Someone mentions the Giants’ game. Someone else laughs about a politician caught in a scandal.
I hover near the doorway, peering in for a few seconds too long.
Beckett O’Leary notices me, clearing his throat and jutting his chin in my direction.
Suddenly everyone in the room is glancing over at me.
My heart damn near stops.
Ronan’s father, Seamus, scowls in agitation. A couple of the others like McKinnon look furious, like I’ve just committed some unforgivable sin.
I can’t make out Ronan’s reaction. He glances from me to his father, his jaw hard.
Seamus sets his whiskey down with a loud thud. “The women aren’t supposed to be in the den. They’re supposed to either be in the kitchen or off socializing on the patio.”
I start stammering, heat flooding my face. “I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t eavesdropping… I just… I was?—”
“Calm down, Seamus,” O’Leary interrupts, his tone lighter. “The girl means no harm.”
Seamus’s gaze doesn’t waver from me. “It doesn’t matter what she meant. She shouldn’t be going where she’s not supposed to. Part of a wife’s duty is knowing her place.”
The room goes silent for a moment that feels like an agonizing eternity.
Then Ronan stands up. “I asked her to come down and find me.”
Everyone looks at him. Seamus’s eyes narrow, though he doesn’t argue.
Ronan crosses the room and gently takes my arm, steering me away from the doorway. I can feel the eyes of every man in that room on my back as we walk down the hall.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shaken. “I didn’t mean to intrude?—”
“Don’t worry about it, princess,” he cuts me off. “My father’s an uptight fuck who’s known to be cold to strangers. He still views you as one. Just ignore him. He’s like that with everybody.”
But I’m still thrown. Still humiliated. My cheeks are burning, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve just made a terrible impression.
Ronan leads me out to the patio, where the wives have assembled.
It’s colder out here, the November wind brisk and persistent, but the patio heaters are on, glowing orange.
There are about six women in total, all dressed nicely, all holding glasses of wine or champagne. They’re chatting quietly, their voices soft and subdued compared to the booming laughter of the men inside.
Ronan’s mother, Shaylee, fusses at him the moment she sees him. “Your hair has grown too long,” she says, reaching up to touch it. “You need a trim. And this beard? So unkempt, Ro!”
Ronan shrugs her off, his tone dismissive. “It’s fine, Ma.”
It’s one of the first times I’ve actually seen Mrs. Callahan home and not away on one of her spa retreats. She looks elegant with tastefully applied make up and a pixie cut that frames her oval face. But there’s a coldness to her, a distance that makes it clear she’s here out of obligation, not desire.
Most of the other women carry the same air. Dutiful wives obedient out of obligation and loyalty to the family.
The Callahan Clan itself.
Except one woman who stands more off to the side. She’s noticeably thin and frail looking with very long golden-brown hair that comes only a couple inches short of her waist. She clutches a wine glass like it’s the only meal she’s had, her face pale and eyes watery.
It takes me a second longer to realize why she looks familiar. She’s Eddie mother.
She’s Cara,Lochlan'swife.
Her husband is locked away in federal prison for the next eight years.
