“A Finntervention?” Austen scoffed. “Lord no. Frankly, we’re just a little irritated that you haven’t been around for the last few GPP gatherings or family dinners. You know, the dinners that have been taking place downstairs at your parents’ house?”
“Technically, I’ve only missed two.”
“Two is enough. We’ve even let Robert talk about his trip to Greece again. Anything to distract the folks since your March reveal. That should tell you how desperate we are.”
When she’d gotten back from Baltimore, still reeling from how quickly she’d been dismissed by William and herded home by Brady and Tasha, she’d called the family together to get a few things off her chest.
She told them everything, glossing over a few of the more intimate details. The wedding, William’s citizenship issues and her decision to lie to them about going down to see him.
Everyone but Hugo looked at her like she’d grown another head. A more interesting, mysterious head that they couldn’t stop staring at. Even Shelley had glanced up from her phone in a way that reminded her of Ken Tanaka, studying her with X-ray eyes that seemed to see straight into her heart.
After Cassandra Wayne had started to give them all the kind of lecture she hadn’t heard from her since they were teenagers, her father stopped the tirade with one touch of his hand.
He’d looked at Bronte with pain in his eyes. “No one hurt you, did they, Bronte? Made you feel like you couldn’t tell us? He didn’t…?”
Bronte’s knees weakened and she sat down beside him, covering the hand that was clutching one of the books he always carried around.
What he wasn’t saying was written all over his expression. Had he always known about what happened to her or had he guessed? She’d taken for granted the fact that she’d be able to hide from the trauma in her big, busy family. No one ever said anything. Nothing after all this time. But her parents clearly hadn’t forgotten.
She’d never wanted them to know, but somehow it mattered that they did. More than she’d ever be able to express.
“William would never hurt me. He didn’t trick me either and everyone needs to know that. I dared him to marry me and he accepted.”
“That’s news to me,” Hugo said under his breath. “We should ban her from margaritas. For life.”
“I can’t believe no one told me.” Thoreau sounded pissed, but Austen only patted his hand.
“You tell your girlfriend Fiona everything. She tells the Finns. You don’t get the good stuff anymore, and apparently neither do I.”
Bronte could hear them, but she couldn’t look away from her father. Foster’s eyes were glassy with repressed emotion. “We couldn’t love you any harder, Bronte, and you know we’ll always support you. But I wish you’d trusted us with the truth.”
And that tore her up more than any shouting match ever could.
“I’m sorry. This was my mistake. I made the wrong decision, for the wrong reasons, but never think it was because I didn’t trust you.” She took a breath and pushed on. “I’m still sorting out how I feel about…everything. I’m going to need some time and space to do that, but I promise I’ll never keep secrets from you again. Any of you.”
She’d expected a vote on her punishment after that. That was the Wayne Way. Instead they’d given her what she’d asked for. Space. But it was clear a few weeks of privacy was all she was allowed.
She looked up to find Austen and Hugo watching her with matching expressions of concern. “Stop. I’m fine. I’m taking advantage of the rest of my vacation days, that’s all.”
Her brother wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tugged her into his side. “You’re not fine, Brontesaurus. You forget how well I know you. The slayer of schedules does not sit in a pile of mismatched yarn in the middle of the afternoon like a nesting bird. In dirty pajamas,” he added, eyeing her worn out tank top.
“Let’s not even talk about the hair situation,” Austen interrupted innocently, pushing her own long tresses over her shoulder with zero subtlety. “I’ve been working on a rinse that might be able to bring that ratty mess under control.”
Bronte touched her hair self-consciously, watching her perfectly put together sister with a frown. “So if I get dressed and go to the salon you’ll leave me alone?”
“No.” Austen sat down at the table and opened the pizza box without fanfare, grabbing a narrow slice for herself. Bronte’s stomach rumbled. “No one will be leaving anyone alone. We’re only the first wave. We took a vote.”
“Here it comes,” Hugo warned her in a quiet undertone.
“This isn’t an intervention. We aren’t talking about our feelings or giving you a stirring speech about how important you are and how you should love yourself, no matter how old and cranky you happen to be, and go after what you want.”
“Thank God you’re not doing that,” Bronte muttered.
“We will be sorting your shit out. I’m in charge of appearance, naturally. Hugo is our spy in Finn-land as well as your emotional cheerleader.”
Bronte threw him some side eye and he caught it, shaking his fist playfully. “Rah.”
“The rest of the siblings are already brainstorming solutions to your current dilemma.”
“My dilemma?”
Austen nodded. “You know, your husband problem?”
She looked at them both in surprise. “There’s nothing to solve. He’s in Baltimore. He sent me away.”
But she hadn’t filed any paperwork. Hadn’t called a lawyer. She’d been doing her best to avoid thinking about it at all.
“Cheerleader, give her the intel.” Austen bit into her pizza and moaned dramatically, leaving Bronte torn between what she wanted more, food or information.
Hugo cupped both hands behind his head and sent Austen a speaking look. “You know how upset Younger was when I told him where you’d been and why.”
Bronte nodded, the guilt piling on again. “I’m sorry about that.”
