Page 31 of Guilty as Sin

No, I want to lie. He’s so obviously doing it to make me jealous, and I couldn’t care less.

“Our marriage is in name only,” I say.

“So you’re okay with it?” Finn props his forearms on the bar, flexing his bulky biceps as he presses his point.

“As okay as I am with any of this.”

“So… not at all?” His version of snark reminds me of Connor, so I cock my head at him, ready to rile him up right back.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Finn has no response to this, except to flex his pecs beneath his too-tight shirt. I smile to myself. Vanity is such an easy weakness to play against.

“Who broke your nose?” I ask.

As Finn opens his mouth for some sort of retort, the bell chimes to announce two new women coming in. It’s Orla and Brioni, and Finn snaps his jaw shut, clearly unwilling to fight in front of his mother. Another good thing to know.

Brady’s attitude also changes as his mom walks in. He turns quickly away from the flirtatious blonde, as if hoping not to be caught. But Orla’s already noticed, based on her disapproving frown.

I don’t think Brioni catches any of it. She greets Finn with a hug, then circles around the bar to give me a hug too. I’m caught off guard, making the embrace painfully awkward. But again, Brioni doesn’t seem to notice, already headed over to give Brady his own hug.

A dear friend to our family is how Orla had described Brioni. And by the way she’s interacting with Brady and Finn, Brioni’s like a sister to them.

As she greets all of us and asks us how we are, Liam strides hurriedly out of the back hallway. It’s like he knew Brioni had arrived, and I conclude there must be a security office back there, streaming a live feed of the bar. I glance up to scan for cameras, and find them well-hidden in the seams of the copper ceiling. I make a note to check for surveillance equipment in my bedroom at the penthouse.

Liam returns Brioni’s hug in an embrace that looks even more awkward than mine. It’s definitely not brotherly, and I catch Brady and Finn exchange a knowing look.

Brioni’s ability to gather the family amazes me. Before she and Orla came in, each O’Sullivan was at his separate task. Now, everyone’s clustered around her as she chats animatedly, engaging them all. I don’t catch what she’s saying before I’m flagged down by a customer, a friend of the flirtatious blonde.

Their group cashes out, and though I’d hoped to be relieved at their leaving, instead I feel regret. I liked the heat of my righteous jealousy.

Sensing Orla’s close observation, I keep my interaction with the group as neutral as possible. After they’re gone, I turn to my mother-in-law, ready to rise to whatever challenge she’s setting me.

“Your move went well, I take it?” she asks.

“It did. Can I get you something?” Though not overtly rude, I’m clearly doing the bare minimum in my role as bartender.

“I’m not staying,” Orla informs me. “Brioni will take a snakebite, though.”

“Magners and Guinness?” I ask to confirm. My mother-in-law blinks at me, as if the question is so obvious it isn’t worth answering. I keep my grumbling to myself and don’t bother to double-check the order with Brioni.

Despite Orla’s scrutiny, my hands are steady as I pour the drink, and the resulting layers are flawless. When I’m done, I toss the bar spoon into the sink like a mic drop. I glance over for Orla’s reaction, but she’s striding out of the pub, the departing flash of her camel coat its own mic drop. This time I do grumble out loud.

When I deliver Brioni her drink, she lights up with gratitude.

“How did you know?” she asks, her liquid brown eyes wide.

I say something about Orla, but Brioni doesn’t seem to hear as she thanks me effusively. The O’Sullivan brothers remain grouped around her, and I’m struck by how the three men reacted to the women in their lives.

Because of Orla’s presence, they checked their behavior. Finn got off his phone, and Brady stopped flirting to make me jealous. And because of Brioni’s presence, everyone’s mood lifted. Even mine, if I’m being honest.

It’s strange. The brothers’ collective reaction is the opposite of what I expect from mafia men. My father and his asshole goons treated my mother like unworthy furniture at the best of times. More often than not, she was nothing but a despised servant to them.

I’m very aware of my servant-like task as I wipe down the bar. But as the flow of customers increases, the O’Sullivan brothers meet the influx with me. Soon we’re all mixing drinks and bussing tables. Though I move easily around Liam and Finn in the narrow spaces, whenever I try to pass Brady, it’s like he purposefully steps into my way.

“Excuse me,” I tell his broad chest.

“You’re excused,” he says, not moving.