by Cara Dee
“I’m sorry, Emilia.”
I side-eyed him, quickly wrenching free and continuing down the stairs. I couldn’t handle that anguished look. Seeing him in pain messed with me, and it made Grace appear like a freaking ghost in my head. She’d once told me Finnegan wore his heart on his sleeve.
Then I thought about my first date with Finnegan and how Agent—Kellan—had appeared as our waiter. Finnegan hadn’t given the slightest indication that they knew each other. They’d fooled me well.
“One thing.” Because I had to hear it from him. “Was it funny?” I asked, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling up. “I mean, I assume Kellan gave you reports every time I spoke to him. Did you get together over a few beers and talk about all the crap I fell for?”
“Fuck no, princess.” He seemed sickened that I’d think that, but for all I knew, it was another act. “Jesus—no, you—fuck!” He spun around and drove a fist into the metal railing of the stairs, causing the whole structure to rattle. I jumped back, and my heart hammered. “Believe whatever you want, except that.” He spoke through the hurt that punch must’ve given him. “Not that, Emilia. I would never turn you into some joke.”
I was already shaking my head and aiming for the door. This was why Grace had advised me to come out to them for a bit. Finnegan was too good with his words, and I couldn’t be sucked right back in.
“Please don’t come out to the house this weekend,” I said, grabbing my purse. “I’ll call you next week.”
To my horror, Grace wasn’t at the compound when I arrived. She texted and said she’d be home in an hour.
Shan and Ian were practicing putting on the lawn in front of Finnegan’s and Patrick’s houses, and a construction crew was working on the three guesthouses. They were almost done.
I must’ve been a sight. Eyes bloodshot and tumbling out of the car with a trail of tissues, I scrambled to find my sunglasses to hide a part of my personal disaster.
“That’s my kind of daughter-in-law,” Shan noted to Ian. “She won’t hesitate to steal my boy’s car.”
Ian chuckled and returned his putter to the golf bag.
“Maybe he let me borrow it.” My voice was still hoarse from all the crying I’d accomplished on my way here.
Shan walked toward me with a sympathetic smile. “Or he messaged me because he was worried that you left in a death machine while upset.”
Oh. Well, whatever. I’d turned off my phone before even leaving the city because of Finnegan’s incessant calling.
“How’re you doing, hon?” He gave me a hug. “I heard what happened at the negotiation.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Good times.” It’d been Grace’s idea to bring a “bug” to use if we got the chance, and the woman was rarely wrong, it seemed. “I hope it’s okay I stay here for a few days.”
“Of course. This is your home too—here, let me get that for you.” He got my luggage out of the car, and I picked up the tissues that’d spilled out from the driver’s seat. “Did you talk to Grace?”
I nodded and sniffled. “She said she’d be here in an hour.”
He followed me across the way, and I dug out the keys to the house. Shan mentioned they’d had the pool filled recently, and they would give me privacy for as long as I wanted.
“We hope you’ll come up for dinner, though.”
I came to an abrupt stop in the hallway. “Um.” Why were the walls in the living room suddenly pink?
Shan let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “That wife of mine… She makes me feel old.” That was silly. He wasn’t even fifty. “I fear you’re the casualty of war here. The boys painted Grace’s studio in some hideous colors before we moved out here, and this is her retaliation.”
A laugh bubbled up, the first one all day.
“I’m glad I came here.” I smiled ruefully and ignored the tug at my chest. I hadn’t spent a single night out of Finnegan’s arms since I’d left my past behind, and I wasn’t sure how this was gonna go. Part of me missed him already. Yet…fuck, he’d really hurt me.
When did summer begin, technically? Was there a specific month?
The sun was warm on my face, the water in the pool was perfect, graduation season was in full swing, and the trees were the greenest green.
The best way to drown out the drilling and hammering from the guesthouses was to float around in the pool all day, my ears submerged and the water tickling the corners of my eyes.
It had to be summer.
