“fuckin’ tag teaming me,” he mutters with a chuckle, rubbing both arms as he leaves the room.
His mum smiles at me. “Not sure what it is about you two,” she says. “But I haven’t seen him smile so much in ages. Not since…” Her voice trails off, and it looks as if she doesn’t want to continue the conversation. “Well, not since my eldest passed.”
I wish I could comfort her, or give her some sort of consolation. I just pick up another potato, and watch as the peeler slices through the tough skin, revealing smooth, creamy white. The tendril falls into the pile with the others.
We work in silence for a bit, and she begins to hum. It’s a sad tune, one I don’t recognize, with a haunting melody. I wish I knew the words.
She slices the tatties into big, thick chunks, and douses them with olive oil.
“Even though we’ve a staff that works the kitchen, I admit I like to come in from time to time. Give them the night off, prepare food for my family myself. I enjoy it.” I wonder what else she enjoys. And is it just her way of caring for her family, or is it her way of regaining some control?
I imagine we’re the staff, working for this powerful, dangerous family. Never knowing what will happen next, what travesty or danger will come. I’m Cinderella, slaving away in fear of her stepmother’s wrath.
I don’t have a way to talk to her, so I only nod quietly. Even if I could text her, she’s elbow-deep in cooking and can’t reach for her phone.
“Do you like cooking, Cairstina?”
I want to believe this woman is warm and kind, and there’s a part of me that does. But I note a hardness in her eyes that makes me hesitate. Does she hold herself aloof for a reason?
I give a little start, when I realize she asked me a question and I haven’t answered. I shrug. I don’t know if I like to cook or not. I’ve never really had the chance.
“Islan enjoys it, but Paisley…” She laughs as she slides the tatties from the cutting board onto a roasting pan. “The girl is lucky if she doesn’t burn her toast.”
I smile, my thoughts going to Paisley. What will the brothers discuss today when they meet? Are Leith and the others going to seek revenge? Will they kill the men who hurt Paisley? I remember the graveyard. Leith’s strong hands on the man’s head, the sickeningsnap,the way his body slumped to the ground.
Why is it so easy for him to take the life of another? Should he hesitate?
I see how a look comes over him, sometimes… it’s like a lens is flicked, and his vision becomes blinded with another reality. This one, where he has friends and allies and a reason to laugh. The other, where everyone’s an enemy and everyone he loves is in danger.
He needs more than a woman like me, who has her own broken past and handicaps. He’s used me to warm his bed, and I won’tlie and say I haven’t enjoyed being with him. No one’s ever made me feel like he has, but I don’t know how the two of us could ever be more than two ships passing in the night.
I suspect he’s satisfied I won’t snitch or cause trouble, but the question remains, what next?
“There now,” his mum says. “It’s a good bit of food, but the boys work hard, and they eat like bloody truck drivers.” She gives me a wink.
The door to the kitchen swings open, and Islan enters. “Hey, Mum. Oh, hi Cairstina.” She’s got Bailey on a leash, and my heart soars. The moment he sees me, he runs to me. I drop to my knees and give him a huge hug, and he licks at my face.
“Och, someone misses his mom," Islan says. “I wonder if my brother will let you have him back yet.”
I don’t ask, not sure why I wasn’t allowed Bailey to begin with. For now, as long as Bailey’s happy and here, I’m happy.
"We've been taking the very best care of him that we know how," Islan says. "But he does spend a lot of time at the windows, presumably looking for you." She scratches behind his ears affectionately. "Dad's never let us have a dog, even though we've been asking for years. So many thanks for circumventing that one."
Bailey lays down by my feet and looks up to me with large, doleful eyes.
I wave to Islan and gesture to my bag. I show her the book.
“Almost done, then?” she says with a smile, and I nod eagerly.
Flora seasons the roast, smiling, but her brows draw together with concern. “I finished the first book and started the second. Did you, Is?”
“Aye,” Islan says. “But bloody hell, Mum, I don’t know if I can talk about them with you. That scene in the little woodshed by the graveyard…” she cringes.
Flora rolls her eyes. “Och, aye, lass, I gave birth to six children by immaculate fucking conception.”
Ha. I like this woman.
Islan winces and shuts her eyes, speaking in a heated whisper, “My mum didn’t just say that.She did not!”
