Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Nah, not at all.” He beams a charming smile and pats my back. “Dad’s pissed and you’re fretting. Story of my damn life.”
“Dick.” I elbow him in the ribs. “Did you meet my fiancé yet?”
“Not yet,” he wheezes, rubbing his side. “Shit, Regan, you still hit me like we’re fucking kids.”
“Don’t forget it.” I straighten myself and smooth my dress. “Keep out of trouble tonight.”
“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”
“Probably.”
I wade into the party with Luke on my heels.
I’ve been to dozens of these gatherings over the years. Auctions for charity, dances for sick puppies, thousand-dollars-per-plate fundraisers for politicians that’ll fix all our problems (and be very amenable to Whelan clan business), that sort of thing. I’ve never been comfortable in these spaces, but at least they’re familiar, and immediately faces jump out at me. Colleagues of my father’s, men and women who circulate in the same social worlds.
“Oh god, is that Molly Moran?” I whisper to Luke as I grab a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
“I know, right? She looks drunker and drunker every year.”
“And so skinny.”
“They got pills for that now.” He nudges me, snickering. “There’s old man Keegan.”
“He touched my ass a while back and said I was going to make some Irish husband very happy.”
Luke’s nose wrinkles. “Shame nobody’s put a bullet in his head yet.”
“There’s still time.”
We circulate, shaking hands, saying polite hellos. I know my role after years of long practice. Simple, easy smiles, a firm shake, mindless pleasantries. Life is always good, Dad’s health is amazing, the construction business is even better than we ever dreamed. In rooms like this, there are no problems, no hints of weakness, no sniff of failure or strife. We present a united front, no matter what. Because if we don’t, Dad will know, and he will be pissed.
After about a half hour, I find myself standing in front of a massive painting in the back room. Luke’s gone, disappeared a few minutes ago to get us new drinks, but I have a feeling I won’t be seeing him again anytime soon. Instead, I’m studying a naked woman, painted in brutal strokes of greens and blues, her body supine on what looks like a garage floor, her eyes wide and bloodshot. I chew my lip, trying to decide if it’s brilliant or something a toddler would make during a temper-tantrum.
“I see you’ve found the highlight of the evening.”
I stiffen at the voice. A man appears at my elbow, tall and broad, and I catch a familiar smell: spicy, woodsy, a sharp undertone to the evening. