This Life 1

by Cara Dee

  I twisted my lips to hide my smile, and I picked a shrimp off the skewer, dipping it in the little bowl of lemon oil. “I wanna slap you so hard.”

  He chuckled. “And I wanna see you again.”

  Goddamn him.

  Chapter 6

  Finnegan O’Shea

  “You’re in a brighter mood, lad.”

  “How can I not be? You’re feeding me pizza.” I sucked grease off the edge of my thumb and grabbed another slice. Ian was making me forget the mayhem going on right outside the kitchen—okay, almost. “Motherfucking Christ!” I yelled. “Are youse building the house or tearing it down, mates?”

  Only the kitchen was completely ready in my parents’ new house, and old Ian, their chef and Pop’s best friend, had come out ahead of schedule to plan next month’s menu. Which meant I got to sit at the kitchen bar and test the foods he prepared as I tended to some business on my laptop.

  My brother and I also got to boss around the construction crew that was assembling this huge spectacle of a house. Ma was going nuts with windows. She wanted light everywhere, and there would be more windows than walls. Not the safest call if you asked me.

  Pop had left me in charge of security, thank fuck. Ma wouldn’t know our property was ready to face a minor militia, ’cause the electric fence would be well-hidden inside thick hedges. She didn’t know the windows were bulletproof either.

  I wanted to invite Emilia over and pretend I was an old English earl and suggest a “stroll on the grounds.” That was the size of our property in the middle of the woods. We had grounds.

  There was even a pond.

  For someone who’d grown up in cramped Philly, I could do worse.

  “Are you finished with the pizza?” Ian asked and extended a napkin.

  I nodded and wiped my mouth. “What’s next?” I opened a new tab on my laptop browser to check my email. “By the way, good luck getting Ma to eat pizza.”

  She had to watch her figure or some such shit.

  “It’s not for her,” Ian chuckled, making notes in his planner. “Alec and Nessa are coming to visit.”

  That was news to me. I furrowed my brow at Ian. “Since when?”

  The kids were a hoot, and I hadn’t seen them in a while. I didn’t count music sessions over Skype with Alec.

  Uncle John had accomplished three good things in his life, with the help of two mistresses. One, when Liam was born. He was a couple years older than me and was being released from prison in a few months. Two and three, the twins. Alec and Nessa were only twelve, but they were sharp, too smart for their own good, and complete riots.

  “Since your uncle’s grown paranoid that someone’s coming after him,” Ian replied. “Now. I was thinking salmon for…” I tuned him out, anger filling me.

  I’d been preparing this move for months. In order to get Emilia to agree to my proposal swiftly, I’d need to give her all my attention. No problem. Pop had agreed to keep me in the loop while Patrick and I set work aside to focus on the girls, but now our father was failing to do the one thing he’d promised.

  I should’ve fucking known that Uncle John was becoming paranoid. Hell, I should’ve known the twins were coming too. Everything was a puzzle, and I couldn’t afford to miss a single piece.

  If my uncle was sending Alec and Nessa here, it could be construed as a sign of trust. He was willing to leave his youngest kids with us.

  At the same time, his worrying that people were after him meant he was less likely to invite new members into his inner circle of top earners, and that was a position I fucking needed.

  I scratched the side of my head and fired off a text to Dad. He had to realize how much was at stake.

  “Yo!” Patrick entered the kitchen and kicked sawdust off his shoes. “My house is ready now. I cleaned it myself and everything.”

  Good for you.

  I hadn’t had the time yet to get the last shit ready in my house. Unlike our parents’ house, ours were smaller and more practical. Ma had insisted every building on the property match, so they’d been constructed with the same oak wood exterior, but we had a normal amount of windows. Two stories, two bedrooms upstairs, living room and kitchen downstairs. No muss, no fuss.

  “I might have to send you back to the city,” I said.

  He frowned and slid onto the stool next to me. “You don’t send me anywhere, little brother. I’m the trifecta—beauty, brawn, and brains. I tell you what to do.”

