Page 67 of Honorable Sins

For six years Áine swallowed every opinion that might put her daughters in danger.

Today, she doesn't have to.

During the phone call setting this meeting up, neither of us was able to understand Allison's logic. She genuinely believes the two of us can and should talk sense into Mick and Wraith.

As if either man has somehow misplaced his.

The idea still makes me want to laugh.

My husband isn't exiling Kenny Jr. because he's angry. He's doing it because he believes the boy still has a chance to become a decent man. If Kenny Jr. stays with Kenneth and Allison, that chance disappears.

"I can't believe you're going to drug her," Áine says in a hurried whisper as the French doors open.

"Whatever it takes," I say before pasting a social smile on my face to greet Allison Shaughnessy.

Frank opens the terrace doors again.

"Mrs. Shaughnessy."

Allison glides outside in cream linen and diamonds. Everything about her is expensive, from the oversized sunglasses resting on top of her perfectly arranged hair to the handbag dangling from her wrist.

She looks exactly like the woman who hosts charity luncheons while someone else cleans up afterward. Which to be fair, I do too, but I care about the charities on whose boards I sit. I'll eat my shoe if Allison even remembers what her supposed causes are.

"Thank you both for agreeing to meet me." Her smile trembles delicately around the edges. "You can't imagine what these past weeks have been like."

I don't bother pointing out that since both Áine and I are mothers far more involved in the lives of our children than Allison is with Kenny Jr., we probably can.

"Please, sit down." I wave my hand toward the table.

She looks at the seat at the head of the table but then moves with barely perceptible reluctance to sit in one of the chairs on the side farthest from where Áine is standing. Allison is used to being the queen bee in her little circle of socialite friends.

Too bad for her, she's in the home of the true queen in our world. Me.

Áine sits down across from her former employer but does not greet the older woman.

Allison was twenty-two when she married the then forty-year-old Kenneth the year before Mick and I tied the knot. Her face is unmarred by wrinkles, but no one would mistake her for a fresh-faced twenty-something. He cold social façade is too polished.

It is difficult, if not impossible to see this woman as a concerned parent.

I sit down and Allison immediately turns her body to face me, effectively cutting Áine out of the conversation. "You've got to help me, Kara. I don't know who else to turn to."

Without answering her, I pour the tea, making sure Allison receives the correct glass.

She thanks me distractedly before taking a long drink. "I'll be honest," she says. "I don't understand why Mick is doing this. He knows my Kenny isn't a bad boy. He's family."

"Being family does not give your son a pass," I tell her.

It doesn't give her husband one either and they'll both find that out soon enough.

"But he's only thirteen. He made a mistake."

"Is that what you call it?" Áine asks acerbically.

Allison flicks a disgruntled glance at her but her attention is back on me less than a second later. "Please don't let Mick keep my son away from me." Moisture gathers in her eyes without disturbing her mascara. "Kenny Jr. knows what he did is wrong."

"What makes you think so?" He certainly didn't express that opinion during the sentencing.

"He told me."