Interest.
God help me, I've gotten his attention.
I'm not sure if that's a victory or the worst mistake I've ever made.
CHAPTER FIVE
William
SHE'S NOT WHAT I expected.
That's the first thought that cuts through the fog in my head as I stand in the doorway. Aoife O'Rourke. My future wife. The woman my family has decided will save us all from the Russians.
I expected soft. Pliable. One of those Mafia daughters who's been trained to smile and nod and keep her mouth shut while the men handle business. The kind of woman who'd take one look at me and burst into tears, or worse, try to fix me with some misguided notion of love and patience.
But this woman? This woman looks like she wants to gut me.
Good. At least one of us is honest about what this is.
She's standing by the window, backlit by the fading afternoon light, and for a split second I forget how to breathe.Not because she's beautiful, though she is. Navy dress that hugs curves that are somehow both subtle and impossible to ignore. Dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders. Skin that looks like it's never seen a hard day.
But it's her eyes that stop me. Blue. Sharp. Furious.
She's looking at me like I'm something she scraped off her shoe, and fuck if that doesn't make me want to laugh. Or maybe it's the cocaine still singing through my system. Hard to tell anymore.
"You're late," she says.
The room goes quiet. Dillon O'Rourke, sitting on the sofa like he owns the fucking place, stiffens. Aidan makes some kind of noise that might be a warning. But I don't look away from her.
"I hope it wasn't too distressful," I say, and I let every ounce of sarcasm I'm feeling drip into the words. "Sitting here for twenty minutes, in a warm, comfortable room, with two men keeping you company."
Her father moves. "Mr. Murphy, my daughter didn't mean to..."
"I meant exactly what I said." She cuts him off without even glancing his way.
Father would've backhanded me for talking to an ally like that. But Aoife O'Rourke just stands there, chin lifted, eyes blazing, daring me to do something about it.
And despite everything, despite the mess I am, despite the fact that I'm probably still half-drunk and definitely still high, I feel something shift in my chest.
Interest.
I haven't been interested in anything in months. Haven't felt anything but rage and grief and the constant gnawing need for oblivion. But this woman, this furious, beautiful woman who's supposed to be mine, has my full attention.
I cross the room toward her. She doesn't back down. Doesn't even flinch. Just watches me approach with those cold blue eyes, and I can see her pulse jumping in her throat.
I stop close. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Close enough that I can smell her perfume, something floral and expensive that makes me think of gardens and things that are too good for me.
"It doesn't matter anyway," I say, letting my voice drop low. "I'm here now."
"Lucky me." The sarcasm is thick enough to cut.
I smile. Can't help it. When's the last time someone looked at me with anything other than fear? When's the last time someone talked to me like I'm not a bomb about to explode?
This woman doesn't know me well enough to be afraid yet.
Give it time.
"William." Aidan's voice cuts through whatever moment this is. "Perhaps we should get started. I'm sure everyone is eager to conclude the evening's business."
