“Catriona.” She holds out a perfectly manicured hand. “Of course. So nice to finallyofficiallymeet you. I’m Mara. I’d say lovely wedding, but I’m against the institution as a whole,” she adds with a quirk of her black, slashing brows.
My cheeks go hot. “Glad you could make it?” I answer, but it ends up sounding like a question.
“Aiden tells me you need a dress for the reception party. I think I have just the thing.” She rounds the front of the Mustang to the driver’s side. “Well, come on, we don’t have all day.”
“What about my stalkers?” I say, jerking my thumb at the two men behind me. “They’re supposed to follow me everywhere.”
She sends them a sultry smirk. “They know where we’re going, but I don’t allow bloodshed in my house, so they’ll have to stay outside. You understand, don’t you, boys?”
Mara doesn’t give them enough time to respond, slamming the door and barely waiting for me to buckle my seat belt before she cranks the car, engine rumbling, and tears out of the parking lot at a speed that makes my heart jump into my throat.
I’d wondered what a woman like her—sleek, sophisticated, and obviously successful—would be doing with O’Connor, but the way she drives the car gives me an inkling. She’s controlled, but there’s a spiteful aggression underneath that I recognize. I don’t know her story, but I get the feeling she’s not the sort of woman to be trifled with.
“So how long have you and O’Con—Aidenbeen friends?”
“He and Eamon have been attached since birth. Grew up together in County Clare. I didn’t meet them until I was about, oh, thirteen, I guess. My family does business with the organization.”
I can tell that’s as much as she’s willing to share, so I don’t press for more. “Eamon?” I ask, realizing this is the perfect opportunity to learn more about my (not) husband.
Mara maneuvers confidently through the afternoon traffic, not a hair out of place or an inkling of frustration when we hit a bit of a gridlock. She’s dressed in all black, skintight jeans with artful rips on the thighs, a thin, lacy black tank top and a black leather jacket that complements her skin tone, dark hair, and red lips. She almost reminds me of a fifties model, and I’m envious of how put-together she is. And it’s not like I’m dressed casually. The clothes I’m wearing are designer. But after a long day of hoofing it around campus and a longer week avoiding O’Connor, I feel less than composed.
“You’ve probably seen him around. Curly dark hair. Always looks like he wants to stab someone?” she says with a sultry laugh. “If that doesn’t strike a bell, I can always give him a ring to join us. One thing about Eamon is that he loves to cause trouble. Seeing you without Aiden hovering around would be his idea of a good time.”
“Oh, yeah, now I remember.” In fact, I remember him cleaning up a body after O’Connor had put a bullet in a cop’s head at the masquerade. Eamon had joked about it. If O’Connor is a stone-cold killer, then Eamon is his mad-jester sidekick.
“If Aiden is Cian’s right-hand man, then Eamon is Aiden’s. When Aiden was assigned to come to New Orleans, Eamon followed close behind. He said it was because if he stayed in Ireland for another minute, he’d probably wind up dead.”
“How long have you been engaged?”
“Seven years,” she answers.
I do a double take. “Sev—” I didn’t think she was old, per se, but she doesn’t seem much older than my twenty-four years.
“We got engaged when I was seventeen,” she answers, before I can give in to my morbid curiosity and ask.
“You were so young.”
“Well, let’s just say I wasn’t given much of a choice,” she answers easily. “In the family, you do what you’re told, or you learn quickly otherwise.”
“Do you at least like him?”
“My fiancé?” She laughs again, but it’s a ruined, harrowing sound this time. “Not at all. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could put one of Eamon’s knives in his throat.”
“I guess we have that in common.”
“But let’s not talk about him. I’d love to know more about you.” She sends me a look over her Gucci sunglasses.
“Me?” I laugh nervously. “There’s not much to tell, honestly.”
“I very much doubt that, darling. You got the better of Aiden O’Connor. If that’s not something, I don’t know what is.”
“To be honest, I was mostly trying to keep him from getting to my sister. My marrying O’Connor had nothing to do with… any of that. It was reckless, really. I have a problem doing things without thinking sometimes.” I don’t know what it is about her that makes me admit it, only that she’s as easy to talk to as Yasmine.
“Whatever the reason, consider me impressed. It’s rare to find someone who will stand up to guys like Aiden or Eamon. Usually, people are too busy pissing in their pants or worshipping at their feet.”
It’s with those ominous words that she pulls into a parking lot at a chic apartment. Glittering buildings greet me as I leave the car with a valet and stride through the first floor. Her heels click on glossy black tile as she saunters to an elevator, which whizzes me up to a penthouse.
I’ve been in places like this before, and I’m no stranger to opulence, but everything from the scent lingering in the air to the furniture screams money. I thought my family was wealthy, but it seems the level of wealth I’ve married into may be more than I can comprehend.
