Oisin holds up three fingers at her like they've struck a bargain.
Her eyes find Jamie next, then Cara. She takes them in—the defiance, the silence.
Ma’s eyes flit to me, and I know she’s thinking that I’ve got my work cut out for me.
She’s right. Winning over these three is not going to be easy.
But nothing worth having comes easy.
Right now, my biggest challenge will be winning over their older sister.
And I’m quickly formulating a plan for that.
Chapter 8
Maeve
"Jamie. Cara." Lorcan’s mother says their names like a woman who expects not to be questioned. "There's a snack in the kitchen, and I'd be grateful for company. Please follow me.”
She turns and walks inside, clearly expecting to be followed. And—God help me—they follow. Jamie trails at a careful cool-guy distance. Cara, after a glance up at me for permission, drifts after Kathleen and her brother.
Which leaves me. And Lorcan.
"Come on," Lorcan says as we enter an enormous echoing entry hall. "I'll show you the bedrooms.”
He leads me up a curving staircase, down a hallway lined with paintings that are probably museum-worthy. He points out doors as we go—Jamie's room, Cara's, Oisin's, a nursery-ish one with a baby monitor and everything. All of them are already made up. All of them are enormous.
Then he stops at a door near the end and pushes it open.
The room is beautiful. A big bed with a soft gray duvet, tall windows overlooking the grounds, and a fireplace. Real, actual space. More space than our entire apartment.
“I…um…guess we’re going to have to share a room? Since we’re married, I mean.”
He rubs the back of his neck, and for the first time since the church, his easy confidence dims a little. He opens his mouth. Closes it.
"What?" I look up into his face.
"You said something. On the church steps." His voice is quieter now, none of the joking underneath. “About not being happy with this marriage.”
My spine goes stiff. "So?"
"So I see your point.” He shrugs, but his eyes are steady on mine. "Your da made this call, not you. And I've been thinking about that ever since."
I don't say anything. I don't know where this is going, and I’m not sure it’s gonna end well.
"So I have a proposal for you.” He pushes off the doorframe and steps into the room. Not too close. Just enough. "Give me four days."
“Four days for what?"
"To win you over." His mouth curves, but it's soft this time, almost uncertain. “Four days and four nights. Let me show you what being married to me could actually look like. And if, at the end of those four days, you still want to live separately—" He spreads his hands. "Then I'll set you up. You and the kids. A nice place, somewhere safe with security and a doorman, and furnished with whatever you want. And a bank account with monthly cash deposits, no strings. You'll never have to see me if you don't want to."
I stare at him.
"You'd do that?”
"I would."
I search his face for the trap. The catch. Because nothing free is free. A man doesn't offer you a house and money and autonomy for nothing. There's always a price hidden underneath, always a moment down the line where the bill comes due.
