His hands kept moving, shaking the box, and I squinted to see the jiggling lettering.
“Virtual reality gaming!” he said, and widened his eyes. “Virtual reality gaming. My buddy wants one of these so bad. He was just telling me the other day how awesome it was. How’d you know?”
Mr. Tom pushed aside some of the basket filler so he could set down a silver tray filled with an assortment of pastries, breads, cheeses and jams. His expression was smug.
“Mr. Tom was probably listening at your door when you were talking,” I said with a chuckle, the jewelry box groaning as I flipped the lid. A diamond tennis bracelet surrounded two diamond studs, glittering in the sunlight streaming in behind me. “Oh wow, Mr. Tom, these are beautiful.”
“Yes, miss. I have excellent taste.”
I gave him a flat look, but showed Jimmy.
“Oh crap, Mom. Did he buy all of this?” Jimmy touched each item in front of him before picking up the sunglasses. “Do I have to give it back?”
“The estate bought all of this,” Mr. Tom said, “and as soon as your mother finally gets around to officially transferring it into her name, she can take credit. Until then, your thanks will have to wait in limbo, with her best of intentions.”
The flat look continued.
“That is awesome.” Jimmy put on the glasses. “I’m going to look so dope in these. They’re designer! I’ve never had anything designer before. Girls love a guy who has a little bling.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then—”
“No, no, Mr. Tom.” I held up my hand. “This is plenty. You’ll have to wait until his birthday to continue spoiling him.”
“She really can kill the mood, can’t she, Master Jimmy?” Mr. Tom tightened his lips while grabbing a bottle of champagne. “When you two are through, you may head to the back garden and begin the egg hunt.”
Jimmy laughed with maniacal delight, snapping a picture of the headset with his phone. “Max is not going to believe this. He’s going to be so jealous.”
“Share with him.” I touched Jimmy on the shoulder. “It’s okay to celebrate good fortune, but it is not okay to hold it over other people. You need to share.”
“Yes, Mom,” he replied dutifully, ever the sullen teenager when he wanted to be.
Mr. Tom hadn’t been kidding. He slipped a mimosa into my hand the second we reached the lovely white tent arching over a rectangular table surrounded by foldout chairs. White netting draped to the sides, secured to the tent poles with large cream bows, leaving it all open. Jasper and Ulric, both dressed in white slacks and tweed jackets, outfits that had undoubtedly been picked out by Mr. Tom, milled around the grass in bare feet, sipping their own mimosas. I wondered if they’d gotten baskets. Given they were both from towns that were mostly magical, where people didn’t seem to celebrate the same things, they probably thought this was yet another example of Dick and Jane oddity.
They were still looking, though. Our traditions might seem strange to them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t fun.
“Now, Master Jimmy.” Mr. Tom stood next to the tent, straight as a board, his black tux swapped out for a cream one. “The eggs are hidden in this section here.” He put his arms out to the sides. “Starting from the house and going to the edge of the wood, not beyond. I’ve hidden a hundred eggs, containing various denominations of—” He cleared his throat. “The Easter Bunny has hidden a hundred eggs, and he—it?—told me that the eggs contain various dominations of money and gems.”
“Gems?” I asked, slipping out of my shoes as well. I hoped Niamh hadn’t put nails in the grass again.
Mr. Tom half turned to me. “Do you not have gems in Easter eggs? They are worth money, so I assumed that counted? We have a ridiculous amount of them in the attic, too big or cumbersome to fit into proper jewelry. The heirs of the past accepted many gifts from hopeful suitors throughout the years, something you will likely miss out on, since you seem to be settling so early. A shame.”
“Gems…like rubies and diamonds?” I clarified. I had no idea what he meant by the rest of it, and I didn’t care to ask.
“And semi-precious stones as well. Is that not…how it’s done?”
Jimmy’s face had gone slack as he stared at Mr. Tom.
“Be careful when you open those eggs,” I told Jimmy. “We’ll swap out the gems for paper money. Mr. Tom is not really…in touch with real life.”
“Well, whose fault is that?” Mr. Tom grumbled. “I’m not the one that’s supposed to be making these monetary decisions. Honestly, miss, you can run into battle, but you can’t take a blood oath? It’s only a little blood. Hardly a slice of the finger. You invented a game so you could get stabbed—what’s the big deal?”