Page 48 of Wicked Ruin

Valentina watches the exchange with something that isn't quite disgust—closer to the expression of a woman observing a custom from a country she has no particular interest in visiting. She doesn't smile.

Bronwyn says something that makes Kyla inhale her tea, and I follow it up with something worse. Aunt Caitlin is laughing before I've finished the sentence.

Valentina tilts her head slightly, as if processing the concept of humor from a significant distance.

I think about the time Bridget laughed so hard at something I said that she inhaled her drink and had to be physically patted on the back before she snorted it out her nose. How would Valentina feel about that?

She turns to me, and for a moment, her composure shifts. Not warmth, really, but more like curiosity. “You love them,” she says, as if she’s noting something she didn’t expect, before the composure’s back and she looks away.

Aunt Caitlin saves us all. “We'll leave you two to settle in,” she says, and the women drift toward the kitchen with the tact of people who have seen enough.

Valentina reaches over and adjusts my tie. It's a gesture that might read as intimate if there were any warmth behind it. “It was crooked,” she says, her tone almost uncertain, like she's attempting a language she learned from a book. “There.”

“Thanks.” I give her my best smile. She's going to be my wife. It doesn't have to be strained and awkward, even though it feels like it could never be anything else. “You look nice.” Beautiful or lovely would be taking things too far.

“Mm.” She pats the knot. “Thank you. I wasn't sure what to wear. I've never been the main event at one of these before.”

So maybe she’s uncomfortable and out of place. Maybe I should make her feel at ease.

“Same.”

Main event. Christ.

We move through to the great hall. I place my hand at the small of her back, and she stiffens, just enough that I feel it. We're engaged to be married, and she stiffens at my hand on her back at our own engagement party. I keep my face perfectly neutral because what else am I going to do?

“Uncle Keenan. Da. Tully.” I steer us forward toward my uncles and father. “This is Valentina.”

Uncle Keenan clasps her hand with both of his, the way he does, the handshake of a man who doesn’t perform at authority but lives it. He’s a bit smaller than he used to be, in the way that age happens so gradually you almost miss it. His eyes find mine over her shoulder, just for a second, assessing and approving all at once, before he steps back so my father can meet her.

My father is a big man, and she blinks up at him with something close to surprise.

“You are Cormac McCarthy,” she says to Da.

“In the flesh.” He smiles. “Welcome to the family, lass.”

“Not in the family quite yet,” she says in her American accent, pleasantly enough. “But thank you. I've received a very warm welcome.”

My father keeps smiling.

Tully’s hair’s gone completely white, but he still holds himself erect, and even now he could take me in the ring.

“Tully,” I say, giving him a hug and a slap on the back. “Been a while. Valentina, Tully and Keenan, my da.”

Across the room, Seamus has his hand on Zoya’s shoulder possessively. She's laughing at something Cavin said, and Seamus is watching her laugh with the expression of a man who knows exactly how lucky he is. He should. They’re good together, despite fighting all odds to get here.

I look away.

“Come on, I'll make introductions.”

“I hope no one expects me to remember all their names,” Valentina says nervously. “I'd heard the McCarthys were prolific, but this is a bit much.”

A bit much.

I feel the prickle travel down my spine before I can stop it.

A bit much for whom, exactly?

I shrug. “I thought the Italians had a reputation for large families. How many brothers and sisters do you have?” The question lands somewhere between curiosity and challenge.