The flightto Dublin is tense and quiet. Maeve sits by the window, watching Boston disappear below us, and I wonder what she's thinking. Is she scared? Angry? Both? She hasn’t said a word to me about how she feels about the trip, just packed her bags and went along with what she was told to do. It’s only piled on to the guilt I constantly feel—I have an idea that much of her life has been like that, and I’m adding to it. But I need to keep her safe, and I need to go to Dublin. I can’t do both unless she comes with me.
Flynn is with us, sprawled in his seat, apparently asleep, but I know better. He's always alert. I’m wide-awake, but I can’t stop looking at Maeve. I should be planning. Thinking about what I'll say to the Council, how I'll handle Brennan. Instead, I'm watching my wife.
She's wearing leggings and a sweater, her hair down, no makeup. She looks young and vulnerable, and something protective and possessive claws at my chest.
Mine.
The thought comes unbidden and unwanted. She's not mine. Not really. This marriage was forced on both of us. Legally, she’s my wife, but nothing about this was chosen, and she doesn’t belong to me in any of the ways that matter.
Why does it fucking feel like it’s starting to matter?
"You're staring," she says quietly, not looking at me.
"Sorry."
She looks up then, those blue eyes finding mine. "Are you?"
I don't know how to answer that, so I don't. "What's Dublin like?" she asks after a moment.
I chuckle. "Rainy. Gray. Loud, in some parts of the city."
A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "Sounds lovely."
I shrug. "It's my home."
"Tell me about it." She shifts in her seat to face me better. "Your home, I mean. What's it like?"
"Small. A flat in a less busy part of the city. Nothing like your mansion."
"I don't care about that." She pauses. "Will I... will I have my own room?"
Fuck.I didn’t think about that. “There’s only one bedroom. But I can sleep on the couch.”
She looks away, as if she’s not sure what she thinks of that. Something tightens in my chest, and I reach across the space between us and take her hand. She startles but doesn't pull away. "You're safe with me, Maeve. Whatever happens, you're safe."
She presses her lips together. “I hope so,” she says softly, and then she takes her hand away.
It feels like cracks are opening up in my chest, fissures that hurt and burn. All I can think about is what I need to do when we get to Dublin. I'll talk to the Council. I'll hunt down Brennan. And I'll keep Maeve safe, no matter what it costs me.
When the plane touches down, I hear Maeve gasp slightly. It occurs to me, though I didn’t ask, that she’s probably never flown before. She didn’t voice a word of complaint, and I silently curse myself for not asking, for not thinking of how to make her more comfortable.
I can’t stop fucking this up. Which is exactly why I should never have been given her in the first place.
I take a deep breath, standing as the plane comes to a stop, watching Maeve stare out of the window.
"Ready?" I ask her.
She takes a deep breath and nods. "Ready."
We step off the plane into the Dublin night, and I watch Maeve take in her first glimpse of the city’s lights in the distance. The far-off lights, the rain just starting to fall, the distant sound of traffic.
"Welcome to Dublin," Flynn says cheerfully, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "You're going to love it."
I glare at him and he rolls his eyes, pulling his arm away. Maeve looks at me uncertainly, and I motion to the waiting car. “Let’s go.”
I’m back home, I think as I open the car door for her. I’m bringing a wife home, something that I never thought would happen. It feels strange, no matter the circumstances of our marriage.
And somehow, I have to keep us both alive long enough to figure out what comes next.
