“I’m sorry,” she whispered into my ear. “Can we leave now? I’m ready to go.”
I stroked her back. “We can’t leave. It’s still too cold, and I like you alive and not covered in snow.”
“I could be an ice princess.” She pulled away, rubbing at the quick glisten of tears on her cheek. “I’d keep you warm, you’d see.”
I chuckled, climbing back to my feet and tugging her ponytail. “With your temper, you would keep me warm from fighting with you.”
A smile appeared, barely there and still unsure thanks to Cassie invading our privacy, but at least whatever terror had clutched her was gone.
“Can I say something?” Cassie asked, pushing off from the doorframe and entering our bedroom uninvited.
I arched an eyebrow as she came closer, doing my best to assess her threat while very aware she was my boss’s daughter. “What?”
“Not to you.” She pointed at Della. “To her.”
Della squared her shoulders, her blonde hair rippling with resentment. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“You sure about that?” Cassie closed the distance then sat on her haunches in front of her. “Do you know what day it is today?”
“The day we can leave?”
“No, not yet, I’m afraid.” Cassie shook her head. “That will be a sad day to say goodbye, not a happy day. For me, anyway.” She flashed me a look, and once again, her tone thickened and eyes shot a message I didn’t understand. The moment was gone as fast as it’d happened as she turned back to Della. “Today is much better than that. Want to know why?”
Despite herself, Della asked, “Why?”
“Because today isn’t a normal work day. Ren doesn’t have chores, and you don’t have to stay in here all day.”
“Why not?” Her eyebrows scrunched together. “It’s not a Sunday. Ren works every day but Sunday.”
“Not today, he doesn’t.”
I shuffled on the spot, fighting two polarizing emotions. One, I couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through my chest at Cassie treating Della so kindly. I still hadn’t made up my mind about her as a person, but the fact she spoke to Della as intelligent and not an idiot layered her with more than just physical appeal. And two, I struggled with the possession in my gut. The snaking, hissing knowledge that with every word she spoke, she cracked Della’s coldness and made her interact.
She was making me share her, and I both loved and loathed it.
“Why not today?” Della wedged the toe of her sneaker into the threadbare carpet. “Tell me.”
Cassie grinned. “Because today is Christmas!” Clapping her hands, she lost the sensual way she normally moved and acted like Della did when I agreed to tell her a new story. Excitement glowed on her face, making her so damn pretty that I had to move away to hide the evidence of my interest.
I had no idea what she was so upbeat about, but if it made her this attractive, I would have to avoid it at all costs. Strange heat bubbled in my belly. My lips tingled for something. Those frustrating, hated desires whenever I looked at dirty magazines returned in full force.
“What’s Christmas?” Della cocked her head, her ponytail swaying.
“Oh, my God, did you just ask what Christmas is?” Cassie’s mouth fell open. “How the hell do you not know what Christmas is?”
“Is that like when the TV families have a big meal, open gifts wrapped in bright paper, and then moan about eating too much?” Della nodded importantly. “I forgot. I do know Christmas.”
Cassie rose to her feet, shrugging helplessly, and pinning me with a disbelieving stare. “Please tell me you know what Christmas is.”
“Like Della said. We know the principal of it.”
“But you’ve never celebrated it yourself?”
This was one of those questions that asked so much more than a simple query. Her tone said she didn’t believe us. Her face said she pitied us if it was true. Her body language said she’d run to her father and tell him regardless of my answer.
I mulled replies in my head. I couldn’t exactly say that our lifestyle meant we didn’t follow dates, only seasons. I couldn’t reveal the full truth that Della had been too young to remember, and I’d never had one since I was sold.
But then again, I could tell her because John Wilson had insisted on the truth, and I’d already told him we’d escaped from a farm that bought children for labour.
I was so used to lying that the truth felt bitter on my tongue. “You know where we came from. Do you honestly think people who buy kids for work would give them Christmas?”
I hadn’t meant my answer to be a bucket of water on the cheery blaze of her excitement, but Cassie’s face fell, her eyes darkened, and she looked at me deeper, harder, wiser than she had before. “You were telling the truth about that. I didn’t think you were.”