Niall’s eyes flicker up to meet mine in the rearview mirror as we leave the city center.
“West Roxbury.”
Oh. It’s nice out there. Nicer than Roxbury, that’s for sure. It’s about a half-hour drive from the hotel in the city. I wonder what Seamus’s house looks like.My house. I wonder what my house looks like.
I blink in surprise when Niall pulls into the driveway of a large, white, square clapboard-sided family home. It’s lovely. It’s not what I was expecting. Maybe he moved because he was getting married.
“Has Seamus lived here long?”
Niall slides out of the car without answering, the tailgate opening and closing again. Okay. I jump when he appears at my door, opening it and helping me out with a strong hand on my elbow.
“Three years,” he grunts, guiding me up the brick steps and through the wood and stained glass front door. Oh. Yeah, I didn’t pick this house for him.
If the outside surprised me, the inside totally floors me. I can’t say for sure what I thought Seamus Fitzpatrick’s house would look like based on his reputation, but it wasn’tthis.
Niall trails me like a silent ghost as I explore my new house. To the right of the front door is a large, airy kitchen, all black marble countertops and white wooden cabinets with stunning terracotta tiles on the floor. It’s a housewife’s dream kitchen.
The kitchen flows into a formal-looking dining room with large bay windows overlooking the spacious and well-kept back lawn.
To the left of the front door is a comfortable and stylishly furnished parlor with a large stone fireplace and a white marble mantelpiece. There’s a small powder room with a toilet and sink at the bottom of the gorgeous hardwood stairs leading to the second level, and next to the parlor is a den with a large television and a desk. Niall lets me peek inside but snaps the door closed before I can enter.
“That’s Seamus’s office,” he grunts, his Irish brogue thick with menace. “Ye don’t look in there again.”
I nod, knowing when to pick my battles. If Seamus needs his secret mancave, he can have it. I’m not about to risk my life by prying.
Turning to my right, I peek in and admire the sparkling white tiled laundry room at the back of the house with a door out to the backyard. The property sits on a large block, and I can see a paved area with a table to seat eight and a barbecue.
Upstairs, there is a full bathroom, including a Jacuzzi corner tub and three made-up but clearly unused bedrooms. I wonder if one of them will be mine.
The furnishings are super nice, and everything is very clean. I can’t imagineSeamus Fitzpatrickdoing laundry or vacuuming floors, so he must have a cleaning service. I also can’t imagine him picking out the gorgeously carved wooden bedhead in one of the bedrooms. Maybe the house came furnished?
The last room on the second level is the master bedroom. As soon as I walk into it, I recognize this is Seamus’s personal space. He might not have selected the furniture throughout the rest of the house, but I would wager everything I have that he picked this stuff out.
The navy sheets and comforter look practical, soft, and very masculine. The furniture is all heavy wood, intricately carved and beautiful, but there’s nothing fragile about it.
The ensuite bathroom has a large claw-footed tub I want to fill up and soak in and a large shower that would easily accommodate two with a waterfall showerhead.
I sigh over the space. I could be very comfortable here. A sound out in the bedroom reminds me that Niall is waiting for me. Stepping back out onto the plush navy carpet, I blink in surprise at the sight of my three suitcases and my overnight bag from the hotel sitting at the end of the bed.
Niall clears his throat, my eyes darting over at him, where he stands in the doorway, looking uncomfortable at the idea of being in the same bedroom as me. Join the club.
“Part of the walk-in closet has been cleared out for ye, plus some drawers in the bathroom. That nightstand is yers.” Niall points to the left-hand side of the bed. “Don’t touch anything else. I’ll be downstairs when ye’re done. Ye can organize yer shopping list for supper.”
Right. Because I’m not a career woman anymore. I’m a housewife. He shuts the door firmly behind him, and I sigh, crossing to my suitcases and flipping one open.
I didn’t bother bringing everything I owned with me. What would be the point? I brought clothes my father approved of for a mafia wife, and I brought my favorite book, a poetry compilation my mother gave me when I was fourteen, the year before she died.
Once they are empty, I stack the luggage inside of each other and wheel them into one of the spare bedrooms, where they will be out of sight. I can ask Niall what he wants to be done with them later.
He’s sitting on the sofa in the parlor, just as he said he would be, reading on an iPad. I wave a hand at him and move through to the kitchen. Sure enough, he trails me. The back of my neck pricks as I walk, and I fight the urge to shiver.
There’s something about having a mass murderer eyeing you off that makes you uneasy. Not that I think he’d kill me. Seamus wouldn’t like that. If I did something to displease them, no doubt Seamus would want to kill me himself. After all, that’s what my father did to my mother.
While his house might not look like a bachelor pad, the inside of his fridge sure looks like it belongs in one. It’s mainly old pizza, half-empty Chinese containers, and alotof beer.
Sighing, I clean it out, moving the beer to one section, and turning my attention to the rest of the kitchen, opening and closing his pantry – hello fancy wine fridge – and all his cabinets until I amass a monster shopping list. Niall doesn’t even blink. He asks if I have my bag and guides me back to his SUV.
At the grocery store, Niall trails me as I push the cart, his eyes darting everywhere. It’s enough to remind me that I’m now the wife of the next leader of the Boston Irish Mafia.Shegets her own bodyguard. Yay me.