I grip Cillian’s arm harder.
Kathleen O’Rourke is not what I expected. I expected someone loud, someone, wielding power like a blunt instrument. Instead, she’s precise. Her iron-gray hair is swept back from a face that was beautiful once and is still striking.She wears expensive clothes and muted tones and rings on every finger. She holds a wine glass and scrutinizes me with eyes the same shade of green as her son’s. The coldness in them reminds me of an Arctic frost.
She sets the glass down.
“So.” Her voice is as warm as a marble floor in January. “This is the little waif who trapped my son.”
The air in the room compresses.
Cillian’s arm goes to granite under my hand. “Mother.” One word. A warning carved out of ice. “Behave.”
Kathleen’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’m merely anxious to get to know my daughter-in-law.” She draws daughter-in-law out mockingly, like her smile.
I smile back at her. I’ve been smiling at people who wanted to hurt or bully me my entire life. I’m very good at it.
As dinner is served, I’m silent.
I pick up the right fork because I watched which one Ronan reached for. I keep my elbows off the table. I eat slowly. I do everything right and none of it matters, because Kathleen is already loading her ammo for the next round.
It happens as Cillian is drawn into a conversation with Declan and Ronan about something involving a shipment and a contact named Brennan. I hear their voices but not the words. My attention is locked on the woman across from me, even though my eyes remain down on my plate.
“What did your family do, dear?” Kathleen asks, her tone all maternal curiosity.
I set my fork down. “My father worked odd jobs.”
“Odd jobs.” She repeats it thoughtfully, as if she’s filing it somewhere. “And your mother?”
“She passed away when I wasyoung.”
“Oh, how difficult.” Not a trace of sympathy in it. “So you were raised largely by the odd-jobs man.”
“Yes.”
“And schooling? Where did you attend?”
“Public school. I graduated.”
“Locally, I assume.” She takes a sip of wine. “No university plans?”
“I…uh… it wasn’t feasible. I was working.” Keeping the lights on and trying to keep my father from drinking himself to death, but I don’t say that.
“Of course.” Another thoughtful pause. “Any particular skills? Accomplishments?”
I know what she’s doing. She’s not asking questions. She’s drawing a map of everything I’m not, and she wants me to see it clearly.
“I’m a hard worker,” I say.
“I’m sure you are.” Her smile is immaculate and merciless. “It must have been exhausting, all that hard work, with no real prospects. And then suddenly—” she gestures vaguely toward Cillian, “—you’re swept up into all of this.”
My nails press into my palm under the table.
Lorcan’s jaw tightens across from me. Ronan’s eyes cut to Kathleen briefly, then away.
“I imagine it must feel like a dream come true.” She tilts her head. “The kind you’re afraid to wake up from.”
Cillian’s fork hits the plate.
The sound isn’t loud, but it silences the entire table.
