Aileen turns away from me as if I don’t exist and smiles at Caitlin. “Seems the baby slept well for you last night?”
“Aye,” Caitlin says. “Nothing like a good night’s sleep to make you feel better about things.”
“Of course,” Aileen says. “But you let me know if you need any help, will you? You’ve done so much for me, it’d be my pleasure to help you when you need me.”
They chatter on about their babies and sleep, soothers and bottles. It’s hard for me to piece what I know about these two with the women in front of me. Until now, I’ve known them only as the wives of criminals. But here are two women who love each other like sisters.
And right then, in that moment… I hate all of this.
The lies. The betrayal. How far I’ve let myself sink for the sake of vengeance. I wish for all of this to end, and for one brief moment in time, I wish that I didn’t have to keep playing this game. That I could have good, lasting, solid relationships with people I trust. I wish I didn’t have to be the only one holding everything together.
“This place is beautiful,” Fiona says, chattering on about everything from the paintings that hang on the walls to the lovely cut of the juice glasses on the table. “Never seen fabric napkins, can you imagine, Sheena? This place is grand, no lie.”
“Fiona, stop it,” Tiernan mutters, but she doesn’t pay him any heed. For all his sulking and being guarded, she makes up for with bubbly enthusiasm.
“I’ve never seen such a nice place,” Fiona repeats. “And my goodness, Maeve, your cooks must be the most talented in all of Ireland. Sheena, have you ever tasted such scones?” She butters one and eats it greedily. Seems she’s gotten over her shyness.
“Never,” I say, and catch Nolan’s eye. He winks at me, and my tummy does a little belly-flip.
Carson and Lachlan enter, and it’s the first time Fiona stops jabbering on. She clams up when she sees Lachlan enter, her fork raised halfway to her mouth.
My God, does she have a schoolgirl crush on one of the men?
I look sharply from him to her, but he only smiles and gives them a little wave.
“Morning,” he says to Tiernan, who doesn’t return the greeting. Fiona finally waves shyly at him.
“Morning,” she says.
“Y’alright?” he asks, filling a plate full of food. Fiona only nods. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks are faintly flushed.
My goodness, my sister’s crushing on mafia. What have I done? Have I led the lambs to slaughter? I remember Tiernan’s question the night before, how he wondered if we were going straight into the fire.
The baby reaches for something on the table and knocks a glass of juice over. The girls scramble to clean it up, and I try helplessly to mop at it with napkins, but Maeve brushes me off.
“Leave it, Sheena,” she says. “We’ll have the girls in the kitchen clean it, no worries.”
Fiona watches her with wide, curious eyes but doesn’t say anything.
Nolan turns to me, leans down, and whispers, “Your sister’s entertaining us.”
I narrow my eyes on him. “She’s a child.”
His eyes widen back at me. “Of course she is,” he mutters, “which is the only reason why we brought her here to begin with.”
I don’t know why I’m so defensive, why I feel the need to make sure he knows she’s innocent. I know what these men can do, what they have done and will yet. I hate that I’ve brought my family anywhere near them, though the thought of leaving them alone in my mother’s house makes me nauseous.
I eat a scone, and though it’s tasty, it feels dry and crumbly in my mouth. I’ve worked hard to keep my worlds separate, so my work and my personal life don’t collide. And now… now that’s exactly what’s happening.
Lachlan and Carson sit together at one end of the table. I don’t miss the way Tiernan and Fiona watch them. Tiernan knows who they are from the night before, and Fiona is a smart girl. She’ll catch on soon herself.
“How’s that wrist of yours?” Lachlan asks Fiona. She stops her yammering and looks down at her arm, as if just remembering she had one.
“Ah, well. Pretty sore,” she says, flushing pink.
Nolan pushes out of his chair and walks to her. “Let’s see it,” he says. She stands and lifts her arm up. Frowning, he takes her arm in his hand and gently inspects.
No, my mind protests. I can’t bear to see him tender with her. It picks at my resolve.
“Very sore?” he asks.
She winces when he touches her with his index finger. “Aye.”
“I’ll call Sebastian,” he says, then looks to me. “Clan doctor.”
I swallow hard, then nod. “Thanks very much.”
I don’t trust that they’re being so kind, that they’re taking care of them.