“I want my son to get the fucking job done,” he spits. “No more half measures. I want my spare to step up now that he’s all I’ve got left. For him to realize he’s the new heir, which means he can’t go getting distracted by a pretty smile and tight pussy.”
My hands clench into fists at my sides, rage boiling in my chest.
If he wasn’t my father…
“You started this war with the Albanians on behalf of the Langstons,” he continues, his Irish brogue deepening to a growl. “Fuckers we still can’t trust. So you better figure out a solution. And fast.”
He’s gone in the next moment, striding out of the kitchen through the same doorway he appeared.
I glare after him, fury pulsing through my veins and my jaw locked so tight it aches…
EIGHTEEN
Simone
The Langston residenceglows as if it’s the set of some Hallmark holiday movie. As we walk up the circular driveway, I can’t help basking in the twinkling white lights and the large, ornate wreath on the front door.
Mom has always loved decorating for the holidays; it’s her favorite time of the year, which always made it mine too.
The house itself is exactly as I remember it. A sprawling white stucco mansion with dark gray trim that exudes tasteful wealth.
The place I once called home.
…and then I was given away and married off to a family that’s the complete opposite.
Ronan walks beside me, a bottle of Irish whiskey in his hand. His idea of a thank-you gift for inviting us to dinner.
I’m doubtful my parents will feel the same, though I’m just grateful we’re coming over for Christmas dinner at all.
Ronan and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye most days. But it seems we’ve come to an unspoken agreement we won’t completely be at each other’s throats—for now.
My heart flutters inside my chest as we make it up the front steps, and I think about how this is the first real time I’m visiting as a married woman.
So much has happened since the wedding. So much has changed.
Before we can even reach the door, it swings open and Mom glides out, her arms extended in welcome.
“Simone, honey. There you are.”
She pulls me into an embrace that smells like her signature perfume. Expensive floral notes ensconce me as I sink into her motherly warmth and give her my own grateful squeeze.
“Hi, Mommy,” I say softly. “Thanks for having us over.”
“We’re just so happy you were able to come!” she answers, drawing back for an appraising once-over of me. She’s dressed as elegantly as expected, her silk blouse a creamy white against her darker brown complexion, large gemstone-encrusted jewelry gleaming in the light of the front doorway.
As we let go of each other, Ronan steps forward and presents the bottle of whiskey with a curt nod. “Yeah, thanks for having us.”
Mom’s gaze drops to the bottle, her features straining to maintain the smile on her face. Brows subtly drawing closer and lip twitching as the expression almost slips, she manages to gracefully recover.
“Oh,” she chirps. She carefully takes the large bottle and gives a nod. “How, um, very thoughtful of you, Ronan. I’m sure Malcolm and Michael will enjoy this.”
It’s subtle. So subtle Ronan probably doesn’t even catch it. But I know my mother. She thinks its tawdry to gift Irish whiskey for a formal holiday dinner.
Dad appears in the foyer next, broad and tall compared to Mom’s short, curvy, diminutive size. He’s in slacks and a cashmere sweater, though there’s nothing casual about the energy he’s exuding.
Some tense balance between pleasure at seeing me and irritation over the man at my side.
“Princess,” he says, drawing me into a firm hug. He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Good to have you home.”
