“Before we sit down,” he says, and the room orients around his voice the way it always does—not because he raises it, but because it carries weight, “I have something to say.”
Declan’s jaw tightens. He knows what’s coming.
Cillian looks at each of them in turn. “Nora is my wife. That doesn’t change. Not for business, not for family politics, not for any other reason. She is permanent.”
Kathleen’s hands fold in her lap.
“What that means,” he continues, “is that she gets treated with respect in this family. Not tolerance. Not cold politeness. Actual respect.” His eyes settle on his mother. “That means no more cruelty. No more setting her up tofail. No more throwing catty women in front of her at charity luncheons.”
Kathleen doesn’t flinch. She’s iron, I’ll give her that.
“If anyone in this room can’t or won’t do that, they’re making a choice about whether they want to be part of my life. My life includes Nora. It always will.” He looks at his brothers, one by one. “Are we clear?”
Lorcan raises his hand. “I’ve always been team Nora.” He flashes me an exaggerated wink and gives me two thumbs up.
“Lorcan,” Declan says flatly.
“What? I’m agreeing.”
Lorcan’s antics ease the tension slightly. Nobody laughs, but Ronan presses his lips together in a way that suggests he wants to.
Kathleen stands.
I fight the urge to step backward.
She looks at me—really looks at me. Not the way she did at that first dinner, when her gaze slid over me like I was repulsive to her. This time, she takes me in. The dress, the wedding ring, my hands, my face.
“Nora.” Her voice is measured. “I owe you an apology.”
The room goes still.
“I was deliberately unkind. I arranged situations to make you feel inadequate, and I said things designed to hurt you.” A pause. Her jaw moves like the words cost her something. “That was wrong of me.”
I wait. Cillian is motionless beside me.
“I was afraid,” she adds, quieter. “Of losing my son. I saw how much he cared for you. I saw it in his eyes. I told myself I was protecting him, but I was protecting myself.” She looks at Cillian, then back at me. “It was not your fault, and it was not fair to you.”
It’s not the kind of apology that oozes mushy gushy warmth or comes wrapped in a hug. But it’s real—I can hear the effort it takes, and Kathleen O’Rourke doesn’t strike me as a woman who finds it easy to admit when she’s wrong.
“Thank you,” I say. “I accept your apology.”
She nods once. Her shoulders drop a fraction—not softening, but releasing something she’d been holding too long.
Cillian’s arm wraps around me.
Declan clears his throat. He’s looking at the floor, which seems to cost him too. “I owe you an apology as well.”
I turn to him. The enforcer, the stone wall, the brother who called me ‘the Murphy girl’ like I was a problem to be managed.
“I was dismissive,” he says. “I was focused on the business and I didn’t—” He stops, starts again. “You make my brother a better man. I can see that. I should have seen it sooner.”
He extends his hand.
I take it. His grip is firm and brief, but it, too, is genuine.
“Welcome to the family,” he says. “Officially.”
Ronan steps forward with an ease that’s natural to him. “I don’t think I was actively cruel, I hope not, but I wasn’t as welcoming as I should’ve been either.” He tips his chin toward Cillian. “Anyone who can handle him long-term deserves more credit than I gave you.”
