The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(54)

“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.”

I shrugged.

“Can I see?”

“See what?”

“The brand you said is like a cattle mark.”

Della shot toward me, clamping her hand over my hip. “No. He doesn’t show anyone. Only me.”

Cassie held up her hands. “Okay, fair enough. I get it.” Struggling to find her previous light-hearted happiness, she said, “I came here this morning with two messages from my parents. One, today is a day off, and you’re not to work. And two, if you’d like, we’d be honoured to have you join us for Christmas lunch.”

It was my turn for my mouth to fall open. “You want us to join you?”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?” She smiled away the sharpness. “But, yes. Do whatever you need, then come to the house. I want to be the first to introduce you to Christmas.”

She left with a smile at Della, lingering glance at me, and the sense that today would mark yet another change, a new adventure, a first experience…for both of us.

*

“Ren, can I talk to you for a moment?” John Wilson entered the cosy country lounge with large caramel couches and woven rugs where I sat beside Della on the floor beside a giant pine decorated in garish flickering lights and round coloured balls.

Somehow, Della and I had traded our aversion to company and accepted the invitation to Christmas. We’d eaten things we’d never eaten before like buttery brussel sprouts, juicy cranberry turkey, and pecan spun-sugar pie.

My stomach was no longer flat and hard but bloated with too much food.

It was a luxury I could get used to.

Without thinking, my hand found Della’s head, and my fingers slipped through her long blonde hair. She’d undone her ponytail when the Wilsons had given her a small wicker basket full of ribbons in every colour of the rainbow. She’d compared her blue satin to the purples and pinks and yellows, her face brighter and happier than I’d ever seen.

That fact that the Wilsons had taken notice of her and seen her most prized possession was a tatty, dirty ribbon made my reserved nature falter a little. This family was the exact opposite of the Mclarys, proving good balanced out evil and kindness deleted cruelty.

Patricia Wilson doted on Della, giving her anything she wanted. More lemonade. Another cookie. Teaching her to plait the ribbons together to form one pretty braid. Setting up puzzles and games for Liam and Della to squabble over together.

She’d adopted her, and I’d been in a state of confusion all day thanks to the generosity of these people. I struggled to believe and not try to see past the truth, expecting the same rotting greed like the people I’d run from.

This was the family Della should’ve been born into.

This was the family that taught me not all humans were creatures to run away from.

“Ren?” John cocked his head toward the corridor, hurrying me along.

With a wince, I climbed to my feet, making sure to take the new knife Cassie Wilson had given me from under the tree. I hadn’t expected presents. I didn’t even know people gave gifts without requiring anything in return unless they loved them like I loved Della, but when I’d opened the blade and stroked the goat hide handle, I’d been speechless.

I still hadn’t said thank you, and it ate at me every time Cassie smiled from across the room.

I had a feeling she knew the depth of my gratitude, though.

Her cheeks carried a pinkness that flushed whenever our gazes met. Her smile held a weight that sped up my heart and thickened my blood.

All day, I’d been aware of her and her of me, almost as if we were having a silent conversation while surrounded by our loud-spoken loved ones.