“That sounds awesome,” Emma said. Their eyes met in the mirror, and they both smiled.

“Anyway,” Laurel said, flushing with pleasure, “I think they’re waiting on us to start the tree. Are you ready to go down?”

Emma took a deep breath. This was what she’d dreamed of for so long. A family Christmas. Now that it was here, she was oddly nervous. What if it wasn’t what she’d expected? Maybe the Mercers would resent her being there. Maybe they didn’t want her to come down and help.

“You think it’ll be okay?” she asked, biting her lip.

Laurel raised an eyebrow. “You lived through blackmail, kidnapping, and assault, and you’re worried about trimming the tree? Come on.” She threaded her arm through Emma’s and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Together, they went downstairs.

Mrs. Mercer had hung a garland along the banister already, and the smell of vanilla and cinnamon wafted through the house. In the living room, they’d moved an armchair to make room for the silvery green fir. Someone had already strung tiny winking lights around its branches. Bing Crosby crooned from the surround-sound stereo, and a platter of sugar cookies sat on top of the baby grand’s lid. Drake—wearing plush reindeer antlers—lifted his nose to sniff hopefully at the plate.

The Mercers were already there, a fire crackling in the fireplace. Mrs. Mercer sat sorting through a box of decorations on the floor, while Mr. Mercer stood looking thoughtfully up at the tree, wearing a bright red Santa hat. Grandma Mercer was there too, her hair perfectly waved, pearls at her neck and throat. Emma swallowed. Grandma still hadn’t spoken to her more than was absolutely necessary.

“Oh, God, they’ve already got ‘White Christmas’ going,” Laurel groaned, rolling her eyes, but Emma could tell she secretly liked it. Mrs. Mercer gave a satisfied little smirk.

“That’s right,” she said. “And after this we have John Denver and Judy Garland to get through, too. ”

Laurel pretended to gag, and Emma giggled. She’d always liked Christmas music—it was one of the few things you could enjoy for free during the holidays. She’d spent plenty of holidays walking the Vegas strip, listening to the Bellagio fountain show play “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” and looking at the lushly decorated Christmas trees the casinos put up. She hummed along now, picking up a cookie from the tray and biting into it.

Grandma Mercer glanced at Mr. and Mrs. Mercer, anxious creases at the corners of her eyes. Mr. Mercer put a hand on her shoulder, some unspoken communication passing between them. He nodded earnestly at her, as if in encouragement. Emma’s heart skipped a beat.