The laughter came more easily than he’d expected it to, given the events of the day, and it burned away some of the lingering exhaustion. Satisfied she’d do as she was told for once, he turned away from the stairs and headed for his office.
Aria
* * *
The nap helped, which wasn’t nearly as annoying as it should have been. But she woke refreshed and even had time to indulge in a long, hot bath before dinner.
She was just pulling on a soft purple sweater she’d found in her closet when someone knocked on her door. And her stupid heart leapt at the thought of Killian coming to escort her down to dinner like the proper gentlemen he pretended to be.
“You do know I can find the—oh.” Pausing with the door halfway open, she blinked up at Reagan. “You’re not Killian.”
Delight sparkled in the other woman’s brown eyes as she raised a brow. “I’m not, but I’m told the resemblance is uncanny.”
“It is, especially when you do that thing with your eyebrow.”
The brow in question raised higher. “Like this?”
“Yes, like that. You need to teach me that look.”
“Of course. It won’t work on my brother, but you’ll need to learn the art of being coldly intimidating if you’re going to be standing by his side someday.” Her gaze raked up and down Aria’s body. “And that, dear sister, starts with your clothes.”
Before Aria could protest, Reagan was pushing past her, making a beeline for Aria’s closet. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” Even though she was just wearing jeans and a sweater, she was pretty sure the outfit cost more than most people in South Carolina made in a month.
“Nothing, if we were just hanging out.” Reagan’s voice grew increasingly muffled as she disappeared deeper into the closet. “But this isn’t simply a family dinner.”
“It’s not?”
“No.” Popping out of the closet again, Reagan held up several dresses Aria had deliberately ignored when she’d been looking for something to wear. “It’s a strategy meeting.”
She’d spent enough time in her father’s circles to understand that clothes in and of themselves often were the strategy. A way of establishing your standing in any given situation.
Too dressed down and you were overlooked. People assumed you weren’t on their level. Too dressed up and you were trying too hard.
“So what’s my strategy with these?” She gestured to the dresses as Reagan laid them out on the bed for her.
“Showing people you’re aligned with Killian. That you two are a unit, a team.” Rolling her eyes, Reagan held up a hand to cut off Aria’s protests. “I know, I know, you aren’t marrying him. But that’s not the point and it’s time you faced the facts.”
Annoyed at having her arguments so efficiently cut off before she’d even voiced them, Aria pinned the other woman with her best haughty ‘Queen of the Castle’ look. “And what facts, exactly, am I facing?”
Reagan’s expression shifted, ever so slightly, but enough for the breath to catch in Aria’s chest. She was no longer looking at her future child’s aunt. She was looking at a soldier, a ruthless creature who would do whatever it took to protect her family.
She was looking… at an O’Rourke.
“Whether you marry Killian or not, you are forever aligned with him. The Italians know who you are and that you’re pregnant with Killian’s child. Which means the Russians likely know, along with pretty much every criminal element in a hundred-mile radius. And that news will continue to spread like wildfire.” Stepping forward, Reagan placed her hands on Aria’s shoulders, grief turning the brown of her eyes a molten amber. “For the rest of your life, you’ll be a target. It’s time to show them you won’t be an easy one to hit. Starting with our family.”
“Is Lochlan going to try and take me out over shepherd’s pie?”
“You joke, but it happens. Not in our family, but it does happen. No, tonight is about showing the rest of the family you stand with us. That you can be trusted. If we want outsiders to see you as an O’Rourke, then you need the men downstairs to believe you are an O’Rourke.”
I’m not an O’Rourke. But even as the protest burned on her tongue, she realized how futile it was.
The child in her womb was an O’Rourke. So that meant she was an O’Rourke, whether she bore the name herself or not.
“All right. Make me one of you.”
Killian
* * *
