I know that’s dogs, but it can’t hurt for when you’re facing three angry women all named after formidable Celtic goddesses, right?
“Why did I agree to fake date your sister?” Neither flinches nor gasps, and Rhiannon doesn’t lob something at my head, so clearly, she’s already given them the lay of the land. It’s not what she means, but I can’t help myself by playing dumb.
She folds her arms. “Well, that too, but no. I meant why did you try to destroy our lives?”
I sigh, irritation slithering under my skin like a splinter. “I know it might surprise you all to learn, but not everything I do is about the Morrigan family.”
Aoife slow blinks like I slapped her. Clíodhna’s nostrils flare. And Rhiannon purses her lips.
“I was trying to help people. I was following the story. Your dad’s a prominent figure in Northern Irish rugby, has been for years.Andhe was very close with the man who ultimately was the head of the doping snake. It’s hard not to believe he didn’t even have a clue what was going on.” Let alone that he wasn’t participating, but I keep that sentence to myself.
The temperature of the room rises notably as the women crackle with irritation. I’m getting their backs up, but I don’tcare. They don’t get to walk all over me just because I banged their sister in the bathroom. And my back’s up too.
I’m a nice guy, or at least I’m not an arsehole, but I’m not a fucking doormat.
“Our dad had nothing to do with the doping stuff. He’d never.Never.” Clíodhna shakes her head.
“Aye. If you’d grown up with him, you’d realize how ridiculous it is to even suggest. He barely ever even took a paracetamol or ibuprofen, let alone anything stronger or performance enhancing.” It’s Aoife who adds the first glimpse of what it was like growing up with a rugby legend as a father.
I blow out a puff of air. I don’t want them to think I’m probing them for information, and considering they all have invisible laser beams shooting out of their eyeballs at me right now, I opt to keep my cards close to my chest.
“My point is, it wasn’t personal.” I take a beat, looking at the mishmash of coffee mugs hanging on the wall next to the kettle, the lemon-colored paint on the kitchen walls, and the clean-but-lived-in kitchen next to the dining space. “But if your da had been involved, I’d have destroyed him the same way I did the rest of them.” Again, it’s on the tip of my tongue to tack on a sarcastic “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Because, at the end of the day, the sport is better because of the rot I uncovered in the ranks.
Rhiannon’s countertops are largely empty. Other than a toaster and a kettle, the room is sparse on appliances or gadgets. Where’s her air fryer? I didn’t think there was a house in all of Ireland that didn’t have an air fryer getting used daily.
I smirk, my gaze lingering on the toaster.
“Not personal.” Rhiannon parrots my words back to me. “Well, that clears that up.” Sarcasm drips from her words.
“Look, can we move this along please? I have somewhere to be.” My tone is clipped, irritated, devoid of any warmth. And I definitely don’t have anywhere to be other than in frontof my laptop trying to parse together a story about women in rugby that passes muster with the higher-ups. But I’m not going to sit here and defend myself like I’m on an episode ofJudge Judy.
All three pairs of eyes flex wide, so I hold my hands up in an act of surrender. “I pushed too far, but I don’t regret it. If your dad and Taranis had been involved in the scandal, they’d have deserved what happened just like the rest of them. As it turned out, they were innocent, but I don’t regret investigating them. Everyone involved and connected to those involved deserved to be looked into.”
Something flickers across Rhiannon’s face, but I don’t know her well enough to know what the hell it was or what it meant. “We need rules,” she starts. “We’ll print a copy, both sign it, and it’ll count as a contract.”
It won’t exactly be legally binding, but I can see why she wants something official, tangible we can refer to. Boundaries for this questionable agreement we’re embarking upon. I’m not sure how it’s going to work. The three of them look at me with venom seeping from their pores. How we convince the world Rhiannon is in love with me is another matter entirely.
Rhiannon’s absently picking at her cuticles with military precision, and Clíodhna reaches over to cover her hands as though she’s had long enough to destroy her nail beds.
“I told my sisters about our arrangement. I know we said no one else can know, but I’m terrible at lying to them. They know me better than I know myself. If we didn’t tell them, they’d only end up finding out in under ten minutes and make my life hell.” She rolls her eyes. “Bothour lives hell. Plus, this way they can help us out, help us convince people that it’s real, help us make sure no one finds out it’s fake… just… help us.”
Her sisters are nodding like that goes without saying, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think there was an ulterior motivesomewhere along the way. They’re doing it for purely altruistic reasons? Unlikely.
Ugh. I guess my bumpy relationship with my sister is showing. She’s so by the book, such a rule follower, sohonestthat there’s no way in the world she’d have my back like this without dobbing me in it with Mum. Hell, if I was involved in the doping scandal, she’d have sent my ass to do a stretch at Maghaberry Prison, too.
Emma and I love each other, but I can’t see her understanding, never mindsupporting,something like this. Something prickles in my chest, something bitter. Is it jealousy? Am I envious that Rhiannon has sisters that will band together to support her no matter what?
“First rule is no kissing.” She plucks at the cuticle on her index finger. I’m not sure she actually has any cuticles left to be honest, and her nails look freshly painted, but she’s tugging on something. The more she works it, the redder it gets, and part of me wants to reach across the table to move her hand away the way her sister did.
Clíodhna rolls her eyes like she doesn’t think it’s a good rule but reaches to the floor and produces a laptop. “Hold on. let me open a document.”
I point at the sticker of Bluey on the lid of her laptop. “Does your wean likeBluey? My nephew fucking loves that show. It’s on morning, noon, and night at my sister’s.”
They look at me like I’ve got three heads.
Having lost the run of myself over a kid’s TV show, I snap my mouth closed. I’m not here to make friends with them.
