Fuck no, this isn’t the end of this discussion. "It matters to me."
"Then I'll explain it another time." She takes a breath. "Not here, not in the middle of this."
As irritating as it is to wait, I’m not the type of man to put something off and forget about it. She's right, this isn't the time or the place. But the conversation isn't finished, and she knows it.
Someone approaches us, and I watch as she plasters on a fake smile, one that looks too fucking real, but I’ve watched this woman a lot. I’ve seen her at a vulnerable moment, a few of them, and I can tell the difference between a genuine smile and a fake one.
My hand comes away from her back. I remain where I am, at her side, but I don't touch her. I don't lean close. I stay beside her, but I need to put distance between us, as much as I can, without it being obvious. Of course, Quinn notices, her back straightens, her entire body tenses, and she doesn’t speak. She greets the newcomer, but there’s a coldness to her tone.
She's very good at hiding her true feelings, always covering them up with a smile or a deflection of conversation, and I'm starting to wonder how long she's been this good at it.
As she speaks with the man in front of us, some son of a politician, I think about everything I know about Quinn Delaney. The bruises she covers, the way she’s quiet and withdrawn, but underneath, she’s anything but shy. She’s intelligent and funny. So why does she wear a mask every day?
I’m grateful for the reprieve when my father calls me over to introduce me to more people. Once we’re done, I manage to pull Ciro aside. I quickly explain to my brother what’s happened and ask him to dig as much as possible. But before we can finish our conversation, Daire edges closer.
“Stay close, I have a feeling that she’s in a mood to spill some secrets.”
Ciro nods. “But the question is, what does she gain from doing so?” He moves away from me but not far, just into the shadows of the darkened room, close enough to be able to hear whatever the hell Daire’s about to say.
"Lorenzo," Daire says quietly as she comes to stand before me. "Do you have a minute?"
I nod, not wanting to deal with this shit but I need answers and right now she’s the only one willing to offer them up. "You have thirty seconds."
She glances around the room, ensuring that we’re alone. "I don't want to cause problems," she says. "That's not what this is."
"Then be quick."
She exhales deeply, her fingers toying with the red fabric of her dress. “Orla Geraghty was a girl we grew up around. Tony's daughter.” She pauses, glancing up at me, and I see the mischief in her eyes. "She and Quinn were very close for a while, when we were teenagers."
I wait, knowing that she’s nowhere near finished.
"The thing about Orla," Daire says slowly, "is that she was vulnerable. She had anxiety, she struggled really badly with it. She wasn't really built for the world we live in." She pulls in a ragged breath and I watch as she exhales. It all looks too polished. I’m far from stupid, so I know that Daire is fucking with me. "Quinn latched onto her. That's the only way I know how to describe it. She became very... possessive of their friendship."
"Define possessive?" I say through clenched teeth.
"Quinn didn't like it when Orla spent time with other people. She'd find ways to make herself essential, to make Orla dependent on her. And if Orla pulled away—" She stops, shaking her head slightly. "Quinn was subtle about it. That's the thing, she never did anything visible. It was always small things. Whispered words about Orla to others. Orla’s other friendships became poisoned due to rumors about what Orla had done or said. Orla then pulled away from everyone, scared that she was somehow the reason no one would talk to her. Somehow Quinn made that happen without ever looking like the one who made it happen."
I'm very still. What the fuck? That doesn’t sound like Quinn, but then again, I don’t know my soon-to-be wife.
"Orla got worse," Daire says. "More isolated, more dependent on Quinn. My sister was the only person that Orla would talk to. And then something happened between them, I don't know exactly what. Quinn has never said, but Orla spiraled..." She breaks off, her breathing rapid as she glances around once again. "Orla killed herself just days later."
"Quinn was blamed," I say without emotion.
"People talked. Tony lost his mind with grief, and he blamed everyone. I don't think he ever specifically...” She trails off. "But yes. Some people said Quinn had isolated her, that Quinn was the reason she had no one. That if Quinn hadn't done what she did, Orla would have had people to hold onto."
I'm watching Daire's face carefully, trying to see the lies in her eyes, but I don't find any tells.
"Why didn't anyone deal with it at the time?" I ask.
"Da buried it. Quinn was sixteen and Orla's death was ruled as a suicide. Da made sure the connection to Quinn never became public." She holds my gaze. "He's very protective of his family's reputation, all of it, even the parts that don't deserve protecting."
Her words and her tone are those of someone who’s been pushed to the side and watched her family protect someone else.
"People always underestimate Quinn," Daire says quietly. "Because she's quiet, because she seems shy." She pauses. "I grew up with her, I know who she really is."
I look at her, and there’s something about this that doesn’t ring true, and I can’t put my finger on it. We know that something happened to Geraghty’s daughter. We didn’t know the exact details, but I feel as though Daire’s not telling the full truth.
"I'm not saying this to hurt her," Daire says. "Or to cause problems for you. I just..." She looks away briefly before looking back at me. "You deserve to know who you're marrying."
