I’m wrong.
The notification on the screen makes me freeze.
It’s from Oona.
I’m not sure what to do. But my loyalty’s with the Callahans first, always has been. Found something troubling in the wash. In a pocket of yer wife’s clothes. Something you’ll be wanting to know about.
I stare at the message, my heart slamming against my ribs as I try to piece together what the fuck she’s talking about.
What the hell does she mean she’s found something troubling? What the fuck could Simone be hiding?
TWENTY
Simone
“Thankgod he let you out of the dungeon!” Chantal gushes the moment she’s through the doors at Café Boulud. She’s dropped into the seat across from me, giving a sigh of relief. As short and curvy as ever, today she looks a couple inches taller in a cropped embroidered sweater and double pleated wide leg trousers. Her cherubic face is lit up, her mahogany complexion radiant. “It feels like we see each other less and less these days, Sim!”
I smile at her, setting down my menu. “Thankfully my husband was kind enough to let me have the day to myself. I get to do whatever I want. So of course I chose brunch with my favorite friend.”
She laughs, tossing her braids over her shoulder. “Girl, there’s no need to butter me up. I’m just surprised is all. So howarethings going with your tyrant husband? I did notice you two seemed to be less at each other’s throats at Christmas Eve dinner.”
It takes me a moment to answer, mulling over what to share and what to skip.
The truth is, Ronan and Ihavecome a long way since the engagement dinner weeks ago. We’ve reached our own understanding. We can tolerate each other now, at least in increments. I’ve even begun to… like him on some level.
But I promptly remind myself that that’s as far as my feelings will ever go.
He can be funny. I appreciate how blunt he is and how he keeps it real and doesn’t try to pretend to be something he’s not. He’s attractive and sexy, and he can damn sure lay pipe in the bedroom.
I don’t want him dead or hurt.
But that’s the extent of how I feel. That’s the line I refuse to cross.
“Things are better than they were when we first got married,” I finally say as our server approaches to pour us some sparkling water. “I’m actually trying to be there for him right now. His brother was murdered in prison.”
Chantal’s brows shoot up. “Oh damn. I heard about that on the news. Some kind of prison riot on Christmas, right? That’s… that’s heavy.”
“The whole family’s in mourning. It’s been tense.”
She slowly nods then tilts her head with a curious expression creeping in. “I guess this means you don’t need that special help I provided after all.”
I lean in slightly across the table. “You mean the business card with the mystery name and number? Where did you even get the contact info for what I’m assuming is a freaking Russian hitman, Chani?”
She giggles, bubbly and light in a way that completely contradicts the darkness of the topic. “I told you, girl. My dad might be a senator, but he knows people. And other people who know people.” She waves her hand dismissively, reaching for a sip of sparkling water. “But no worries if you don’t need to call him. It’s just good to have as a backup. You know, in case.”
In case I ever get desperate enough to have my husband killed.
…sure. Just a casual backup plan.
I shake my head but can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.
That’s Chantal. She could make a murder plot sound like planning a spa day.
Our server returns, and we place our orders. Both of us go for the Quiche Lorraine with café au lait. Classic brunch fare for a day that’s supposed to feel normal, even when nothing about my life is normal anymore.
Once the server leaves, Chantal’s gaze drifts to the table next to ours. “Is the mean-mugging Irishman your bodyguard for the day?”
I glance over at Fionn. He’s seated at the adjacent table, nursing a black coffee, his heavy brow and glower intimidating and off-putting. He looks like he could snap someone’s neck without breaking a sweat, which is probably why Ronan assigned him to me.
