“Five,” I whisper.
“One more. You're almost there.” His hand cups my face, tilting it so I can see him over my shoulder. His eyes aredark with desire and something deeper—something that makes my chest tight. “Last one, love.”
The final strike comes, and I barely manage to gasp out, “Six.”
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, setting the belt aside and pulling me into his lap. His hands are gentle now, smoothing down my dress and cradling me against his chest. “Even with all that sass.”
“Especially with all that sass,” I counter, still breathless, my arse throbbing and naked on his clothed legs.
He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine. “Aye. Especially with that.” He gives me a gentle kiss. “I love your fire, Bianca. Every bit of it. Just not when it gets you killed.”
I'm shaking from the endorphins and emotion, from the need that’s become the center of my attention. “I'm still mad at you.”
“No, you're not.” His hand slides up my thigh, and I bite back a moan.
“Okay, maybe not right this second.”
When he lays me back on the bed, his body covering mine, there's nothing gentle about the way he takes me. It's claiming and desperate, exactly what we both need.
Afterward, when we're tangled together and my heart is still racing, he presses his forehead to mine.
“Two days,” he says quietly. “Then this is over, and you're safe.”
I want to believe him. Why does something tell me it won’t be that simple?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ashland
The posts startthe next day.
I fucking hate it, but I have to let it go. Aunt Caitlin uploads a photo first—Bianca and Erin in the kitchen, flour dusting their cheeks, laughing over something. The caption reads: “Teaching the new girl how not to burn soda bread. She's a quick learner.”
Then Bronwyn shares a story—Bianca curled up in the library with Erin, both of them reading. “Book club recruits acquired,” with a stack of books emoji.
I didn't know the plan was to post Bianca. It feels like we're publicly waving her in front of Crowning's nose, but it seems the safest way to toss out the line. Better than letting her do anything in person.
Then Lorcan posts a video of Bianca attempting to explain the difference between Lancelot and Galahad toTiernan, who's pretending to be confused just to watch her get more animated. The old man's grinning like a bastard at the end. That one amuses me even as my nerves are churning.
I watch each one from my phone, my jaw tight, gripping it so hard my knuckles whiten. They're claiming her publicly, probably making her part of the family narrative before anyone outside these walls can question it. Throwing the fucking gauntlet to Crowning because it will get back to him.
And if I know him, and I reckon I fuckingdoby now, he won't be able to stand it. Not another goddamn second.
Then Kyla posts one that makes my screen feel too small.
Bianca and me… in the garden, her hand on my arm, both of us smiling. Her head is bowed toward me, leaning into my arm. I'm looking down at her, my expression soft in a way that's downright foreign to me.
I want to take this picture, blow it up, and frame it because it's so right, so beautiful, seeing her lean on me like that.
“You'll see how it works,” Kyla says when I corner her about it later. “Algorithms and all that. Everybody loves a bit of gossip, don't they?”
“Aye, tell me about it,” I mutter.
When Seamus finally shows me the one he's posting tonight, it's me. Only I look somehow like a… fucking superhero. The photo is black and white, and I'm standing in the ring, victorious, as the ref raises my arm.
The caption is simple: “He's back in the ring Friday. About time.”
And when he posts it, the comments explode.
