He says it with a sneer in his voice, and I almost want to laugh. Anyone who works what Winston regards as a basic job is beneath him. Like a teacher.
“He was a professor at some college,” Winston continues. “Though I don’t believe he works there anymore.”
The lightbulb moment hits me so swiftly, I swerve my steering wheel to the right, the car veering into the next lane and nearly hitting the SUV next to me. The driver honks and gives me the finger as I speed away, irritation filling me.
Consuming me.
Seamus doing God knows what while in Paris? I could tell Winston exactly what.
That fucker wasdoingmy fiancée.
Paris. Charlotte. Her mystery dark-haired lover.
Is related to the fucking Morellis.
Related to Leo Morelli, the man who punched me in the face last fucking winter at the Constantine compound. I’m supposed to put it all behind us now that my cousin Haley married him, but I will never fully trust a Morelli.
“Why are you asking about him? What does he matter?” Winston sounds bored, but I’d guess he’s also curious. He once loved nothing more than to trash-talk Morellis and plot their demise. That was before he became domesticated.
I fully planned on telling Winston what I know, but I change my mind. I don’t have enough details yet. I’m assuming who Seamus is to Charlotte, but I don’t have all the facts. And I need them.
I need to talk to her first.
“No reason,” I say, my voice casual. Like it’s normal for me to bring up an obscure relation to the Morellis. “I hear he’s back in town.”
“He is,” Winston says.
Irritation sparks. “And how do you know this?”
“I know everything that happens when it comes to the Morellis and McTiernans. I keep tabs on them at all times—you know this. Pretty sure he’ll show up to your wedding reception. A bunch of them will be there,” my brother explains.
If my brother knows everything about the Morellis and McTiernans, why didn’t he know about my almost-wife’s involvement with one of them?
“Did you know about Charlotte and a certain Morelli relative? Specifically Seamus McTiernan? Did they have a relationship or affair or whatever the fuck?” I ask him outright.
He hesitates, and in that one single pause, I realize the asshole did know.
“Fucker,” I mutter before he can say anything.
“Look, I only just found out about it, but what was the point in telling you before the ceremony?”
“You didn’t tell me because you knew I’d be mad and I might walk out on this shit show of a wedding,” I accuse. “He’s the one, right? The man she was involved with?”
A ragged exhale leaves my brother. “Yes. They were—involved. It was short lived, she was humiliated, because he was engaged to another woman. She ran home. The end.”
“The end? That’s it? How long have you been sitting on this?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does! I don’t like being lied to, Winny. Even if it’s supposedly for my own benefit.” I’m quiet as I drive. Silently fuming.
“Are you mad?” he finally asks.
“Hell yes, I am! She fucked a Morelli!”
“Technically, he’s a McTiernan.”
“Morelli, McDickface, it’s all the same.” I blow out a harsh breath. “Something happened between the two of them this morning.”