“Good.”
“Fine.” I eat my soup more aggressively than is polite in public, but goddamn does this man rile me up. One word out of his mouth, one facial expression, and I want to strangle him. What’s wrong with me? I’m usually blunt, but I’m rarely homicidal. Since the priest pronounced us husband and wife, I’ve wanted nothing more than to murder this Irish ruffian.
That nice silk tie could do the trick if I can get enough leverage. Maybe I’ll strangle him with it tonight, while he sleeps, since I won’t have anything more enjoyable to do with my time now that sex is off the table.
“Look at me with murder in your eyes all you want,broc meala, you’re not the first woman who’s dreamed of killing me.”
Broc meala? What does that mean? He called me something last night, but I don’t remember the exact words. Knowing him, it’s probably nothing nice.
I slap my hand to my chest in mock astonishment. “No.Really? With your charming personality, who could possibly want to off you?”
Shaking his head, he mutters under his breath.
“What was that? I didn’t catch it.” I lean in.
His cold gaze collides with mine. “I said it’s amazing to think that you’re the sweet sister in your family.”
That gives me pause. I didn’t realize he knew that I had a sister. On second thought, of course he’d do at least some research into the family he’d be joining. Does he know we’re twins? Identical twins? The back of my neck breaks out in a cold sweat.
He continues, “People said you and your sister couldn’t be more opposite. If you’re this… challenging… I can only imagine what a harpy your sister must be.”
Challenging? Harpy? Dig your grave deeper, why don’t you, Mr. O’Rourke?
“My sister is a perfectly lovely individual,” I snap.
He snorts. “I’m sure. Just like your brother was a real nice guy. A perfect mafia prince.”
“Of course he was.” I have no intention of revealing my brother’s true nature to him. He hasn’t earned the right to know any intimate details about me or my family.
“You seem really torn up about his death.” Cian’s tone drips with sarcasm.
“My entire family is devastated by the loss of him.” It’s the truth. They are, even if I’m not.
“Hmm. And what about you?” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “How did it make you feel last night, knowing that theman who killed your brother was fucking you? Did that get you hot?”
I shoot up, throwing my cloth napkin on the table. “You’re a sick bastard, you know that? Excuse me.”
I rush from the table, and head straight for the restroom. Stunned gazes and murmurs follow me as I go, but I ignore them. It’s not the first time I’ve been stared at in public. Won’t be the last either. The backs of my eyes sting and I just want some privacy where I can fall apart for a moment.
Cian O’Rourke is officially the most insufferable man I’ve ever met. He’s the worst. If he wanted to get a rise out of me, he succeeded.
I push the door open with enough force that it bangs against the wall, then close myself in a vacant stall. Soft music plays overhead. The air has a fresh, sophisticated citrus scent. I lean my back to the door and release a stifled sob.
Guilt eats away at my gut. I’m supposed to be in mourning for my brother. I’msupposedto feel something other than relief, joy, and exhilaration by the fact that he’s dead. Which goes to show that I’m a horrible person. Though I have my reasons.
For the past few years, Matteo told me that one day Elena would be married and my parents would declare me a spinster, unsuitable for any match. He promised me when that happened, I’d belong to him, that he’d take me for himself and there was nothing I could do about it.
My stomach churns at the memory.
When I pointed out that would be incest, and our parents would never approve, he shrugged as if he didn’t care. He said we’d be our family’s dirty little secret. He’d already talked with our father about it and gotten his permission. My fate was all but sealed, but I didn’t believe him. Not fully.
Papa wouldn’t really do that to me, would he?
My stomach threatens to revolt at the thought of Matteo touching me like Cian did last night. Not only because Matteo was my brother, but because of how cruel I know he’d be. Everything I feared from Cian, Matteo would have delivered ten-fold.
He would have cut me with that knife. He would have forced himself on me and laughed when I screamed and pleaded for him to stop.
Another sob breaks free and I hug myself, drawing in deep, shaky breaths. I narrowly escaped one monster only to marry another. Even if Cian isn’t as bad as Matteo, they are cut from the same cloth.
