. The laughter in the room isn't tainted by burden, by the constraints of credit limits and overdue bills. A part of me resents the joy floating around the villa, and another part, the selfish side of my psyche, wants to drink in the ease of wealth, soak in every ounce of their happiness.

"A quarter?" Will scrunches his nose as the family sprawls around the living room in front of the wood-burning fireplace. Ella snorts, helping her daughter unwrap a gift from Quin. "I don't get it."

Sophie chuckles, setting her rum and eggnog to the side. "It's a trick quarter, Will. Flip it and you'll see. It always lands on tails."

Will flips the quarter in the air and perks a confused brow when it lands. "Thank you? I guess?"

"Well—" Sophie gives a playful shrug. "I figured this might help you win some of those bets you're so keen on making." Will's jaw locks, a frigid air threatening to overtake the warmth we've created. Sophie tilts her head, combative. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Soph—" Quinton isn't able to get a word in before Sophie stands up, arms crossed, her expression no longer kind.

"Don't be a bloody idiot, William," she states. "You lied to us. You said you were done. If you continue to gamble with our family's money, I won't hesitate to tell Daddy to cut you off for good."

"Tell daddy what?" Charles asks, striding into the room with a coffee mug in hand. He frowns, glancing around at his kids. "Are we fighting already? It's not even noon yet, children. Perhaps the drama can wait until dinner."

"Speaking of dinner," Quinton stands up and I grin at the red and black plaid pajamas he's wearing. Sophie thought it would be hysterical if the entire family matched. I tug on my sleeve, the fabric soft against my skin. I'm surprised she included me. "Emery and I won't be available." He glances at me, smirking. "We've got plans in Montchauvier this evening."

I narrow my eyes at him. Is this the big present? Because there was nothing filthy about the diamond earrings he gifted me this morning in front of his family. I'm grateful I went shopping with Sophie earlier in the week and bought Quinton cufflinks. Technically, he paid for them himself, but I think it still counts as a gift. Or so he said.

"Well, in that case, we best get going." Charles checks the time on her watch. "I'll tell the attendants to start the lifts in thirty minutes. That should be enough time for everyone to get situated, yes?"

"Lifts?" My question gets lost in the scuffle as Will, Ella, Sophie, and the kids scurry out of the living room.

"Shall we?" Quinton smiles down at me, offering a hand to help me to my feet.

"Lifts?" I ask. "As in ski lifts?"

Quinton chuckles as he leads us upstairs toward our rooms. "I take it you've never skied before?"

"I've only recently graduated to wearing high heels, Quin," I say, dreading this afternoon's festivities. "I don't think I'm ready to try my hand at skiing." I glance down at my slippers. "I prefer footwear that doesn't have a chance of rendering me immobile."