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Amelia exhales again, her expression unreadable. “Men and their pride. Nothing like a pretty lass to set it ablaze.” She shakes her head, casting a sideways glance toward Bran’s door. “And that one, lying about as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”
“A bit early for dramatics, isn’t it?” Bran’s voice cuts through the tension, his grin entirely too self-assured as he props himself up on one elbow.
“Early?” Amelia snaps, rounding on him. “I’ve no quarrel with what you do behind closed doors, but for the love of decency, could you at least pretend to be discreet? The lass was sneaking out like a thief in the night, and you’re lying here like you’ve just conquered the world. Have some shame, love.”
“Shame?” he repeats, feigning shock. “Why? Not my fault you lot took a morning stroll past my room.”
She says nothing, just gives him the look. “You’re right,” he says, scrambling to sit straighter and brushes a hand through his unruly hair. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Amelia. This is your house, and I should’ve been more careful. Will not happen again.”
The sincerity in his tone takes me by surprise, and judging by the slight softening of Amelia’s expression, it catches her off guard, too. She tilts her head, studying him for a moment, before letting out a small chuckle.
“You’re lucky to be so handsome, Bran Mumford.” She waves a hand at him. “But mark my words—next time, there will be hell to pay.”
I glance at Bran one last time, his grin as infuriating as ever, and let out a huff. “You’re insufferable. Not even going to take the threat with the seriousness it deserves?”
He winks. “And yet you both adore me.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I mutter, linking my arm with Amelia’s as she nudges me gently down the hall.
As we move away, she exhales under her breath, so softly I almost don’t catch it. “Not my thing, mind you,” she murmurs, “but I can see the appeal.”
My steps falter, and I glance at her, frowning in confusion. “How do you mean?” I ask hesitantly.
She tilts her head toward Bran’s room with a small, mischievous smirk. “The lad’s well-built, is he not? A hard sight to miss.”
I take a moment to process her meaning, and when I do, my face flames. “Auntie!” I hiss, horrified, my hands flying up as if to block out the thought. “Stop. Just—stop.”
She bursts into laughter, the sound rich and unrestrained as it echoes down the hall. “Oh, come now, love,” she teases, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m only saying what anyone with eyes could see.”
“Well, I don’t want to hear it,” I snap, mortified, quickening my pace to escape the conversation.
She chuckles behind me. “You’re too easy to rile, Triona,” she says fondly, catching up to me. “But I’ll spare you. For now.”
“How kind of you,” I grumble, though her laughter lingers, and despite myself, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. Leave it to her to find humour in the most mortifying situations.
Just like Deidre. Which reminds me…
Amelia leads me into the dining room, her arm still linked with mine as my mind churns with thoughts of payback. The room is warm and inviting, sunlight streaming through the tall windows, casting a golden glow over the table set with an impressive spread of pastries and breakfast treats. My stomach rumbles faintly at the sight.
“There you are, love,” Amelia says, gesturing toward the table. “Help yourself. And don’t miss the leite creme—it’s Deidre’s absolute favorite.”
I’m busy preparing a plate when Deidre walks into the room. “Good morning,” Deidre says brightly, her tone light and warm as she approaches. Her gaze sweeps over us, lingering briefly on Amelia before settling into her usual poised demeanour.
“Morning, love,” Amelia replies, her tone easy, though there’s a glimmer of something playful in her eyes. Deidre’s gaze flicks to mine.
“Deidre,” she begins, her tone casual. “She knows.”
With quiet grace, Deidre leans over and presses a gentle kiss on Amelia’s cheek, her hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Amelia’s expression softens, and she tilts her head slightly toward Deidre, her fingers brushing against her wrist in a gesture so natural it feels like second nature.
The sight tugs at something deep in my chest. There’s no hesitation in the way Deidre’s eyes linger on Amelia’s, no awkwardness in the tender exchange. Just love—quiet, steady, and unshakable.
A warmth spreads through me, and I find myself smiling softly. The chaos of the morning fades away in the face of this moment, simple and profound.
I seat myself while the two of them share a private moment.
They sit down, and we chat about nothing in particular.
Deidre goes to take a bite of her leite creme. The second it hits her tongue, she freezes, her eyes widening. She moves swiftly to grab for the nearest cloth, and spits everything into it. Slowly, her gaze lifts to meet mine, her lips pursing in suspicion.
