"Lorenzo's used to a certain caliber of woman," Daire adds, casually. "Sabrina Laskaris has been?—"
"Daire." My voice is very flat. "Don't."
She looks at me with wide eyes, full of fake surprise. "I'm just being honest."
No, what she’s doing is acting as though she’s trying to help me, but the truth is, she’s doing whatever the hell she can to tear me down.
"You're just being yourself," I say with a sigh.
“You’re just jealous,” she fires back. “Jealous that I was the one that he wanted, that I’m the one that most men want. And who could blame them? Hmm, look at you Quinn. You’re a plain Jane. You don’t know how to dress, you have no sense of style, and you’re boring as hell.”
She has no idea who I am, so how the hell does she know that I’m boring?
“I’d rather be boring than be you, Daire,” I hiss, my anger getting the best of me now.
There’s only so much that I can take from her and Mam before I lose my temper and let my mouth fly.
“You do not speak to your sister like that. Have some respect,” Mam snarls.
“You mean like she has respect for anyone but herself? I’m getting married because of her, and I’m the one who should have respect?”
“What is done is done,” Daire says, placing her hand on her stomach where the baby lies. She’s not started to show yet. “I’m giving our parents their first grandchild.”
I stare at her with a raised brow. Does she think just because she’s pregnant that it gives her carte blanche over all her wrongdoings?
“Do not upset your sister, she’s in a delicate condition,” Mam snaps at me.
I blink. Delicate? I don’t think there’s anything delicate about Daire.
“Look, Quinn,” Daire says with faux sympathy and over-the-top sweetness. “Just because you’re marrying Lorenzo now, it doesn’t mean that you’re anything other than a replacement. You need to remember that. I’ll always be the one that he yearns for, the one that he would have married had Rurik and I not fallen in love. You are and always have been second best.”
I can’t help but laugh. God, she really is a bitch.
“Laugh all you want, but it’s true,” she says, raising her voice. “Mam and Da prefer me, always have and always will, even Conn despises you, and then there’s Daithí…” The smirk on her face makes me want to punch her. “Well, he can’t stand to be anywhere near you.”
“If you say so,” I sigh, looking pointedly at my nails as though she’s boring me. The truth is, she's reminding me of something I've spent weeks trying not to think about. I was never supposed to be the bride.
“No one loves you, Quinn, no one ever will,” she says with glee, her eyes sparkling with joy, no doubt at the pain I’m in hearing her speak. “You’ll end up married to Lorenzo and know that he’ll never love you. You’ll die a lonely, sad woman never having felt what love feels like.”
“The fuck is wrong with you?” I hear the deep, angry voice of my brother. I don’t lift my head to see him stride into the room. No, Daithí’s voice gives me enough of a picture of what he looks like. He’s angry, probably the angriest that I’ve ever heard him, and as much as I’d like to see Daire get shouted at, I’m trying my hardest not to cry.
"What?" Mam says, her voice smaller than it had been with me.
"Cut it out," he growls, and I raise my head to see him glaring at her, which is so unlike Daithí.
Mam's expression falters, and she glances at Daire, who has finally shut her damn mouth. "We were just having a chat."
"I know what you were doing." He glances between Mam and Daire. "Both of you. She's marrying Lorenzo Mariano in six weeks. She's going into his house, his world, with his name. The last thing she needs going into it is the two of you picking her apart."
"Nobody was picking anyone apart," Mam says, haughtily, as though she’s beneath being reprimanded.
"Mam." His voice drops. It’s low, and it’s filled with anger. "I've been listening to this since she was twelve years old. I'm not doing it anymore. If you can't find something useful to say to her, say nothing. How can you let your daughter speak like that to your other one, let alone the way you speak to her.”
“I didn’t want that one,” Mam hisses. “So I’ll mind you to mind your own business about how I treat my children.”
The room is quiet at mam’s admission. It’s one thing to know it but a whole other thing to actually hear it from her mouth.
"I'll remind you that I am your mother, Daithí. Do not push me on this matter," she says. Mam stands and leaves with Daire following along right behind her like a lost puppy.
