This Life 1

by Cara Dee

I swallowed uneasily and side-eyed him. “You’re crazy,” I whispered. I didn’t trust my voice.

  “First time I heard that all day.” He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Marry me.”

  I smiled ruefully and shook my head. “I can’t.”

  “I’ll keep asking.”

  Hopefully, I’d keep saying no.

  Chapter 9

  Emilia Porter

  “Sarah, I need another pep talk!”

  “Coming!” She hurried out of the bathroom and met me by the dresser by the window. I’d been minding my own business and attaching the straps to my new too-expensive shoes when a wave of doubt had crashed down on me.

  Thankfully, I could count on Sarah.

  She was beautiful. She was all midnight blue silk, red lips, and class.

  She grasped my shoulders and gave me a firm expression. “They’re criminals. They don’t deserve your guilt for accepting gifts. They’re using us for their mobster shit.”

  I nodded and breathed deeply.

  “You have to assume everything they do comes with an agenda,” she went on. “They’re smart people, Em. They’ve been doing this for generations, and that includes arranged marriages.”

  Another nod from me.

  “We’re not their new family members.” Her voice softened. She knew I struggled with this part. “We’re a business tool for their gains. We can’t let them manipulate us.”

  “You’re right.” And…exhale. “They’ll be getting married either way. It doesn’t matter to them who the girls are.”

  “Exactly. You’ve got this.”

  I got this.

  I don’t got this.

  “Okay, they’re here.” I let the curtain fall again, and I checked myself in the mirror for the millionth time. Sarah had told me to keep my hair down today, and she’d done my makeup. It was heavier than what I was used to.

  I’d gotten more practice walking in heels, though. It was the little things in life.

  “I’ll be right out!” Sarah hollered from the bathroom.

  There were three quick raps on the door. Before opening it, I took a deep breath and repeated my new mantra for myself. It’s okay to enjoy this, it’s business, you’re using each other, it’s okay. One day, maybe I’d believe it.

  I froze upon opening the door, ’cause it wasn’t Finnegan or a man who could possibly be his brother standing there. It was a kid. Less skyscraper-tall and more…my height. He was dressed sharply, and that included a tilted fedora. Then there was a big, dimpled grin.

  “You must be Emilia!” Oh, he was Irish. Actually Irish, not way-back Irish like Finnegan. “I’m Alec. It’s lovely to meet ye.”

  He drew a curious smile from me, and I shook his hand. “You’re Finnegan’s cousin?”

  “Aye, love. Where’s Sarah? I wanted to escort you to the car.” He winked and tipped his fedora.

  I gigglesnorted, charmed by his easy manners. “She’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Okay, then.” He offered his arm. “I don’t mind going twice. Let’s go, Tush.”

  I let out a laugh and grabbed my phone from the dresser, tucking it into the little pocket in my dress. “Do I wanna know what prompted that nickname?”

  “Oh, that’s the boss. Finn’s been talking about it.”

  Sweet Jesus. Was that actually true? Looking up, I spotted Finnegan and whom I assumed was Patrick. I’d already been informed they’d pick us up in the older brother’s Jeep.

  They definitely looked related. Same height, same hair color and style, though Patrick was clean-shaven, and his eyes appeared lighter. He carried more bulk than Finnegan too.

  Similar clothes, suit pants and dress shirts, matching smirks.

  “Alec was eager to meet you.” Finnegan met up with us and grabbed my hand, brushing a kiss to my knuckles. I shivered and blamed it on the chill in the air. It didn’t help that my dress was both short and strapless. “Cub, you’re missing one.”

  “I’m going back for her now.” Alec mimicked Finnegan by kissing the top of my other hand, and I chuckled. He was too cute.

  Then it was just Finnegan and me for a moment.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. I blamed another breeze for my goose bumps. Oh boy. “Happy birthday. How does it feel to be eighteen?”

  “It feels like any other weekday.”

  He laughed through his nose and put a hand on my lower back. “Let me introduce you to my brother.”