  Hysterical. He had brawn, I guess. He crunched more hours at the gym while I opted for running ten miles every morning, but beauty and brains? Bitch. Please.

  “Really.” I gave him a dry look and faced him fully. “Tell me what I need to do, then. I’m all ears.”

  “Well, I might have to send you back to the city,” he told me. “You’re about to tell me why.”

  I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to my laptop. “Pop’s withholding something from us. Apparently, John is sending the twins here because he thinks someone’s coming for him.”

  Patrick knew very well what that meant for us.

  “Pop wouldn’t do that on purpose,” he said.

  “I don’t think so either.” I reckoned Pop was swamped and needed help. Being the boss had never been in his plans, but he had to step up for this, at least until Patrick and I were old enough to take over. “He’s got the practice and his patients—”

  “And Ma.”

  “Definitely her,” I muttered.

  Ian gave us a break and served two plates of finger food, and I leaned closer to inspect the little morsels. I’d never seen the point of fun-sized dishes. They were like the cockteases of food, or so I guessed. My experience with women was too limited.

  Nevertheless, one didn’t turn off the porn right before the come shot.

  “How did your date go?” Patrick asked.

  “Good.” I picked up a cracker with some cold cuts and cheese on it and stuck it into my mouth. “I’m trying not to think about her too much.”

  “Why’s that? Fuck, these are good, Ian.”

  They really were. I loved deli meat. “Man, she’s something else,” I said around the food. “I thought she’d be fucking timid.”

  Emilia Porter was the opposite. Wary and easily frightened, sure, but that was understandable. Her quick wit and feistiness, however…? I’d had no clue I’d crave it like an addict. I was already looking forward to our next date, which she’d agreed to reluctantly.

  I had her in the palm of my hand, though she took every opportunity to bite my fingers.

  It was sexy as hell.

  She was sexy. Someone had obviously forced her to grow up too fast. She might be naïve like any soon-to-be eighteen-year-old, but she wasn’t dumb.

  There was one thing that genuinely confused me, though. “She thinks her mother is dead. I don’t get that.”

  “Weird,” Patrick said. “Did her pop make her believe that?”

  “I guess so. I’ll do some digging.” It’d been one of the things I’d hoped to learn more about last night at dinner, the topic of Emilia’s mother. I’d been shocked when she’d told me her mom had died giving birth to her.

  One way or another, I was going to use this to my advantage.

  “I can go back to the city if you need me to,” he conceded. “I don’t have much to do around here anyway. At least you have the security installations. The garage is up and running, and Sarah can spit venom at me over the phone.”

  I chuckled. “Trouble in paradise so soon?”

  “Mother of Christ.” He crammed two snacks into his mouth and stole my soda. “The girl hates me.”

  That wasn’t strange. Emilia wasn’t fond of me either.

  “You’ve charmed hundreds of women into spreading their legs for you in the past.” I clapped him on the back. “I’m sure you can get this one to say ‘I do’ without murder in her eyes.”

  “Hundreds is a bit of an exaggeration.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t keep track.
/>   He tilted his head at me. “You’re sticking to your rule about no sex before marriage?”

  “Of course.” I frowned.

  I’d had some “fun” during my brief time at Trinity in Dublin, and it never sat well with me. I’d stopped it before it any clothes came off, and I’d decided that the first time I fucked someone, she’d have my name. I didn’t take sex lightly, nor did I understand why so many others did.

  “Well, I guess you’re a better man than me.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Who knows, maybe I’ll never get laid again. Sarah’s not likely to put out.”

  “Don’t get a mistress,” I told him. “I love you, Pat, but I’ll chop your fucking dick off if you bring drama into our home.”

  We’d gotten front row seats to that shitshow on Uncle John’s side. His wife wasn’t the biological mother to any of their children, and she showed her hatred toward him plenty.

  “Dude, I have some morals,” he defended.

  “Good, dust them off.” I pointed farther down the counter. “Get me that box, will you?”

