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“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth.

The black paper tore, splitting apart a dozen gold roses. A simple white box that matched my grandmother’s remained underneath. I tugged off the top.

And stared.

Pale blue chiffon fluttered lightly. Delicate crystals stitched onto the bodice sparkled in the cozy light of the living room.

“How beautiful,” Nonna murmured, pulling a forest green gown from her box. “These will be perfect for Don Ravello’s dinner.”

My nose wrinkled. I dumped my box on the couch, spun on my heels, and I was about to march out of the room, when Oli scampered to my gift.

“Mom! Yours has a note,” he said with a funny look on his face.

Mat whispered in his brother’s ear. “That’s hilarious.”

Oli grinned.

Their suspicious behavior should have set off warning bells. I knew them well enough.

But I was pissed.

Too pissed to care.

Biting my tongue hard enough so it nearly bled, I gave him a tight smile, took the note, and then made my escape.

I went to the fridge, desperate for some form of relief. It was too frickin early for a drink, so I grabbed a wad of cookie dough and shoved it in my mouth.

The note taunted me.

Gnashing my teeth, I flicked the envelope open.

I can’t wait to see you in this tomorrow night.

—Saint Nick

My fists closed around the note, and the card crumpled.

“Ragazza mia, what has gotten into you?!” Nonna hissed, bustling into the kitchen.

I dropped the note in the trash and slammed the lid. “It’s too much.”

My grandmother crossed her arms over her chest. “Rose?”

“The gifts! The extravagance!” I whisper-shouted. “I can’t compete with this, Nonna.”

“You’re not supposed to, child.” She tapped her foot.

I sank into a chair, dropping my head into my hands. “The boys love it here.”

Wooden legs scraped on the floor as my grandma pulled another chair out. She delicately sat down and reached for me. “Rosetta, this is a good thing.”

I shook my head, jerking away from her. “They’re going to think they had such a shitty childhood living in the city. That I wasted nine years of their lives!”

“Nonsense! They won’t see the past as your fault.” She grabbed my wrists and tugged with a surprising amount of strength. “The boys love you, Rose. They are just excited about this. They’ve had so little joy—”

“Which is my fault!” I wailed, finally dropping my hands.

“No! Stop that right now,” Nonna snapped.