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And for the first time in days, nobody is hunting me. Nobody is waiting around the next corner with a weapon or a demand.

I cross the room and perch on the edge of Ciaran’s massive bed, letting the exhaustion settle into my bones. I barely have time to reach for the hem of the oversized shirt Damaris dressed me in before Ciaran catches my wrist.

“I can manage.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I have been dressing myself for years.”

“Congratulations. Now sit back, mouse.” He chuckles, but before I can swat him away, he’s already crouched in front of me, gathering the hem before carefully easing the shirt over my head.

I grumble but lean back against the headboard as cool air brushes my skin, drawing a shiver from me.

Ciaran notices. Of course he does. His fingertips skim across my shoulder as he pulls the shirt away, and my skin buzzes beneath every touch.

“What?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “So beautiful, mouse.”

“I look terrible,” I grumble.

“You don’t.” His thumb brushes my shoulder. “Your freckles are like little stars. So pretty.”

“I hate them.”

Leaning in, he brushes his mouth over my collarbone and drops featherlight kisses on each freckle he can find. “So.” Kiss. “Pretty.” Kiss. “And…” Kiss. “All…” Kiss. “Mine.”

I shiver, shake my head, but my stomach flips anyway. “You are a possessive asshole, you know that?”

His eyes gleam with satisfaction. “Correct. I’m glad we’re finally in agreement. Let’s drink. To reunions and more.”

“And more?” I ask, but he doesn’t reply.

After one final peck on my throat, he gets up and crosses to the sideboard where he has his aunt’s whiskey stored.

“Here,” he says after he pours two glasses, setting one on the bedside table beside me. “Pretend you like it. You’ve met her now; you don’t want trouble with Marina.”

“No,” I agree, which is an understatement. Those three mobster princesses together are bad news, and I have no intention of ending up on their bad side.

Still, the alcohol burns a hot path down my throat before it settles deep in my belly, loosening the tight coil of tension in my chest. I watch Ciaran drain his glass, his dark eyes never leaving my face before he sets the empty tumbler down with a soft click.

“Let’s get you in the bath, mouse. Before you fall asleep sitting up.”

I want to argue, but the words die in my mouth as he disappears into the adjoining bathroom. It will be nice to get clean. With a grimace, I finish the last mouthful of whiskey. I still don’t understand how he drinks this stuff voluntarily, but fighting him over it stopped working weeks ago.

Before I can stand, Ciaran reappears in the doorway and holds out a hand. “Come here, princess.”

I roll my eyes but place my hand in his. His fingers close around mine as he guides me toward the bathroom. Steam curls through the air the moment we step inside.

“People actually live like this?” I mutter.

Ciaran’s grin widens. “Oh, they do, Rowan. And you’re going to get used to it.”

He guides me toward the tub, one hand steady at my waist as I step into the water. A low hiss escapes me as heat sinks into aching muscles.

“Better?”

“So, so good.”