Page 43 of Wicked Ruin

“Dinner at the McCarthy house.” He still isn’t looking at me. “For Declan’s engagement party.”

Well, cut my heart out with a dull blade, why don’t you.

“Of course,” I tell him. “I’ll be there.”

He turns around, and the look he gives me is curious enough that I have to wonder whether he knows more than he’s letting on. Erin definitely doesn’t. Thankfully, she’s oblivious to anything that’s happened between Declan and me. I don’t need an older-sister lecture on top of a broken heart.

“I want to talk to you about the American accounting,” I tell him, deliberately changing the subject.

His eyes meet mine, and I hold his gaze. I’m not getting away with this. Maybe he’ll say something. Maybe he was the one who told Seamus that night—I don’t know.

And in that moment, I wonder if the poets are right: Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Is it really though? Because I can barely function.

My phone vibrates.

Declan. Because of course.

Declan

Heard you’re coming tonight?

I look at the text for a long moment, aching. Does he want me there?

Of course he wants me there. Since I promised we’d remain friends. That’s what we are. Friends.

We are.

Then I respond.

Wouldn’t miss it for the world

I add an uncomfortable amount of happy face emojis that aren’t fooling anyone.

Declan

I’ve been thinking about you

He’s been thinking about me? Oh yeah? Every time he sees a cloud shaped like something and wants to tell me about it? I see dinosaurs. He sees titties in a push-up bra. All this time, and he has never once evolved.

Or maybe he thinks of me every time he adds triple whipped cream to his ice cream at Lickety Split because he likes the whipped cream even more than the ice cream, and I was the one who convinced him that social etiquette doesn’t apply to ice cream.

Or is it every time he showers and puts his hand on the hot tile, he remembers the way I screamed when I came?

Or no? Just me.

“Bridget?” Cavin’s frowning. He’s likely been talking to me, and I didn’t even realize. My cheeks heat as I put my phone face down.

“Sorry, got distracted.”

What’s even socially appropriate at this point? Declan’s engagement has been announced. He’s still my friend. He still texts me sporadically, but I take my time responding. I don’t send him the things I used to because I don’t know what’s smart, and I get the distinct impression he doesn’t either.

“What's wrong with the ledgers?” Cavin says, turning back toward the sink to rinse the dishes.

“They don't add up.” I follow him, leaning against the counter. “Valentina's family said the dowry was structured in three portions—the first came through clean, no issues. But the second transfer routed through four different accounts before it landed, and two of them are registered in Boston.” I pause. “For a family based out of New York, that's a strange way to move clean money.”

Cavin doesn't say anything, just keeps rinsing.

“On paper, it looks fine,” I continue. “But something's not sitting right with me.”