Frances pours glasses of water as I move back to the kitchen for a bottle. I’d planned to abstain, to stay level-headed, but if I’m going to spend the night getting royally fucked, I prefer to do it with lubrication.
A hand on my wrist stops me inside the kitchen and pulls me back toward the hallway, where we’re out of sight of the dining room.Shite. Not even a chance to guzzle down a bottle or two of my favorite vintages. Not a particularly promising start to the evening.
“Yes?” I ask with a lifted brow when she doesn’t let go after a pointed look at where her grip holds me captive.
Her mouth parts, brows pinching together. A pulse races at the base of her throat. “What the hell are you doing here? Is this about the house?” Her throat bobs as she swallows, and her grip tightens.
“Worried I’ll tell him about us?” She releases me, and I work up a sneer. “Don’t trouble yourself. Tonight has nothing to do with you.”
I’d tell her to leave, but if I know her at all, that’ll only ensure she keeps her sweet arse right where it is. Catriona follows closely as I cross to the kitchen shelves where I keep a couple of bottles. Choosing blindly, I turn and find her standing right behind me.
“If you’re looking for a repeat, I hate to tell you, but it’s not happening.” The urge to call her pet is so present, I can almost taste the word on my lips, see it reflected in her conflicted hazel eyes. I wonder if she’d slap me if I did.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” She jerks her chin up. There’s a beauty mark at the corner of her left eye that I hadn’t noticed when she’d been wearing the mask. It twitches as her eyes thin to slits. “That’s what you have to say to me right now?”
“Is there something else I should say?”
“You could tell me why you’re pretending you have no idea who I am. Why you’re here with my father. Because I have to tell you, what’s in my head isn’t painting a very nice picture of you.”
“No one’s pretending. I know who you are. And there’s no one I can think of who’d mistake me as nice.”
“And?” she demands, slapping a hand on the counter when I try to slip by her, bottles in my hands.
I level her with a look. “And it has nothing to do with anything. It was one night. And you left. We both got what we wanted. End of story. Don’t make it more than it is because you will only embarrass yourself.”
Trying to shift around her, she blocks my way, ignoring my scowl. “Is this some sort of power play because I left you in bed? Are your sensitive male feelings hurt because I ghosted you? Because if that’s it, I have to say, that’s pretty fucking pathetic. Even for a man like you.”
“My sensitive male feelings are perfectly fine, thanks for asking. Now, if you don’t mind, I have guests waiting.” I take a step closer, invading her space. She doesn’t back down. Christ.The warmth of her rage radiates off her, along with her scent. What is that? For some reason, it reminds me of mornings in the kitchen with my parents in Ireland. Floral, green, bright.
“Are you fucking with me? Is that what this is? Okay, ha ha, so funny. But this is taking it too far. My family? Really?”
I duck down, and she stiffens from head to toe. I can almost hear her heart pausing its attempt to push blood through her veins. “Such a spoiled, selfish little girl. Tonight has nothing to do with you. I don’t even know why you’re here. My business is with your father and your sister. But if you insist on staying, then I’d recommend not making a nuisance of yourself. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other in the future, so I suggest you get used to staying out of my way starting now, if you don’t want your father knowing what you were up to.”
This time, she doesn’t stop me when I move around her, but the sound of her heels against the floor follows me back to the dining room.
The scent of Frances’s potato leek soup is hearty and rich, but it makes my stomach twist as I take my seat at the table. I’m at the head with Elizabeth to my right. Rory takes my left, with Catriona to his other side. If it weren’t my job to read people, I wouldn’t notice anything amiss in her expression. I have to give her credit. Her mask is almost as good as mine.
Almost.
I don’t realize Rory is already speaking until I rip my attention away from Catriona.
“Elizabeth is a freshman pursuing a degree in history from Tulane, and she can speak French, German, and Italian. She’s also an accomplished violinist and quite the baker. If I say so myself,” Rory boasts when I finally tune back in. No note of the panicked man from the previous meeting. No, he’s the consummate politician now, all big, fake teeth and an even fakersmile. I wish I could crack him open and string up his insides like Mardi Gras beads, ropes of intestines hanging from trees.
“You must be very proud,” I say, waving Frances away as she tries to fill my bowl with ladles of soup. Wine will be my first, second, and third courses.
As Rory blathers on like an auctioneer at a cattle sale, I drink. Catriona glares. Elizabeth takes dainty spoonfuls of soup. Frances hovers, hands fluttering like moth wings and as graceful as a ballerina. She catches my eye from time to time, her mouth a firm line of disapproval, but she doesn’t say a word. Not that she could. Rory hasn’t given anyone else the chance to speak.
“HerGaeilge Uladhisn’t as good as it could be, unfortunately. We never had the time to go to Ireland to pick it up.”
Catriona snorts. I swallow the wine souring on my tongue. My hand fists under the table as our eyes meet in a moment of unwanted intimacy that blots out the rest of the room.
“Would you like to go?” I ask Elizabeth, deliberately turning my body so she fills my vision.
“To Ireland?” Elizabeth asks after blotting her mouth.
“Yes. It’s a beautiful country. I haven’t been back in many years.”
Elizabeth glances at her father. “Y-yes, I’d love to.”
