"That's my life." She stops talking as Claire walks in again, this time bringing plates of chicken salad sandwiches with slices of pickle and thick-cut chips. “It’s how things are.”
“Well, that’s fucking stupid.”
Maeve swallows hard. She looks down at her plate, at the sandwiches, and then drops her napkin onto the table suddenly, pushing her chair away.
"If you'll excuse me?—"
"Maeve, wait."
But she's already leaving, her footsteps echoing in the hallway.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at the half-eaten food, the empty chair across from me. Then I push back from the table and follow her.
—
I findher in the garden, on a bench near the roses. Her back is straight, her hands folded in her lap, but I can see the tension in her shoulders.
"Go away," she says without turning around.
"No,” I tell her flatly, my irritation rising. Yes, this is a shitty fucking situation for her, but it is for me, too. I took the time to come out here and check on her; the least she could do is not sit there and fucking pout.
That’s not helpful, Flannery. You didn’t come out here to make it worse.I clench my teeth, breathing slowly as Maeve speaks again.
"I'm not hungry. You can report back to Mrs. Brady that I'm fine."
"I'm not here because of Mrs. Brady." I move around the bench so I can see her face. "I'm here because I was an asshole in there."
"You're an asshole everywhere." Her voice is flat. "It's not specific to the dining room."
Fair point.
I sit down on the bench, leaving space between us. "The documents in the study—there's a lot to go through. I'll need help understanding it all."
"Then hire someone who knows about business. I can't help you." She refuses to turn toward me, her voice empty.
"Because they never taught you."
"Because I'm useless." She finally looks at me, and there's the first hint of fire in those light blue eyes. "Isn't that what you think? That I'm just some sheltered, stupid girl who can't do anything for herself?"
"That's not?—"
"I saw how you looked at me in there. Frustrated. Angry. Like I'm just one more problem you have to solve." She stands, facing me now. "Well, I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment. I'm sorry I don't know about the estate. I'm sorry I'm not the kind of wife who can just… just..."
Her voice breaks, and she turns away.
"Maeve—"
"I didn't ask for this either," she says, her voice shaking. "I didn't ask to be married to someone who looks at me like he hates me. Who can't even..." She stops, wrapping her arms around herself. "I never had choices. Not about my education, not about my life, and certainly not about who I married. So if you're angry about being stuck with me, imagine how I feel being stuck with you."
The words hit like a physical blow. She's right. About all of it. I have been treating her like a burden, like an obligation I resent.Because she is those things. But she's also a person who didn't choose this any more than I did. My chest feels tight. I’m not equipped for any of this, and neither is she, and neither of us is the kind of person who can figure out how to make this work.
If there’s a hell, I have a feeling we’re both in it.
"You're not useless," I say quietly.
"Don't." She shakes her head. "Don't say things you don't mean just to make me feel better."
"I'm not." I stand, taking a step toward her. "I'm frustrated with your father. With your family. With the Council. With everyone who kept you in the dark about your own life. Not with you."