With one month to go before my late-June wedding to a mobster…
Deep breaths.
I’d stayed calm today so far. The weirdest thing had brought me close to tears this morning; waking up and realizing I wasn’t going to church with Finnegan. But I’d managed to hold back my emotions, and I had declined the offer to tag along with Grace and Shan. Even when they lived out here, they made it to Mass every Sunday in the city.
Was Finnegan there now? Was he feeling better? Worse?
I wasn’t gonna cry today, damn it all. Three days of it had been enough. Three days of sobfests, venting to Grace, reading romance novels, running, and floating around in my new yellow bikini.
Ian was a cool guy. He and Shan had served together in the military, and they were sort of halves of each other. A yin and yang. Shan had once been the rebellious youngster Ian had taken under his wing, and then when Ian was wounded in battle, Shan stepped up, and their roles were reversed.
I was up at the main house for a sandwich Ian had made me when Grace and Shan got back from the city.
“How much you wanna bet they’ve brought a message to pass along from Finn?” Ian pointed his bottle of Coke out the window as the mister and missus got out of the car.
“I wouldn’t bet against it, that’s for sure.” I smirked wryly and took another bite of my sandwich. “I’ve thought about turning on my phone, but I change my mind every time.”
“Oh boy.” He chuckled, his battle-worn face crinkling. “It’s gonna blow up on ya, doll.”
Probably.
I’d been careful using it since the day Grace warned me Finnegan was probably keeping tabs on me. I hadn’t even been that shocked when I’d snooped on his laptop and figured out how he kept those aforementioned tabs. If he could stalk me, he could check my messages.
Grace had given me a type of phone they called burners. They were cheaper, meant to be thrown away, and had to be topped up with cash. That was where I kept most of my conversations these days.
Shan and Grace walked in, dressed sharply and stylishly in their best Sunday outfits. A far cry from my flimsy cotton dress I’d pulled on over my bikini.
“Hiya, churchgoers.” I hopped down from the stool to bring my plate to the dishwasher. Ian kept telling me it was his job, and I didn’t accept it. For the record, Shan didn’t either.
“Hello, dearie. How are you feeling?” Grace joined me and draped an arm around my shoulders. “You’ve gotten some nice color.”
“Thanks. I’m doing better, I think. What about you?” I leaned back against the counter.
Grace had been unaware of Kellan’s role in this whole mess, so she and Shan had argued quite a bit too.
“Eh, I land on my feet.” She brought out an envelope from her purse, and I sighed inwardly. “From my son. Let him grovel, Emilia.”
Was it so smart I read the note, then? He was a smooth talker.
Shan had taken my previous seat next to Ian, and he rested his elbows on the kitchen island. “If it makes you feel any better, he didn’t look well this morning.”
“It doesn’t.” That was the problem! My heart hurt and my voice quivered. “I can’t stop thinking about the look in his eyes.”
“Ah, young love.” Ian smiled.
Love.
What if I was falling for Finnegan? I supposed a crush made sense. Love was terrifying. Love threw logic out the window. Logic that said I should get the hell out in three years. Good lord, this was the guy who’d…done what he’d done.<
br />
“I’ve taken the liberty of helping you with one of your problems,” Grace said. “Kellan’s flying in tomorrow with the twins. It’ll do you good to confront that boy. Fucking hellions, the lot of them.”
Wow, that was a lot packed into so few words. It would be fun to see Alec and Nessa again. Seeing Kellan, however? I couldn’t shake the humiliation.
I stared at the envelope, my name written in Finnegan’s flawless handwriting.
“I think I’ll return to the pool,” I mumbled.
The part about me not crying today became a huge, fat fail when I read Finnegan’s letter approximately two minutes later, and I spent the rest of the day in bed.
