"You're welcome.” Next time, I’ll remember to cut her sandwich into triangles.
She hops down from the stool, carrying her dishes to the sink with careful concentration.
"I can wash these," I offer, but she shakes her head.
"Keira taught me to clean up after myself." She stands on tiptoes to place the bowl in the sink, then turns to me with an unexpected smile. “You’re not so scary.”
Before I can respond, she wraps her small arms around my waist, pressing her face against my stomach in a tight hug. I freeze, hands hovering awkwardly at my sides. When was the last time anyone hugged me like this? With such simple, uncomplicated affection?
Slowly, I place one hand on her head, feeling the silky softness of her hair beneath my palm. Something shifts inside me. Warmth spreads through my chest. This child, this innocent who knows nothing of the blood feud between our families, embraces me without reservation.
“Hugs get rid of bad feelings and be happy.”
“It’s hard to be happy after losing my family.” I kick myself for saying that. She doesn’t need to know the horrors of my life.
“I lost my family but I’m not mean and grumpy.” She shrugs. “When I feel sorry for myself, Nanny Fiona says to count my blessings.”
“You have blessings?” I’ve invaded her home. Been mean to Keira. What blessings does she have?
“I have Keira and Nanny Fiona. I have a big house to live in and lots of toys.”
“I see.”
“Well, I’m going to bed. Thanks again.” She looks up at me with those clear, guileless eyes. "Maybe you could make sandwiches for Keira too. She forgets to eat sometimes when she's busy."
"Maybe I will," I reply, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice.
After Brigit leaves, I remain in the kitchen, staring at nothing. The revenge I've planned so meticulously suddenly feels hollow. Is this what I truly want? A marriage built on resentment and retribution? What happens after I've extracted my pound of flesh? Will it bring back my parents? Heal the wounds of the past?
For the first time since returning to Boston, I allow myself to consider an alternative future, one where healing might be possible. Where happiness isn't just something I help my brothers find, but something I might claim for myself as well.
But can I find that with Keira again? She’s not the same woman, although I can’t deny her strength is something I admire about her. And there’s the fact that I’ve killed whatever affection she’d had for me. But even if that weren’t the case, I can’t get rid of the nagging thought that she’s hiding something.
We have nothing with which to build a solid foundation beyond an arranged marriage for business’s sake.
17
KEIRA
Istare at the endless lists spread across the table—florists, caterers, decorators, invitations. My head pounds as I try to focus on wedding preparations that feel more like funeral arrangements. The tablet Phoenix gave me blinks with unanswered emails from vendors demanding immediate decisions.
"He wants a loyalty pledge ceremony," I mutter, massaging my temples. "As if a forced marriage isn't humiliating enough."
My fingers hover over the seating chart. How will I be able to face these families again after what Phoenix did at dinner? But that humiliation isn’t as bad as wondering why the hell I had sex with him last night.
My body still tingles from the encounter despite how wrong it was. For those brief moments with Phoenix, I let myself believe we were those young lovers again, sneaking around and dreaming of forever. His hands remembered every curve, every spot that makes me gasp. My body betrayed me, responding to his touch like no time had passed at all. And for a heartbeat, I wanted to tell him everything. About Brigit. About the pregnancy.
But once the orgasms were done, he was out of my bed and once again accusing me of having a lover.
"Stupid," I whisper, pressing my palms against my eyes. "So stupid."
It’s a reminder that I need to focus on getting Brigit safely away before Phoenix discovers who she really is. One night of passion changes nothing. If anything, it makes everything more dangerous. Phoenix may own me, but he will never own my daughter.
I knock softly on Brigit's door, steeling myself for the heartbreak ahead. My sweet girl sits cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by colored pencils and sketches for "our" wedding. The innocence in her eyes nearly breaks me.
"I like this one for your bouquet," she says, holding up a drawing of wildflowers tied with ribbon. "They're like the ones you used to pick for me when I was little."
I sit beside her, memorizing every detail of her face. She has my eyes, but I can see Phoenix in her as well. My chest tightens. How can I send her away when she's been my entire world for ten years?