  He handed it to me, and I lifted the lid, revealing a new phone. I was sending it to Emilia later; I just had to prepare it a bit first. For one, I wanted it synced with my laptop so I could access her texts and phone history and see what apps she downloaded. For two, I had to install a call distorter so our friends at the NSA or the FBI didn’t get any ideas.

  “I’m slightly jealous you got Sarah to agree so fast,” I admitted.

  Patrick snorted. “Unlike you, I wasn’t looking for a particular chick. I asked Aunt Viv to point me in the direction of the student who wanted to get away from her parents the most, and she suggested Emilia’s friend—suspected the girl was being abused.”

  I shook my head, sickened by some people who had the balls to call themselves parents. Family was supposed to be sacred.

  “It helps that she’s hot as fuck,” Patrick added.

  I smacked him upside the head. “Be nice to her. If she’s suffered abuse, be her protector, not her next abuser.”

  “Hey.” He rubbed the spot I’d smacked and scowled. “I haven’t pushed her for shit.”

  “Good. Just make sure you respect her.” I held up the phone. “Now, help me spy on my future wife.”

  Emilia was too fucking cute.

  She’d received the phone and was currently learning how to use it. Though, rather than calling me up to help her—I’d preinstalled my number for her—she’d turned to Sarah. Now the two were texting while Emilia worked a shift at the shitty diner.

  I’d migrated to my own house down the hill. I was supposed to be assembling the entertainment center; instead, my ass was glued to the couch, and I was reading the messages the girls sent to each other on my laptop.

  Can you see this thing?

  Yes, Em, it’s called an emoji lol.

  I smiled and took a swig of my beer.

  Why is there one that looks like poop?

  I chuckled.

  Someone rudely interrupted me by knocking on the door and then entering before I could even tell them to fuck off. It was Patrick and Kellan with snacks and a couple six-packs of beer.

  “Have you done anything?” Patrick stared at the state of my living room.

  “I’ve been busy,” I said defensively. Closing my laptop, I left it on the coffee table, something I’d actually assembled earlier. Ma had picked out Indian teak for me, whatever that meant, and the table was now begging for condensation rings and scratches.

  “The plastic’s still on the couch, mate.” Kellan snorted and crossed the living room to reach the kitchen.

  “That’s ’cause you spill, Agent Caldwell!” I called after him, and he laughed. Then I faced my brother. “The stalking has paid off again. The girls are texting, and Sarah mentioned being in the mood for Chinese.”

  His forehead creased. “So?”

  For fuck’s sake. “So take her out, numbskull! Call her and say you want Chinese. Bond or some shit.”

  “Good idea.” He nodded firmly and pulled out his phone.

  So did I, ’cause I’d waited long enough. When the phone had been delivered to Emilia, she’d called me—from her landline—to thank me and stubbornly remind me this didn’t change anything. Then, nothing. She clearly didn’t wanna text with me.

  Fucking Sarah, man. I needed Emilia’s attention more than she did. Hell, Emilia’d talked to a fake FBI agent more than me. And I didn’t want Kellan to relay information about the girl I was gonna marry.

  I sent her a message.

  Any plans for tomorrow?

  Ian had advised me to show Emilia a more casual side of me.

  I could do that sometime. Probably. I’d lived on such a tight schedule these past two years that I’d forgotten some things. Like how to have fun. Fuck, I needed to see Father O’Malley soon. Since my last confession, I’d admitted more bullshit to myself, and Patrick and our mother were right. I’d gone too far.

  I wasn’t willing to change a whole lot at the moment, but dammit if Uncle John was gonna rob me of the ability to show people how to have fun.

  My phone buzzed with Emilia’s response.

  Can you see your name in this message? I work nine to three.

  I narrowed my eyes. See my name…? Oh. The name she’d given me in her phone. My mouth twisted up. No, I couldn’t see the name in the text convo, but I did have access to her contact list. I knew she’d renamed me O’Dickhead.

  No, your no doubt offensive and hilarious name for me is hidden from me. I’ll meet you at the diner.

