“Oh, yeah.” My girl’s eyes go back and forth between the two of them, trying to ascertain what we walked in on. “Uh, everything okay here?”
Her roommate sighs. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll leave you guys to it.” She spins on her heel and leaves the room in a huff.
“Did Stephanie give you a hard time?” Taryn asks. Ah. Stephanie. I know I’ve seen her around campus. I may have had a class with her sophomore year. They all blend together. The classes, not the girls. Who am I kidding? The girls are murky too.
Although, I guess it makes sense that this particular girl is defensive of her roommate. By the looks of it, she was giving Rowan a piece of her mind. Great. Another person who is not on my side.
Rowan shrugs off the question. “How are you? It looks like the two of you were out.” He fist-bumps me in a friendly gesture as I move past him to let myself into Taryn’s living space.
The townhouses and apartments near the university are large and well appointed. They are considered “on campus” and technically owned by St. A’s, but that doesn’t stop the students (and their parents) from completely renovating them into whatever their hearts desire. Apparently, in Taryn and Stephanie’s case, their hearts desire a heterogeneous mess. There is such a mixture of vivid colors, patterns, and textures that I’m not sure where to focus first. The walls are a deep purple, while the furniture is a mix of crushed green velvet and—shit, that tufted accent chair is Pepto-Bismol pink. The rug has all these colors in it, and so do the weird surrealist paintings on the walls. I didn’t get far enough inside to notice all of this before, or maybe I was too pissed about Taryn’s surprise guest, but I’m trying—and failing—to take it all in now. I hear Rowan’s laughter.
“Yeah, man, I know. Steph said it’seclectic maximalism.”
Steph? He must know her pretty well. I can’t help but wonder if these design choices were her idea. God, I hope so.
“It’s kinda grown on me,” Taryn says fondly, glancing around her place. “Look over here.” She moves across the room to point at a framed image of a black-and-white young girl standing under an umbrella with what appears to be yellow rain pouring from under its supposed shelter. “It’s an original screen print signed by Banksy.” I take it I’m supposed to be impressed, so I nod as appreciatively as possible. Rowan chuckles again.
“So, I assume all is well? We’re still moving ahead as planned? Engagement tonight? Wedding this summer?”
“Everything is fine with the alliance,” I assure while Taryn interrupts, “When this summer?”
“Well,” Rowan sighs. “Your mother has decided you must have the reception at Gotham Hall, so your brother is busy ensuring a cancellation happens and her demand can become a reality. I was assured we would have a firm date within the next couple of weeks.”
“What is Gotham Hall?” I’ve never heard of it, but I’m not from New York. I’m instantly picturing a Batman theme.
“It’s a landmark in Midtown.” Taryn sighs. “It’s not too far from Hell’s Kitchen.” She shakes her head. “It really is beautiful and convenient. I’ll give my mother that. But, we don’t need to ruin the day of a real couple. We can always wait until its schedule opens.”
Rowan chuckles. “Yeah. Not gonna happen, but I appreciate your selflessness.”
I flinch at her insinuation that we aren’t a real couple. Maybe once she gets the ring on her finger, it’ll feel real to her. After all, it is very real until we find a way out, and while I don’t want to ruin her dreams, I don’t see that happening. But, one step at a time.
“Well, since it seems you’ll both show up tonight, I’ll leave you two alone.” Rowan walks toward the door. “You’re both good people. Tonight will go well. You’ll see.” And, with that, he grabs his coat and shows himself out.
I turn back to the living room. “I feel like someone slipped acid into my breakfast. What the hell is going on in this room?” I can’t hold back any longer. This causes a pearl of laughter from Taryn and it’s the first time I’ve heard this beautiful sound. I want to be the cause of it again. And again.
She shakes her head. “It’s all Stephanie. Although, I’ve not only adjusted… I kind of like it now. It’s unique.”
“It is that.” I smile and walk over to her until I’m right in her space. I lean down and she breathes in deeply. I tuck a strand of her fiery hair behind her ear. “I like us talking about things. Working together.”
She looks up at me with a hint of vulnerability. She nods.
“I’ll see you later tonight?”
She nods again, her eyes never leaving mine. Her tongue wets her bottom lip and I can’t help it. I brush my lips softly over hers before I pull back. When I look in her face, her eyes are still closed.
“Thank you for having breakfast with me,” I whisper and run my thumb along her jawline. She finally opens her eyes, and I suck in a breath. Her emerald sweater really brings out her eyes. She is so fucking pretty.
She looks up at me, swallows. “Thank you for talking things over with me, Liam. Telling me more about the business.”
“Always.” I give her a soft smile. “It’s me and you now, Taryn. We need to have each other’s backs.”
TARYN
I kissed him. Or, to be more accurate, I let him kiss me. How did that just happen? In fact,whatjust happened? Did I agree to the engagement? No. That wasn’t what I said. Was it? It’s just…he made so much sense. And, he told me things that I’d never been privy to before.
Growing up with my father, we all knew better than to ask about his days. Even on the bad days when he’d come home bleeding, it was understood to keep our mouths shut. Sometimes, I’d overhear him telling my mother about his job. Other times—in the church parking lot or at dinner at one of my many “uncles’” homes—I’d hear whispers about the Bratva, the Greeks, or the “Family.” I could never catch enough to fully understand what was happening. Or why. And, as I got older, I didn’t want to.
First of all, if my mother caught us eavesdropping, there would be hell to pay. Katie Walsh is not a fan of this new-style parenting that involves talking to your kids about their feelings. Oh no. She has a wooden spoon that is intimately familiar with my behind and that of each of my brothers and sisters. In fact, she’d cracked my oldest brother so hard one time that the spoon broke and he didn’t sit right for close to a week. Second of all, once I made the decision to leave New York, none of it mattered anyway. I was almost defiant in my complete disregard for anything clan related.
