Page 50 of Sins of Arrogance

But the men who shot them were.

Now, my aunt is dead and my sis­ter has panic at­tacks when Bro­gan drags her out of the house. Not that he calls them that.

He and seanathair say she’s throw­ing a tantrum. But Fi doesn’t scream and stomp her feet. She cries silent tears and has trou­ble breath­ing.

Not a tantrum.

Tak­ing a deep breath I step for­ward and stop as soon as my gown clears the door­way, un­able to take an­other step.

Mem­o­ries of laugh­ter and the fam­ily we used to be hit me like a storm blow­ing in off the ocean. That cozy chair by the fire­place is where Aunt Char­ity sat and read.

A mas­sive bou­quet of roses dom­i­nates the small square ta­ble by the win­dow where we used to work on jig­saw puz­zles when it was rain­ing.

The scent mem­ory of heather and hon­ey­suckle, from when Aunt Char­ity had vases filled with them all over the down­stairs, al­most over­pow­ers the fra­grance from the roses.

For a mo­ment, I’m more in the past than the present, but the scent of roses is too cloy­ing and sweet to give way to mem­o­ries.

It’s not just the bou­quet by the win­dow ei­ther. There’s an­other one on the hearth and an ar­range­ment on the counter in the open plan kitchen.

There are even white rose petals scat­tered on the floor in a path lead­ing to the stairs.

And the bed­rooms on the sec­ond floor.

Cham­pagne I’m too young to drink chills in a free­stand­ing sil­ver glacette. I won­der whose idea that was?

Michael doesn’t push me; he sim­ply pulls the door shut be­hind us and then steps around me.

Throat dry, my heart pound­ing prac­ti­cally out of my chest, I suck in a deep breath and let it out. It doesn’t help.

“Michael…I’m…I mean…”

Chap­ter 14: But­tons & Blushes

KARA

“Mick.”

“What?” I stare, my brain blank.

“I am called Mick.”

“Oh. I’m Kara.” I nearly smack my own fore­head.

Of course, he knows my name and that I don’t use a nick­name. We just got mar­ried. The priest asked him if he took Kara Doyle Shaugh­nessy as his wed­ded wife. To have and to hold from this day for­ward.

It’s that hav­ing and hold­ing thing that’s mak­ing my brain mush and my in­sides shake with nerves.

“My fa­ther calls you Mick, but I didn’t want to pre­sume.” Why am I even try­ing to talk? Ev­ery­thing com­ing out of my mouth makes me sound ridicu­lous.

Worse, I sound like a prim school­teacher from the last cen­tury, not an eigh­teen-year-old who spent more time on her smart­phone than study­ing the last month of high school.

Maybe that’s good. I doubt Mick wants a re­minder he’s mar­ried to a woman eight years younger than him with no life ex­pe­ri­ence.

“You are my wife.” He says the words like they’re an ex­pla­na­tion.

“Um, yes?”

“Are you in some doubt?” His emer­ald-green eyes re­flect hu­mor for the first time to­day.