  There was one unreasonable thorn in my side. Emilia fully believed Kellan was a legit agent, and she checked in with him often. It made complete sense, but it irritated me. Even now, she confirmed her second date with me to Kellan before she texted me a simple “OK.”

  On the other hand, I was glad I’d gone this route. I would know if Emilia ever learned to trust me, and better yet, grew a sense of loyalty. Part of me wanted there to be a day she lied to Kellan and said there was nothing to report. I might even want that more than a wedding day.

  “All right, let’s get your house ready, Finn,” Kellan said. “I’d rather crash in your guest room than Patrick’s. He watches a lot of porn at night, and he ain’t quiet.”

  Patrick puckered his lips.

  “Actually, I wanna pay a visit to Emilia’s pop first,” I said.

  I didn’t see why I had to give him money to let his daughter live with him. Not when he was lying to her about the whereabouts of her mother.

  I could admit it. I was a fan of blackmailing.

  I was an early riser these days, so it was rare that anyone woke me up. This morning was one of those occasions, and I threw a pillow over my head to drown out the banging on my door downstairs.

  That was the first reminder that I wasn’t in my condo in Philly. The second was the smell. Everything smelled of nature out here. Spring was wet, and the rain turned every surface into Little Trees, except the world was the rearview mirror, and there was no new-car scent. It was pine, dirt, and timber.

  The banging didn’t stop, and I gave up on sleep after a while. Dragging my ass outta bed, I pulled on a pair of sweats and headed down the stairs. The knuckles on my right hand were sore, and I flexed them carefully.

  The steps creaked.

  My morning wood took a hike by the time I reached the door. Then it was chaos. Chilled air and two twelve-year-olds were suddenly plastered to me, and as stoked as I’d been to see Alec and Nessa again, it was five in the fucking morning.

  “Jaysus, kids,” I grunted. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  They talked a mile a minute, both at the same time, so it was no use to try to listen. Instead, I peered out the door and was surprised to see Pop’s car parked outside the main house. We were a couple hours away from the city.

  There was usually a reason if someone felt the need to head out in the middle of the night.

  “Oi.” I halted their rambling, kissed the top of Nessa
’s head, and gripped Alec’s chin. “You. Talk, cub.”

  Two dimples appeared with his wide grin. “Uncle Shan has meetings in the city and had to drive us out here early.” His accent was thicker, far more Irish than mine, and I’d fucking missed it. His green eyes were always a source of happiness. “We’ll be staying with you, boss!”

  I let out a sleep-laden laugh and ushered them farther inside. Pop could come over if he wanted to talk. I sure as fuck had questions for him.

  “Patrick says you’re not funny anymore.” Nessa stared up at me and scrunched her nose. “Did you lose your funny bone?”

  “He’s talking shite,” I answered. “I’m the funniest fucker on the planet.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” she decided. “I’m hungry. Can we eat breakfast?”

  I checked my—that was a no-go. I hadn’t put on my watch yet. The clock on my new entertainment center helped me. “Ian’s serving breakfast at the main house in half an hour. Think you can last that long?”

  “I’ll give it my best.” She saluted me.

  I smiled as they kicked off their shoes and dove for the couch and the remote control.

  It was good to see them again.

  Chapter 7

  Emilia Porter

  Saturday was shaping up to be a disaster of a day, and it wasn’t noon yet.

  Yesterday had been too good to be true, mostly because the wedge that’d been jammed into place between Sarah and me was gone. I’d arrived at school, taken one look at her, and burst into tears. It hadn’t been pretty. But now she knew everything—not counting the stuff about the FBI—and it felt so damn good to have someone to talk to again.

  She and I weren’t exactly on the same page. I hadn’t agreed to a proposal, nor was I doing this for money. But then, maybe she wasn’t either. I held out hope she’d struck the same deal with the FBI, and because we had to keep that to ourselves, it was easier to say it was the money that made us agree to date them.

  Either way, I had someone to vent to, and so did she. After work, I’d met up with her by the picnic tables at school, and we’d bitched and ranted about the O’Shea men. And it’d been so cathartic.