“True love never dies,” someone else calls.
Róisín lets out a soft laugh, perfectly pitched for the microphones. Only I hear the truth beneath it. “Say that again and I’ll stab you in front of God and everyone.”
I grin for the cameras. “That’d ruin the evening, wee rose.”
We start up the steps together, flashes chasing us. My thumb strokes once, slow, just above the curve of her hip. She inhales sharply but doesn’t pull away.
“Behave,” she whispers.
“You first,” I answer.
Behind us, the doors close. Ahead, the music swells, chandeliers blazing, the lie fully formed now—beautiful and dangerous. And we walk in like we own the bloody world. I spot him before she does.
Standing just off to the side of the main floor, drink in hand, posture loose and satisfied like a man admiring work already done. Her da looks exactly as he always has—untouched by consequence, smug in the knowledge that the world keeps bending to accommodate him.
My hand tightens at her back.Too late. She sees him.
I feel it immediately—the change in her body, the way her spine goes rigid, the way something old and violent wakes up behind her eyes. Her smile doesn’t falter for the room, but I know that look. I’ve known it since we were young and reckless and thought knives solved everything.
Her hand starts to drift toward the slit of her dress. I intercept her without slowing, fingers closing around her wrist like it’s nothing more than an affectionate gesture for the cameras. I keep my voice low, calm, almost bored.
“Don’t.”
She tilts her head toward me, smile still in place. “It’s Valentine’s,” she murmurs. “Thought I’d give him my heart.”
I slide my other hand down smoothly, retrieving the blade from her thigh with practiced ease. The metal is warm from her skin. “This is a gala for peace,” I say under my breath.
Her eyes flick to mine. Bright. Lethal. “Aye,” she says sweetly. “Peace. Like how I want to gut my da to pieces.”
I tuck the knife into my jacket, fingers lingering just long enough to remind her I have it now. She exhales through her nose, controlled, furious—and lets me guide her forward. Her father steps into our path as if summoned.
“Róisín,” he says warmly. “You’ve grown even more beautiful.”
She doesn’t bother hiding her disgust. “That’s what time does when it doesn’t kill you.”
His smile twitches but holds. He turns to me next. “Finnian. You clean up well.”
“So do lies,” I reply.
He chuckles, unbothered, and gestures to an attendant hovering nearby. The woman steps forward and places something into his hands. A violin. My chest tightens before I can stop it. He offers it to her like a benediction. Like a command dressed up as nostalgia.
“You’re here to play,” he says smoothly. “It’s tradition. Valentine’s Eve deserves a bit of beauty.”
Róisín stares at the violin. For a moment, the room fades—the music, the voices, the cameras, all of it swallowed by the weight of that instrument in her hands. She takes it slowly, fingers reverent, careful, like it might break her if she’s not gentle enough.
I watch her face change. And I know—absolutely know—that whatever peace this night was meant to sell… It’s already bleeding out.
She lifts her chin and turns to her father. Her smile is soft. Dutiful. Perfect. “Of course,” she says lightly. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. You’ve already taken such care arranging my future.”
The words land sweet. The meaning is anything but. She doesn’t wait for his response. She turns and walks toward the stage, spine straight, violin cradled against her like a relic. The room parts for her without being asked. Eyes follow. Whispers ripple.Her da watches her go, pleased, and steps forward to claim the attention he’s always believed was his by right.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces, voice booming warmly through the hall, “thank you for joining us tonight in the spirit of peace and reconciliation.”
A murmur of approval.
“This year’s gala is especially meaningful,” he continues. “As we celebrate not only unity among the families—but the upcoming marriage of my daughter, Róisín Malloy, to Finnian O’Callaghan. Two days from now.”
Applause swells. I don’t move. I watch her take her place beneath the lights, the applause washing over her like rain she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t look at me either. She raises the violin. Silence falls.