Hugo shrugged. “I understand why you did it. Believe it or not I even understand why William sent you home and I’m grateful to him. He was protecting you.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?”
You were right and I was wrong. We’re not a good fit.
“And the Finn family circled the wagons, protecting every-damn-body. Tell her, Hugo.”
“Are you going to let me?” Hugo asked wryly. “And don’t be rude. Bring a plate over for your sister. She’s drooling.”
She probably was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought about food. Yesterday? “William told Ken that he would handle it.”
“He did. Your friend, Monica, has some stories to tell about Mahoney and a big guy named Kevin trying to file a complaint in the ER before the cops took them away in handcuffs. You’d know this if you’d gone back to work recently.”
“William put them in the hospital?”
Good. Bronte winced at her bloodthirsty thoughts and Hugo narrowed his eyes, misreading her reaction.
“He defended himself. They got physical after he told them what he could share with the cops. Something about the funneling of funds between here and Ireland. A few bookkeeping secrets he’d learned over the years. That sort of thing.”
“Is he okay?”
“Some bruises and lumps, but less than the other guys.”
“What does his family have to do with it?”
Hugo’s smile was devilish. “They set Tanaka loose on William’s old boss.”
“The bookie in Ireland?”
He nodded. “He’s going away for a long time. And everyone approves of the steps our computer genius is taking to wipe out that entire operation out for good. Especially Younger.”
“Why is that surprising?”
Austen answered for him. “Because he’s had to bend a few international rules to do it. But Tasha told Stephen and Younger what William told you.”
“Are you following any of this?” Hugo joked.
“Of course she is. When t
hey found out that slime ball had gone after William’s sister? I’m surprised they didn’t fly the entire family out to Ireland and let them take turns beating on the guy.”
She’d like a turn herself. “I’m glad.”
I’m still not sure what it has to do with me.
Austen rubbed her hands together. “Tell her where the money is now, Hugo.”
“Oh can I?” Hugo shook his head, but he was still smiling. “With some help from our younger sister, who might have decided Tanaka is her Yoda, FYI… That money is back in Ireland, donated to a child welfare and protection program that helps keep kids who are homeless or in abusive situations off the streets.”
“Shelley did that?”
“Well you know I didn’t think of it.” Austen said with a flip of her hair. “I won’t even admit to knowing who Yoda is.”
“Does William know all this?” How did he react? He’d been so angry at her for underestimating him, thinking she thought he wasn’t man enough to deal with his own problems. He’d been wrong, but he hadn’t given her the chance to tell him so before he’d admitted to lying to her, told her he’d stolen money from a crime boss and implied their time together was a mistake.
It was almost like he’d been trying to get rid of her, a fact that was confirmed in a conversation with Brady on the way home.
But being obvious didn’t make it hurt any less.
“William took it well enough. Even thanked Shelley when she stopped by the pub.”
“So he’s in town.” She looked down at the half eaten slice of pizza, her appetite gone again.
“And looking as miserable as you do. Not that anyone sees much of the guy. He’s been moping around his house for weeks.”
For weeks.
“Probably in his own ball of yarn,” Austen offered unhelpfully.
She’d never even given him the blanket he’d asked for. “I think we’re done. I don’t need to hear anymore.”
“I’m not finished.” Hugo started cleaning up the mess around her, handing back the plate she’d just set down. “Eat, Bronte.”
She took a bite, glaring at him as she chewed.
“I wasn’t that happy about William getting you drunk and flying you out of state before you could make a sober decision.”
Austen huffed out an irritated breath. “I wasn’t happy about no one telling me anything.”
“But,” Hugo continued after a look in their sister’s direction. “I think I missed the most important part of the story that morning at the station, didn’t I? You don’t do anything you don’t want to do. No margarita could have made you dare the man to marry you if there wasn’t some part of you wanting it to happen. You’re in love with him. And I think you were, even then.”
Bronte bit her lip and fiddled with the plate in her lap.
“It’s pointless to deny it,” Austen insisted. “You’re in love with a sexy, young, so-white-he’s-Irish bad boy. You and Hugo both managed to snag the sexiest apples off the same fine family tree and I still can’t get a decent date.”
“Admit it, Brontesaurus.”
“Admit it or we’ll shave your head while you’re sleeping.”
“Fine,” she blurted. “I’m in love with him. Happy now? I’m crazy about him. Literally certifiable, and it’s making me act like a woman in one of Mom’s damn romance novels, which is pissing me off.”
“No,” Austen corrected. “She reads Nora, remember? If you were acting like one of her heroines, you’d be picking yourself up by your fashionable bootstraps and fighting that evil yourself, because you don’t need a man to be happy unless he accepts you as his equal in all things. There are no stinky pajama-wearing, bad hair day yarn forts in Nora’s world.”
“I was untangling—never mind.” Hugo snorted, but Bronte was too agitated to laugh. “I tried to fight it, but he wouldn’t let me. He just kept coming. Stupid presents. Sweet texts. Those damn selfies. He read all the Bronte sisters. All of them, Hugo. And then we…” She blushed, looking back down at her plate. “Then, when I finally show up and give in? He sends me packing, throws all my stupid arguments back in my face and says, ‘Oh by the way, I didn’t tell you we could have gotten an annulment months ago. My bad.’ He doesn’t even know that I’m—”
She cut herself off and got to her feet, avoiding their interested gazes as she took her plate to the kitchen sink.