Emilia,
The first time I saw you, I was parked outside the diner. You were working an evening shift, and you were dead on your feet. Of all the places in the world to celebrate a young girl’s birthday, a family was right there, during your shift, with their two kids. You and a coworker brought out a cake and sang for her, and no matter how tired you were, you lit up for that girl. She stood up in the booth and put her princess crown on your head, and you gave her the biggest smile. You humored her, were a complete goof with her, and you made her feel special.
It knocked the air out of my lungs, which has never really happened before. I was in a bad mood that night. I’d gotten lost in this shitty town where I was supposed to find my future wife. I had an address, an old photo, and a name. And as I sat there in the parking lot feeling sorry for myself, I looked at the picture. Then at you. Back at the picture. There was the weirdest tightness over my chest, because you were so fucking beautiful.
It was you I was there to find, and now I’m terrified of losing you.
I’ll do anything to earn your forgiveness.
Yours,
Finnegan
Grace left early the next morning for wedding-related errands in the city. She’d be back for dinner with two twins and one asshole. After reading Finnegan’s letter about a hundred times, I decided I didn’t want to be alone today, so I sought out Shan and Ian, finding them behind the main house.
Shan was reading a medical journal by the pool, and Ian was…doing yoga? In Grace’s orchard.
“It helps with his PTSD.” Shan’s comment and amused look snapped me out of my frozen state, and I climbed the steps to their terrace. “Morning, hon.”
“Hi. Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all. Have a seat.” He patted the lounger next to his. “I like to sit here until the sun takes over around noon. My Irish skin can’t take the heat.”
I grinned and sat down cross-legged next to him. “How’s small-town life treating you?”
“It’s fucking fantastic.” He placed his magazine upside down on his lap and leaned back, clasping his fingers across his stomach. “Do you miss the city?”
I pursed my lips, unsure. “A little, maybe.” Most of all, I missed Finnegan. “When I don’t think how close we are to my useless town, I love it here. It’s peaceful.”
“Indeed, it is.” He watched me pensively. “May I ask a personal question?”
My stomach fluttered with nerves, and I nodded hesitantly. “Shoot.”
He smiled faintly and gestured toward my left hand. “When did you turn the heart outward?”
I dropped my gaze and twisted the Claddagh ring on my forefinger. “Did, um, Finnegan tell you about his special rule?”
“I’m creating my own rule,” Finnegan slid the ring onto my index finger and brushed his thumb over the lovely design.
“The heart is pointing in now,” I said.
He nodded once. “And when you’re ready to accept my family as your own, you turn it outward to represent your heart being open to them.”
Shannon’s voice shook me out of the memory. “He did. I found it sweet.”
It was much more than sweet. The two hands cradled the heart almost protectively, and the little crown atop the heart gave it an almost regal feel. It was the power of love and family—for me, anyway.
“I turned it the day Grace and I picked up the wedding invitations,” I admitted. “We were looking at templates for the menu at the reception, and I got to see our names. Finnegan and Emilia O’Shea. It was…overwhelming, I guess you can say.”
Grace had gotten emotional and said we were family now.
“In a good way?” Shan wondered.
I nodded. I couldn’t deny that any longer.
“I’m glad,” he murmured. “But does this mean you accept the family for what it is? For what we are?”
Aw, man. “Shan…”
He laughed through his nose and fished out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “I know, I ask the worst questions.” He extended the pack to me, and what the hell, I took one and thanked him.
“I don’t suppose I can’t close my eyes and pretend it’s not there.” I borrowed his lighter and inhaled from my first smoke in weeks.
“What’s not there?” he countered with a smirk.
He was gonna make me say it.
“The fact that you’re criminals.” I stuck out my tongue at him.
He let out a carefree laugh, looking a lot like Finnegan.
“I’ve decided you’re all sorcerers,” I told him. “I used to be pee-my-pants terrified of Finnegan. Now I’m…” I was at a loss. So much had happened. In a short period of time, Finnegan and his family had become important. More than I could admit.
“Now you’re here.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “And in my humble opinion, I hope you’re here to stay. You’ve had a profound impact on Finn, and it’s just the beginning.”
