Page 56 of Wicked Ruin

Declan

Don’t change the subject

It seems more appropriate to ask you about your wedding. You’re an engaged man after all

Declan

They’re fine. The girls are doing all the things because they like it and I don’t care. Valentina has opinions about a lot. She’s got good taste.

Sigh. Of course she does.

Chapter Thirteen

DECLAN

The meeting starts at nine and goes until the early afternoon. When my aunt starts asking if we want to plan dinner, it’s too fucking long. Seamus sends one of the younger lads on a chipper run to get us through.

I should be paying more attention—I know I should, but all I can think about is Bridget. I've been trying to get her to go to the doctor, but she says she's an adult and no one can force her. We’ll see about that.

“Next week,” Seamus says, interrupting my thoughts. “We should probably have you go to New York. Seems best for you to have a good relationship with the Espositos moving forward.”

I nod slowly, exhaling. “I'm aware.”

“Haven’t been in touch with them to make arrangements, but I’m guessing you can handle it.”

“Aye.”

Seamus studies the table. It's rare he won't meet my eyes, and I notice it the way I notice everything—quietly and without letting it show.

“How are things going,” he says, “with all of that?”

“Fine,” I say. The word comes out a half second too fast, and we both hear it. Seamus is like a brother to me, and he knows that my head is on the fucking chopping block. He reaches for the sideboard and pours himself a drink.

“Ashland?” Ashland takes a shot.

“Cavin?” Of course Cavin takes a drink. Daire and Colm tip the bottoms of their beers together.

“Declan?”

“I’ll take a Coke.”

I take one from the top and drink it straight. Sickly sweet stuff, but it reminds me of her.

I glance at my phone when it buzzes, but it's not the person I want to hear from. It’s Valentina, showing me a dress she wants to buy for the rehearsal dinner. Like I care.

“At least she’s pretty,” Colm says.

I look up at him in surprise, because I can't believe he's talking about Bridget right in the open like that.

He’s looking over my shoulder. “I just mean she looks classically beautiful. Like an Italian princess or something.”

Fuck. He's talking about Valentina. I could’ve given myself away.

“Aye,” I say with a sigh. He can fucking have her.

“Could be worse,” Colm offers helpfully.

“Could be.”