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It was now Christmas Eve, and for the past week Carmine had watched Haven get into the holiday spirit. He hadn’t seen such enthusiasm for it since his mom’s last Christmas. A part of him still wanted to forget it all, push it aside and go back into his hole, but a bigger part of him couldn’t help but be happy. He had finally found his light in the darkness, the spark that snuffed when his mom died reignited in Haven.
But Carmine feared the light would go out on him again.
Carmine’s nerves were on edge as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch, steadily watching the clock, hardly able to pay attention to the television. After about twenty minutes, a car pulled up out front, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Haven go rigid. The front door opened and Vincent’s voice ricocheted through the house, followed by soft feminine laughter.
Aunt Celia.
Dominic jumped up, picking Celia off the ground to swing her around. She glanced at Carmine once Dominic set her back on her feet. “You look more like her every time I see you, kiddo.”
She didn’t have to specify—Carmine knew what she meant. He hugged her, not bothering to respond. It was the truth, and Celia was the only person not afraid to talk to him about his mom.
Celia pulled back. “Have you been good?”
“I haven’t blown anything up lately, if that counts.”
“It’s a start.”
Vincent cleared his throat, his eyes focused on Haven standing in front of the couch. She stared at the floor as she picked at her fingernails. Seeing her look so frightened tugged at Carmine’s heart.
Celia approached her. “Haven?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Celia said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Haven’s voice was barely audible. “You too, Mrs. Moretti.”
“Call me Celia, dear. Mrs. Moretti is my mother-in-law and quite the wicked witch, at that.”
Haven’s eyes widened as Vincent laughed, but he shook his head, not interested in sharing whatever he found funny. He shared a knowing look with Celia, the corner of his lips still fighting to turn up.
“Anyway, I’m hungry and exhausted from traveling,” Celia said, “so don’t expect me to be good company tonight.”
Haven’s eyes darted to the clock. “I should make dinner.”
She started out of the room, but Vincent stepped in front of her. A look of fright flashed across her face as she gasped, and he held his hands up when she recoiled.
It was a train wreck. As much as Carmine hated it, he couldn’t do anything but watch it unfold.
“Relax, child,” Vincent said. “I was going to tell you not to worry about cooking.”
Haven wrapped her arms around her chest. “May I be excused then, mas—uh, sir?”
Carmine cringed at the exchange.
“Yes, you’re excused.” Haven bolted out of the room before the words were completely out of his mouth, and he shook his head. “I should’ve figured.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Celia said. “It didn’t cross my mind.”
Carmine watched them suspiciously. “Couldn’t have known what?”
A small surge of panic coursed through Carmine when his aunt let out a surprised laugh. She could read him easily, and he hadn’t considered that beforehand.
“It doesn’t matter,” Vincent said, turning away. “We’ll deal with the girl later.”
* * *
Carmine didn’t see Haven again that night. He hung out in the library in hopes she would surface, but dawn broke with no sign of her. Giving up, he went downstairs and sat at the piano, ghosting his fingers over the keys in the darkness before hitting the opening notes of Moonlight Sonata. He played for a few minutes, the mellow tones swallowing him whole, until a floorboard creaked behind him.
