Declan pulled our rented Jag into the circular driveway at the O’Brien estate. Our hot-headed host, Kelly, and his wife Annette, agreed to open their home to the houses for thismeeting. He was one of Daddy’s childhood friends, and probably the only one loyal to him that didn’t dabble in business aside from whiskey and illegal weapons. The O’Briens are essentially Irishroyaltynow that Daddy’s in the ground. They hold all the power...and as they lost their only son to a tragic car accident ten years ago, they’re all too eager to jump on this opportunity. Declan said he could be trusted, and so…I’m choosing to believe him. If what he’s told me is true, he might be our only ally in this shit show. The rest might be dressed in their last outfit.
I’mdressed to kill.
I bought the most expensive gown Chanel makes inRouge Noir. Of course…I had to get matching heels and a clutch to set it off. Anything that throws these pricks off of the idea that I’m still the little motherless toddler that can’t wipe the drool off her chin.
Declan handed the valet our keys and helped me out of the car before offering his arm. The jacket he chose, along with the two top buttons he left open at his collar…makes me feral for what I’drather…have on my chin. He slid on his fancy glasses that only come out on special occasions with the thin rims and smaller lenses. I just about forgot what we came here to do.
“Showtime, Little Doe.”
Damn right it is.
I held the bend of his arm and straightened my back as we started up the wide front steps. Iron and ivy painted either side of us as we made our way up to where two security guards stood at each end of the massive green doors.
Tits up, Bridget Byrne. Make your Daddy proud.
O’Brien Estate reminds me of home—the one we had before Malek and I had nearly a billion dollars to split. Massive front entry. Two curved staircases leading up to the main house. Marble checkered floors.
…But the colors were all wrong…
You can tell Annette does the interior decorating. It definitely has a woman’s touch…and one with impeccable taste. Declan whistled low as we were led with several others down a long hallway with spotless alcoves that housed billowing greenery and pricey planters. The deep green color of the walls oddly didn’t clash with their choice in house plants. Gilded gold frames lined priceless paintings on the walls, and I think I might…I might be swooning.
“Don’t gawk. We gotta play the part, lass,” Dec whispered, bringing me back to the present. I straightened up and let him lead me into the banquet hall, where a table twice the size of our old one, took up the space in the middle of a long room withmoreelegant shit in it. Sparkling chandeliers hung over the candle-lit table. A spread of food already sat, buffet-style, along the middle. Place settings gleamed at every chair…and at the head of said table…
…Kelly O’Brien…
“Gods be damned…‘ye look ‘jeslikethe bastard.”
All the chatter stopped completely, and every single head turned towards us as we stopped at the other end of the table. I have the sudden urge to blow chunks all over this setup. My fingers tightened on Declan’s arm.
“You’re Kelly?” I asked, raising my chin a bit higher. The side of his mouth turned just a little, and for a second…I saw my Daddy smile back at me.
“I always told ‘em he’d have a lassie…a fiery one for his comeuppance. ‘Jes because he was always so terrified of rearin’ a daughter.”
I smiled at him, relaxing a little. “Byrne, baby, Byrne.”
Kelly threw his head back in bellowing laughter, his wife Annette snickering beside him as he waved me over. Declan walked me, and I felt the damning eyes of every other soul in this room with the mere accent I’d just sported. I know what they think. I know what they see. And I can’twaitto give them a different perspective. Lady O’Brien shot me a look as I approached, and I returned it. Kelly opened his arms for me.
“Family sits together. ‘Yer father was like a brother to me.” I swallowed down a knot of mixed emotion and schooled my face as he turned to his right to address an overweight man with a neatly-manicured red beard. “Seamus…you and the rest move down two chairs.”
Seamus Doyle…the infamous Seamus Doyle that Daddy used to relentlessly bitch about.
I remember hearing his name so many times, trying to picture the man that left all of Ireland with a sour taste in their mouths about my father…all because he had rejected the fucker’s sister. Probably doesn’t help that he left the country and married an American woman. He’s not what I pictured…he’s worse. And he’s looking at me now like he’d love nothing more than to slit my fucking throat.
“Every person at this table earned these chairs, O’Brien. Might be ‘yer house…but this ain’t her seat.”
Ah…I see.
“I don’t recall askin’ ‘ye, mate. She represents Callum Byrne. He holds that seat when ‘yer arse isn’t in it. I said…move.”
I’ve only been here long enough to get inspiration for my own house…and I’ve already had enough. I had a short-lived stare off with Doyle and kept his heavy eye contact when I spoke.
“Who are we waiting on, O’Brien?”
It was Seamus that lost the game first, looking at Kelly like he was shocked that I even asked. I held on to my reserve.
“None, if ‘yer ready, lass. This is ‘yer party. I’m ‘jes the host.”
This must be what it’s like to be famous. Not what it’s cracked up to be, either. Trouble is…I’m famous for being the most hated person in this room right now, and every silent death wish is crawling over my skin like a snake. One wrong move and the bite takes me out. It’s hard as fuck not to pretend I’m not about to buckle under the pressure. I approached Seamus’s chair and Dec followed, invading his space to pull it out for me.