Hugo followed her. “He doesn’t know you’re what?”
She glanced over at him, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. He told me he’d give me a divorce. He sent me away.”
“He didn’t want to,” he told her softly. “I think you know that.”
Austen showed up on the other side of her, knocking her hip gently against Bronte’s. “He’s been after you from day one, hasn’t he? He didn’t let anything stop him. Not your constant rejections, or his family, or the distance between here and Baltimore… If you really love him, don’t you think it’s your turn to go after him?”
She had a point. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know how. I’m not like you or Tasha, Austen. I’m low on wiles, remember? No muss, no fuss, no romance. That’s me.”
Austen’s expression was rueful. “Clearly you have the wiles. You’ve already caught him. Now you need to reel him in before he swims away for good.”
Bronte frowned. “What do you mean? Is he leaving?” Again?
She turned to Hugo and he shrugged. “A man he knows in Baltimore has offered him a job. According to Younger, William doesn’t seem to think he has a reason to stay. Not even his sister has been able to get through to him.”
He couldn’t leave. No matter what he said, he’d missed his family. He’d wanted to come home.
And he loves you.
He’d never said it, but he’d shown it in a thousand little ways. Too many for her not to know how he felt. And Austen was right. He’d fought through every obstacle she’d put in front of him. Knocked down all her defenses and given her one new experience, one adventure after another.
She couldn’t deny that he’d lied to her. Pushed her away on purpose, whether it was to protect her not.
Pride, Tasha had told her. Male pride.
She should tell her the shirt advice didn’t always work.
“So what do I do about my husband dilemma?”
Hugo hesitated. “Well, there’s an idea a few of the Finns wanted to run by you. They’ve been looking into it for a few months, I heard. Ever since he left the first time. But they’d need you to really sell him on it.”
She nodded, putting a hand on her fluttering stomach to hold back the butterflies. “I’m in.”
Austen grinned. “Don’t you want to hear about the plan first? Get all the details? Think it through?”
“There’s nothing to think about. I’m his wife, and my husband isn’t going anywhere.”
Not without a fight.
Chapter Ten
Brilliant. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to piss off his sister, but Kate was definitely avoiding him. She’d hardly said a word to him last night, and she’d left before dawn this morning.
She didn’t agree with his decision to leave. No one seemed to, not even Pat Collins.
“Not that I don’t enjoy your company, William. You remind me of younger days, back when I first met my Sunday. But I don’t think coming back is the right decision.”
When William had asked him why he’d said simply, “Because your Sunday isn’t here. And you shouldn’t leave her unless and until life takes the choice away from you.”
Bronte. No matter how many times he’d tried to explain to the man that it was never meant to be a real marriage, that Bronte thought he was too young and too irresponsible to be husband material, Old Pat was unshakeable.
“I’ve seen what’s between you two. That’s as real as it gets.”
He wasn’t the only one who felt that way. They all thought he should keep fighting for her, apologize on his knees if he had to, and get her back. He’d be lyi
ng if he said he hadn’t thought the same at least a dozen times a day. But then the voice of logic—a new voice to be sure—would remind him that his desire was a selfish one.
He wanted her. He loved her. He wanted children and grandchildren that had her beautiful face, her stubborn chin and her brave warrior soul. But while he would be getting a strong, accomplished woman with a large and loving family, she would get the shaft.
William wasn’t a man women brought home to meet the parents. Barely any savings to speak of, a self-taught and battle-scarred bare knuckle brute who’d already lied to her on more than one occasion.
If he were her father, he would never let a man like him near his daughter. He’d beat the piss out of him and send him on his way. He might do worse if the man had married her under questionable circumstances.
Knowing Bronte had been touched, in any way, by the taint of his old life had finally broken through his blind need to have her for his own. He’d been unnecessarily cruel to her before he sent her away, but he hadn’t seen another viable option. Making sure she was safe was all that mattered.
Even if she found it in her to forgive him for that, she still deserved better.
He wasn’t sure why no one else could see the truth of that.
His brother Matthew walked into the kitchen and paused, chuckling when he took in William’s expression.
“You look knackered. Did you sleep at all?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work? Or school? Anywhere else?”
“That’s a fine greeting. And after I’ve answered the clarion call of family to ease my brother’s broken heart.”
William let his expression and a hand gesture tell him what he could do with that comment. “I’m touched.”
Matthew nodded. “I know it. Must be all those times you got bashed in the head over the years. Or maybe you get it from Grump.”
“You should show more respect for your grandfather,” William said out of habit.
“He’s not here, is he? I’m safe enough.”
“He’ll know.”
Matthew scoffed but glanced around as if looking for hidden cameras. “So this next in a horrible line of mistakes you’re intent on making…it wouldn’t have anything to do with your wife, would it?” He went on before William could stop him. “I like her. She looks like the kind of woman who would keep a man in line and make him like it, if you get my meaning.”
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