“Sorcerers,” I whispered and took a drag.
He smirked. “Much like him, you resort to sass to avoid the heavy talk.”
I groaned, torn between laughter and exasperation. “Fine. Look. Grace told me you’re all a bunch of liars, and I guess I’m coming to terms with that. I understand why Finnegan doesn’t tell me much about his work, ’cause…well, it could put him behind bars, and let’s face it, my track record isn’t the best there. I already spilled the beans to one fake Fed.”
It hit me what I was saying—and what it meant. I wasn’t trustworthy either. My morals were a shit-ton higher, but to him, to the people he loved and protected, I was not to be trusted yet.
“It would be weird if you hadn’t, dear,” he said. “Our family isn’t for everyone, and Grace is right. We learned to lie before we could speak.”
I giggled. “How does that work?”
“I don’t know, but it sounded good, eh?” he chuckled.
It grew silent between us, and I could sense he wasn’t going to push the issue again. He’d gotten his point across: if I could accept them as my family, couldn’t I accept Finnegan as more than a husband on paper too?
The answer was, I didn’t know. Even worse was that I couldn’t trust myself, because my heart said one thing, and my head said another. And when two parts of me existed on polar opposites, something was wrong.
“What do you trust when words become meaningless?” I asked.
“Hm. Good question.” He nodded slowly, thinking. “It would be easy to say actions, but there will be occasions where you don’t see them. In time, you’ll grow to trust his intentions and feelings. He’s very much devoted to you already, Emilia.”
I didn’t doubt the devotion, not after hearing him tearing Patrick a new one in the boardroom. No, if there was one thing I could trust, it was Finnegan’s loyalty, and that meant more than I could describe.
There’d been a fleeting thought that day, a sense of that’s my man, when I’d overheard him speaking—and yelling—without a filter to his brother. Unfortunately, it’d been pushed down by the crushing hurt because he was a rat bastard too.
“And then all is fair in love and war, right?” I quirked a brow at Shan.
“There we go. Just don’t mistake love for war. He’s not battling against you. He’s got some questionable methods to ensure he’s with you.”
Q
uestionable methods. I’ll say.
“Do you have those questionable methods too?” I wondered.
He laughed. “Oh, you have no idea, Emilia.”
Fucking great.
I took a couple puffs from the cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray on the pool deck.
“Don’t forget the perks, though,” he pointed out. “You can adopt your own methods to answer your questions.”
Well, there was a scarily exciting idea.
It was what Grace had said. You had to play the game by their rules, and more often than not, there were no rules.
“Hey, excuse me, sir?” The voice came from the corner of the house, and I saw one of the construction workers. “This was dropped off at the gate.”
Shan accepted the package. “Cheers, I appreciate it.”
“No worries. We’re stepping out for lunch. We’ll be back at one.”
“Sounds good.” Shan inclined his head and extended the box to me. “It’s for you.”
Me? Oh, of course. Finnegan never half-assed anything. He was on a mission now. Opening the box, I spotted a note first, and in just a few sentences, he made me ache.
Emilia,
Your pillow doesn’t smell like you anymore. I’m not finding your hairs in the shower. You and your attitude aren’t there to greet me when I get home. My coffee doesn’t taste as good as yours. (What’s the coffee/cream ratio?) I miss your voice, that smile of yours, and pretty much everything else that’s become a reminder how my life obviously sucked before you. I just plain miss you, princess. Please talk to me.
Yours,
Finnegan
I swallowed hard and read a line at the bottom, the words written in a language I didn’t recognize. Was that Irish?
“What, um—” I had to clear my throat. “What does this mean? The part at the bottom.” I showed Shan the note.
He quickly scanned the note before landing on the sentence in question, and something in his expression softened.
“That sweet cock-up. He’s got his tail between his legs, all right.” He smiled ruefully and sat back. “I’m not going to tell you what it says. And, word of advice, you shouldn’t google it until you’re ready to know the answer.”
