Page 110 of Wicked Ruin

“Okay,” I whisper. “And I… I love you too.”

I thought it would feel different telling him, a monumental stance that obliterates whatever will keep us apart, but it doesn’t. I’m stating a fact as certain as the sun sets and rises. And it isn’t enough. If only it were enough.

I shut off the phone.

I want him here.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

BRIDGET

Two days after I tell Erin, we're at D’Agostino’s. It’s not just Declan and me, which would be about a hundred times better, but everybody, because a bunch of birthdays overlap and they decided a massive get-together would be best.

Lorcan's here with a girl he's dating, and Kyla’s with her boyfriend. Bronwyn's snapping pictures, and Caitlin’s sitting next to Keenan, who looks considerably better than the last time I saw him. Colm smiles and waves, then stares at me a bit longer than usual.

Well, that’s strange.

Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe Declan’s younger brother has always seen more than he lets on, and I’ve just never been the focus of his attention before. I turn away, wishing I were invisible so I wouldn’t have to keep pretending at anything.

I'm almost happy to be here except for the fact that Declan is next to Valentina. I know we have to play it this way. I know he told me to trust him, but I hate every second of the two of them together—I hate it with the heat of a thousand burning suns.

She's across the room. It's not unusual because she's always somewhere where there's a large crowd of people. She's present, composed, and flawlessly dressed, and of course, Declan is perfect.

I’ve watched her enough at some of these events to have built a working map of her patterns. She positions herself adjacent to Declan but is never reliant. She answers questions with just enough to satisfy and never more. She smiles at the right moments but lets her eyes drift a fraction of a second too soon.

It's taken me a long time to name what's bothering me about it.

It's not that I expected her to love him. How could she? And even though I hate the thought of him with someone who doesn’t love him, I thought I’d made my peace with it until I was standing in the same room watching it.

It's that she doesn't have to.

She doesn't have to be curious about him or intrigued by him or try to learn the particular nuances of who he is. She doesn't have to earn any of it. She just has to show up, look expensive, and let the arrangement do the rest.

And she'll get to keep him.

That's the part I can't swallow.

I know him. I know him in ways she hasn't bothered to learn and never will. I know him. I know what makes him laugh and what makes him sober. I know that little divot he gets between his eyes when he’s concentrating and how adorably boyish he looks when I call his name. I know he sat on my sofa, elbows to knees, researching Irish baby names and pretending it was purely logistical.

She will stand next to him at the altar and take his name and his ring, and she doesn't know a single true thing about him.

I reach for my glass of Coke and drink it. I smile, looking at my phone, but I'm paying attention to her.

I know the McCarthys too. I have sat at enough tables, visited their homes, and befriended the people who make it run. They are my family.

And someone's fucking around with my family.

I watch her across the room again, laughing now at something Declan said. Or at least she’s faking it, but it's indistinguishable from an actual laugh.

I set my drink down.

The woman I've spent months stalking on social media has a full, unguarded laugh. I know it. I have watched it. I was pissed at how pretty she looked when she laughed. The woman across this room has the same face, the same hair, the same careful composure.

But she doesn't laugh like that.

I keep my expression neutral, and I don't look at Valentina again, because if I'm right…

I smile at Cavin when he appears next to me with another bottle of Coke.