  Patrick reminded me of a bull in a china shop. His handshake was crushing, his smile was wide, and his voice carried. Seriously, my hand. “Happy birthday, Emilia. Good to finally meet you. Sarah told me she calls you Em. Mind if I do that too?”

  Ow, ow, ow. I opened my mouth, to say something or to scream in pain. God, he was killing my hand dead.

  “Dude,” Finnegan said. “She probably reserves that for mates.”

  “She and I can be mates.” Patrick finally let go of my hand, and I cradled it, feeling a bit sorry for myself. “Ain’t that right, Em?”

  “I hurt,” I said and sucked in a breath. “Jesus. I feel for Sarah.”

  Finnegan punched Patrick in the arm. “What’s wrong wit’chu? Huh?”

  “It’s fine.” I shook off the pain—and the embarrassment—and averted my gaze when Patrick’s contrite expression managed to make me feel bad. They were fucking sorcerers, the bunch of them. “It’s nice to meet you too, Patrick. Sure, I guess you can call me Em.”

  He lit right up again.

  Alec was back with Sarah, so Patrick forgot about us for the time being.

  “Ma dropped him a lot as a baby,” Finnegan said. “Possibly on purpose.”

  I grinned and stared at the ground.

  Patrick introducing Sarah to Finnegan was a less dramatic event. Finnegan shook her hand like a normal person and nodded politely. Then we piled into Patrick’s Jeep, and Alec called dibs on the middle seat.

  “He’ll be on better terms with the girls than us before we reach the house,” Finnegan muttered, buckling up in the passenger’s seat.

  “That’s ’cause I’m irresistible, boss,” Alec quipped.

  “And humble,” Sarah noted with a smirk.

  I chuckled under my breath and fastened the seat belt.

  Alec dominated the conversation all the way out of town and during a quick trip along the highway. He spoke rapidly about the evening they’d planned, from dinner, which would be the “first barbecue of the year,” to the music he was gonna play if he could convince Finnegan to join. Then when Patrick took the next exit, Alec changed the topic to sleeping arrangements. Apparently, the guesthouses weren’t ready, same with the main house, so we’d all shack up in Patrick’s and Finnegan’s houses.

  Sarah and I would see about that. I had every intention of returning to the motel room.

  Civilization was left behind when Patrick drove onto a narrow road that went straight into a forest.

  It would suck to be murdered here.

  They probably wouldn’t do that with a kid around, though.

  I side-eyed the black trees we blurred past before a small movement caught my eye. It was Finnegan’s wolfish smirk in the sideview mirror. It was as if he knew what I was thinking, and he shook his head, amused.

  I scowled.

  A few minutes later, Patrick slowed down, and a wide gate came into view. He rolled down his window and swiped something.

  The gates opened slowly, revealing…wealth. Franny had told me it was called a compound. I’d like to change it to their own freaking community. A paved road led up a hill toward a cul-de-sac and what looked like the main house Alec had talked about. It appeared ready to me, but maybe they were doing interior work. It had three floors and looked very modern.

  On the right side of the road was the construction site for three cottage-like houses. Alec eagerly informed us those would be the guesthouses. Then to the left was Patrick’s house, followed by Finnegan’s. Either they had a big family or
a lot of guests coming and going.

  Finnegan’s car was parked on the grass by the half-built cottages.

  “The other side of the hill is prettier,” Alec mentioned. “It’s where Uncle Shan’s building Aunt Grace’s garden.” He scratched his nose. “I wanted to push Ness into the duck pond, but Pat said I couldn’t.”

  The rest of us chuckled, and I processed everything in awe. Or as best as I could in the dark. No wonder they had so many people working on the property. It was huge.

  Patrick parked next to Finnegan’s Aston, and we got out of the car, my heels instantly sinking down into the grass. Finnegan was quick to steady me, and I sent him a small smile.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving,” Patrick announced.

  We crossed the private little road and were shown between the brothers’ houses. They shared an enclosed backyard, and a barbecue area was waiting for us on Patrick’s side. The coziest-looking one I’d ever seen.

