Erin nods too quickly. “Right. Yes. I-I manage the ledgers for the warehouses along the western coast. The imports, exports, the taxes, well, not therealtaxes, obviously, but the collections, and the shipments. I track the whiskey barrels, and the?—”
“Erin,” her mother cuts in, a warning in her tone.
But Erin keeps going, momentum carrying her past sense. “There’s a discrepancy in the Limerick accounts. I think someone’s double invoicing, but no one listens when I?—”
Tink.
The sharp tap of metal against glass freezes her mid-sentence. Tara doesn’t raise her voice. Silence stretches, heavy and hot.
I lean back in my chair and watch Erin curiously, elbows resting loose on my knees.
“Interesting,” I say. “Didn’t know the Kavanagh books needed defending.”
Erin’s cheeks flare pink. “They don’t. I wasn’t… I only meant that I notice things, patterns and the like… they’re easy to understand. Unlike human behavior,” she finishes in a tiny voice.
Tara exhales, long-suffering. “She means she keeps the family’s financialaffairs in order. That’s all.” Her smile is brittle, a warning for Erin to stay in her lane.
Erin folds in on herself, her shoulders tight, mouth pressed shut, but in her eyes, there’s the faintest spark of defiance. The kind that I notice. The kind I well know doesn’t stay buried for long. “I wasn’t finished,” she murmurs.
Mam smiles at her. “You’re guileless, lass. That’s rare in our stock. And I like it very much.”
So do I, for reasons I don’t understand. It’s almost…endearing.
The rest of dinner passes mostly without a hitch. I take it as my personal mission to observe everything I can about my future wife.
“You sure you don’t want a drink? I can get you a beer, if it’s wine you don’t like.”
“No, thank you. I like to stay in control of myself,” she replies. “I don’t do anything that threatens my control.”
“Right…” I mutter, then quieter, so only she can hear,“Except for formal family dinners.”
She swallows and sniffs, but doesn’t argue. “Aye. You’re not wrong.”
Why does it feel like a peace offering?
“And how’s Bridget?” my mother asks politely.
Tara looks away, too quickly. “She’s fine, just out of the country for a bit,” she says.
“Oh, is she?” Mam says softly, while Da and Seamus discuss trade routes with Erin’s father. I only half listen. My focus stays on Tara.
Unlike her daughter, who couldn’t lie if her life depended on it, she’s hiding everything, calculated and controlled.
Must fucking infuriate her knowing she can’t get a grip on Erin.
“Where is she?”
“Oh, visiting family in Europe,” Tara replies—too fast. Too rehearsed. “She’ll be back in time for…” Her eyes flit to Erin’s. “For the festivities and all.”
She pours another glass of wine, her fourth or fifth.
Erin turns to Bronwyn, who’s been quiet, watching. She gives a small smile. “I’m glad you’re home again.”
Tara flinches, but my mother smiles. My da too. Erin’s growing on them.
Fuck. Just what I need—everyone getting soft.
“Do you know what happened?” Erin asks. “Why were you taken, Bronwyn?”
