“Classy as ever!”
“Mum would be proud!”
She flips them off, and I laugh without meaning to, the sound quickly dying as she shoots me another lethal look, her blue eyes as dangerous as a live wire.
She hasn’t changed.
Not really.
She might be older, meaner, smarter—prettier in a way that pisses me off—but underneath it all, she’s still that rebellious firecracker I couldn’t take my eyes off that night at the club.
Patrick elbows Miko. “She’s always been a wild one. Got kicked out of Catholic school.”
“Correction,” Aisling says. “I walked out. I didn’t need God watching me all day.”
Miko chokes.
Sandro beams like she’s his new favorite person, then he scrounges up a fresh lowball glass for Aisling as we pour another round.
A short time later, Evi tugs Sandro’s shirt. “Bed. Now,” she murmurs.
Sandro goes without protest, because he loves her and because she controls him with terrifying efficiency.
I’ve never seen anyone have such a positive effect on my twin brother, and that alone would make me adore my sister-in-law.
But the fact that she’s sunshine incarnate makes it impossible for anyone not to love her, and I watch them go with a wistful warmth, knowing that at least half of my soul will live a happy life.
Maybe that’s why God saw fit to make two of us—because he knew Sandro would find a kind of happiness that was strong enough to sustain us both.
Then I bite back a snort of cynicism, because I know there is no God.
If there were, I would find a way to smite him down for taking Genevieve from me like he did.
Miko yawns. “I’m leaving too. My wife is due any day now, and if I’m not home by midnight, she’ll kill me and claim postpartum rage.”
Ryan grins. “Then go, soldier.”
Miko squeezes my shoulder. “You good?”
“For now.”
He exits, muttering to himself about getting too old for nights like this. And suddenly, it’s just me and the Murray brothers—and Aisling drinking like it’s her sole purpose in life.
She levels her eyes at me over the rim of her glass. “You’re still an asshole.”
I smirk lazily. “Consistency is a strength.”
Patrick snorts. “That’s why his face looks like a Picasso painting.”
Aisling points at me. “He deserves worse.”
Ryan nods. “Don’t worry, Sis. We gave him a proper beating.”
She turns, incredulous. “Youwhat?”
Patrick answers. “Man took his punches like a champ, so we let the past go. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Aisling slams her glass down. “How did you decide that punching Raf would be at all what I want? If anyone has a right to hit him, it’s me.”