  It was lowered a couple feet into the ground and lined with four couches and had a fire going in the center. A pergola with thick vines and mosquito netting covered the pit, and I kind of wanted to make it my home. Potted plants and trees made up for the lack of greenery on the ground. There was no grass at all in their backyard, and an empty pool took up most of Finnegan’s side.

  “This is beautiful.” I pinched Finnegan’s middle.

  He sent me a wink, then continued farther in with everyone but Sarah and me. Perhaps she was a little stunned too.

  A young girl appeared from Patrick’s house and declared we’d taken forever to arrive and that she was gonna die if she didn’t eat soon. In turn, Finnegan introduced us to Nessa before leaving us behind entirely. He, Patrick, and Alec were going to get this barbecue started, and we girls were ordered to get comfortable.

  I had no problem with this. The plush couches had pillows and blankets everywhere, and I was the first one to remove my heels and get cozied up on one of the sofas.

  True to Finnegan’s word, his cousins were fun kids. Nessa quickly told us she was the one to go to if we wanted dirt on the boys. She also informed us we couldn’t have picked better boyfriends, and Sarah and I exchanged a wry look at that. If only Nessa knew how little choice had to do with this.

  We didn’t mind some gossip about Finnegan and Patrick, though, and Nessa shared some stories that were well-known in the family. Such as the time Patrick got high in school and tried to bribe himself free from the principal’s office with Monopoly money. Or the time Finnegan was little and lost sight of his mother, then proceeded to yell, “Find my mommy, or I shoot!” all over the store. Apparently, Grace had been right with him the whole time.

  “Aunt Grace has a whole book of funny memories,” Nessa giggled. “I read it every time I visit.”

  It was too surreal for me to laugh and get lost in the moment, but I found myself hiding a permanent grin behind my hand.

  In the meantime, the guys went in and out of the house with food, snacks, drinks, and whatever else they needed. There was a big grill by the wooden fence, so I assumed they wouldn’t be using the fire we had right here.

  “You talking smack about us, doll?” Finnegan exited the house carrying an old wash tub, and he walked down the three steps to us. As he set it down by the fire, I saw it was full of ice and bottles of beer and cider.

  “It’s my job to,” Nessa said.

  “If you say so,” Finnegan chuckled. “Let me know if it gets cold, ladies. We can bring out the heaters.”

  No, the fire was working wonders, as were the dozens of blankets. “You guys need a hand?” I offered.

  “Nope. You sit tight, princess. Help yourselves to the drinks—uh, not you, Ness. There’s soda for you in the kitchen.”

  Nessa was adorably put off.

  See, it didn’t make sense for Finnegan to call me princess. I was anything but. Nessa, on the other hand, looked like one. She shared the same dark hair and green eyes as her twin brother, and she was rocking a pretty dress and a hair band with a cute bow on it. Wasn’t that what princesses wore? Strip me of my new clothes, and you’d find stained hoodies and jeans that were too big.

  Finnegan disappeared inside again, and I watched him pause by the entertainment center in Patrick’s living room. Alec joined him there, and the two scrolled for a playlist after docking Finnegan’s phone.

  After a minute, it was clear that they were bickering.

  It was too funny to watch. Patrick passed them, smacked them both upside their heads, and ordered them to “just pick something.”

  “Em.” Sarah sat across from me and extended a bottle from the tub. “I think you’ll like this.”

  “Thanks.” I read the label, and it was some wild berry cider. Twisting off the cap, I took a tentative sip, only to quickly take another. It was amazing. I had a whole world of alcoholic drinks to discover. This one was sweet like raspberry soda but carried a kick from whatever booze was in there.

  My limited experience with parties had introduced me to vodka cranberry, beer, and something I wasn’t sure anyone could name. Basically, Jimmy had taken a little bit of everything in his parents’ liquor cabinet and thought it’d be a good idea to mix it all together with OJ.

  It’d been a terrible idea.

  Once Patrick got the grill going, everything was coming along quickly. The music that poured out of the living room was unmistakably Irish, and the wide edge of the fire pit filled with condiments, salads, chips, dips, and buns.

  I was eyeing the guacamole quite possessively. Avocados were always so expensive at the store.

