“Yeah. But you know, long distance relationships…”
“You have to be careful Mary. I know you’re desperate for some…”
“Fun.”
“Yes. I get it. But you’re still a McCarthy. I was on the run for years because I never trusted Father or Finn or alphas to be honest.”
“I’m not you, though. I want to live my life and not be scared of it.”
I turned my face to her. “You should be a little scared.”
"What happened to you?" She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at the sea, her jaw set the way it used to set when she was trying very hard not to cry and very hard not to show it.
“I just kept a low profile.”
"I thought you were dead. Dad said you were dead. He had a funeral. There's a gravestone in Dublin with your name on it and I put flowers there every month."
The words landed like stones in my stomach.
A gravestone.
Of course there was a gravestone. Callum McCarthy couldn't have people knowing his daughter had run. Better to bury an empty coffin than admit he'd lost control of an asset.
"I didn't know," I said.
"How could you? You were gone." She still wasn't looking at me. "I mourned you. For three years. And now you're alive and you're married to a Russian mob boss and you have a baby and you've clearly been through absolute hell, and I don't—I don't know any of it. I don't know what happened to my own sister."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I reached across the gap between the loungers and took her hand. Her fingers were cold despite the heat.
"I ran," I said. "At first, just ran. Bristol, Manchester, Cardiff. Never more than a few weeks anywhere. Paid cash. No friends. No phone. Slept with one eye open. Finn had people and he always promised he'd find me. I believed him."
Mary's grip tightened.
"I ended up at a caravan park in Ripon because it was cheap and nobody asked questions. I thought I'd stay a month. Figure out the next move."
"And?"
"I met someone." I smiled despite myself. "Presley. She lived in a caravan near mine. Northern girl, funny, absolutely no filter. She decided we were friends before I'd agreed to it, and by the time I thought to argue, it was already true."
Mary raised an eyebrow. "She wore you down?"
"She brought me tea and refused to leave. It was very tactical. Gregor would have approved."
"She sounds wonderful."
"She was. Is." I moved on the lounger, pulling my knees up. "She found her pack. Got her happily ever after. I was thrilled for her and absolutely gutted for myself, which is a terrible combination. Makes you feel like a monster for being sad at someone else's wedding."
"Because you were alone again."
"Completely." I paused. "So I went north. As far as I could go without hitting the hills. Edinburgh."
"And opened a coffee shop."
"Not exactly. I walked into this little bookshop with a café attached, and I was exhausted, it was raining, I just wanted to sit down somewhere that wasn't a bus shelter. The owner was this Scottish woman, Mrs. Higgins. Her husband was sick. She was trying to run everything herself and failing, and she was so angry about it. Just furious at the universe. I liked her immediately."
Mary smiled. "So you helped."
