Kellin.
Talking to my father, a whiskey on the rocks in his hand.
What in the actual fuck. My heart slams into the back of my chest. I can’t breathe.
Having a late dinneror whatever the hell his text said. He never mentioned my father. Is this some kind of payback for not opening up to him when he asked about the penthouse? Is he going around me now to buy the Cypress? Am I nothing to him?
I dig my nails into my palms and do my best not to hyperventilate.
Kellin glances up. His eyes widen once he spots me from across the dining room.
Apparently, he’s surprised to see me too.
Did my father set this all up? That crosses my mind briefly, as that would be just like him.
Kellin is smooth, though, and he hides his astonishment with a laugh, his expression becoming neutral and casual.
No big deal.
“Maeve, how nice to see you.” He hoists his freshly refilled glass.
I glare pointedly at my father, who’s absolutelygleeful, the prick.
“Sweetheart, I’d introduce you, but apparently you’re already acquainted.”
Brody strolls over and reluctantly shakes Kellin’s hand. That little display was for Dad, because I already know my brother doesn’t like him.
My father’s smile widens. “Kellin was just filling me in on his company’s interest in investing in the Cypress. Since this is a family affair, I figured we could all sit around and have a little chat. You’re right on time.” He slaps Kellin on the back and orders everyone to sit. “Maeve, why don’t you take the seat on my left tonight?”
Great, I’m across from the guest of honor. At least he’ll have a front-row seat when my head explodes. I hope my brains rain all over him and ruin that bespoke suit of his.
My pulse continues to gallop. Am I even walking? Because my body feels weightless, like I’m floating all the way to my chair.
Sophia saves the day as she places a glass of Chianti in front of me. “Eggplant parmesan for you, hon. I’m so happy to see you.”
“You, too, Sophia. Thank you.” She prepares my favorite dish every time she knows I’m coming, no matter how late she finds out.
Sophia and my father met about five years back. She’s of both Irish and Italian heritage. So, once a month, since they married and she moved in, we do Italian night.
I can’t voice this out loud, but straying from the traditional Irish cuisine we were raised on has been nothing short of a delight. It’s changed the dynamic of the dreadful family dinners. Somedays, I think Sophia and her delectable Italian dishes are the only reason I still occasionally show up.
I inhale a hearty gulp of wine and try to exhale some of the betrayal poisoning my stomach in the hopes of surviving this meal without vomiting.
From my periphery, I glimpse the sinister smile plastered on my father’s face. And straight ahead of me, Kellin tries to initiate eye contact.
I refuse to meet his gaze as the churning in my stomach grows.
Did he sleep with me to get close to my father?
Have I been played by them both?
Am I that girl? Falling for a man who’s a carbon copy of her dominant, demeaning, demanding dad?
I can no longer imagine any kind of happy ending here.
Not for Kellin and me, nor for the Cypress.
The only thing I know is that I’m about to need a hell of a lot more wine.