  “Credit to my brother for this.” Finnegan grabbed himself a beer from the tub and sat down next to me. “He almost had my head when I suggested we cater.”

  Sarah looked over at Patrick curiously. “You cook?”

  Patrick flashed a modest smirk, if there was such a thing.

  “He manages to hurt himself every fucking time,” Finnegan said, “but he does all right.”

  Alec jogged down to join us and planted his butt next to Nessa, and he had drinks for the two guys. “He cut his finger in the kitchen.”

  “It didn’t fall off,” Patrick defended. “That’s what matters.”

  I snickered and took another swig of my cider.

  Patrick soon returned inside, and when he came out again, he was carrying a tray. The delicious smell hit me the second he set it down, and I saw everything from baked potatoes and paper cones packed with fries to mac and cheese and something that was fried. Finnegan popped one in his mouth, complained that it was hot as fuck, and said they were mozzarella sticks.

  “Things that come straight from the oven are usually hot,” Patrick told him.

  Finnegan flipped him off and guzzled his beer to cool the burn.

  I looked away and stifled my laughter.

  Patrick left the pit one last time to grab the rest of the food, which filled another tray table. Ribs, chicken, burgers, hot dogs, corn, and steak made for one happy Emilia.

  “Hot damn, Patrick.” Sarah lifted her brows at the sight of all food. “This is the sort of stuff you should bring up on dates. Not how much you can bench press.”

  A laugh escaped at that, and I shook my head. “Honestly?”

  “What?” He sat down next to Sarah and flexed his muscles. “My girl’s gotta know I’m strong.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes and sipped her drink.

  “He’ll get there,” Finnegan said, though I wasn’t sure he believed it. “Okay, everyone. Barbecues are always fantastic, but today’s about Emilia. Before we dig in—a toast to our new adult.” He lifted his beer, and the others followed suit. “May you live to be a hundred, with an extra year to repent. Sláinte, a stóirín.”

  “Sláinte!” the other Irish folk hollered.

  My face hurt from smiling, and I had the strongest urge to scoot closer to Finnegan. This was the whole fucking problem. He made me want what I shouldn’t.

  “Thank you.” I swallowed hard and
maintained my smile, not wanting anyone to know these things shook me up. “This means a lot to me.” I couldn’t do nothing, so fanned out my blanket over Finnegan’s lap and found his hand under the soft fleece.

  He gave my hand a squeeze and threaded our fingers, something that made my heart ache. I was so failing. I couldn’t fail harder. And there was no way I could tell Sarah I wasn’t as strong as she was.

  She might think it was okay to enjoy myself, but this went beyond plain enjoyment.

  Everyone filled their plates, and when Sarah asked what the Irish words meant, Alec and Patrick were happy to give her an Irish 101, the CliffsNotes version. Patrick admitted he and his brother were far from fluent, though short sayings and phrases had traveled down the generations. In Ireland, people wished each other good health when toasting, and Alec made a joke about Sláinte being the most popular word for that reason. ’Cause the Irish and their drinking…

  I sat back a bit and tuned out. And Finnegan did too. Maybe he sensed something was off with me. It wouldn’t surprise me.

  I hadn’t heard from my dad today. I’d told him I had a phone now, and I’d left him the number on the fridge. His only comment was we could sell the phone.

  “Hey.” Finnegan shifted closer and put his arm around me. “You look far too troubled for being a birthday girl.”

  I mustered a weak grin. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re full of it, that’s what you are.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “You know I wanna give you this, right? This life, I mean—I want it to be yours too.” He cracked my heart wide open with those words, and I could’ve kicked him in the shin. “I don’t see just the business arrangement.”

  I glanced up at him, unsure and with a knot in my stomach the size of a mountain. “What do you see?”

  He shifted my hair over my shoulder. “What you and I do is private. I understand we wouldn’t be marrying for love, but that doesn’t make our union any less real. My family would be your family. The relationships you build with the people in my life would be genuine.”

  I shook my head. “Genuine for how long, three years? That’s torture, Finnegan.” I couldn’t imagine being shoved into a family somewhat against my will, then fall for some of them, like Alec and Nessa, and say goodbye three years later.