“Jealous, Lorcán?” I seethe, and he’s apparently had enough of me being a bitch.
“I’ll be downstairs in the office. Stay in here or go to your room, I don’t care,” he dismisses me.
Guilt churns in my stomach over the dig. But I don’t apologize, he hurt me first. So why doesn’t hurting him back make me feel any better?
I spend all day watching reruns of the Omega Matchmaker in Lorcán’s bed, mostly because I refuse to go back to ‘my room’.
Not that the room isn’t beautiful and comfortable, it’s just from being trapped in there for days on end and the principle of it all.
“At least you are dressed,” Maeve’s voice says from the door frame.
She walks in and places a tray of food on the table.
“Promise not to throw it against the wall or throw it up?” she asks.
“Can’t make any promises,” I reply to the surly woman.
She sighs and shakes her head. “You truly are what they deserve,” she comments, and I swallow.
“What does that mean?” I question defensively.
“The amount of stress all those boys have caused me in their lives. This is the universe paying them back.”
Honestly, that’s fair enough.
“Why do you work for them, then?”
“Declan is my son. The rest feel like my kin as well.”
“Your son is an asshole,” I tell her, and she smiles.
“So was his dá.”
“Was?” I ask.
“Only had to get married once to never want to do it again. He treated me well enough and gave me Declan. We never wanted for nothing. But it wasn’t worth it.”
“Wow, you’re a walking endorsement for wanting to stay here with my kidnappers.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, girl. You could do much worse. You know your father or brother could have sent you to a worse family. They don’t hit, they have money, and at least two of them will actually love you. You can’t ask for much more than that in this life,” she scolds me.
I look at her, realizing she and Declan have the same clear blue eyes.
“Why? Why can’t I ask for more?”
She sighs, adjusting her apron.
“My dá was one of the top men over in Ireland. I was given a choice: marry Patrick or work the streets. Yours made sure to set you up in a life where you would be protected and cared for. What more is it you want,éan beag?The false American dream of a white picket fence and two and a half children? This isn’t the land of the free like they make you believe, stupid girl. What’s so wrong with a mansion in the desert and men who would kill for you?”
Maeve makes it clear that the question is rhetorical as she leaves the room. The food on the tray is a simple soup, crackers, and a side of sourdough bread.
I eat it with no complaints, my stomach not resisting for a moment. I turn Maeve’s words around in my head. Am I searching for some false dream? Is this the best life has to offer me? Is she even someone I can trust? She’s Declan’s mother, after all.
21
DECLAN
A rolled-upnewspaper swats the back of my head.
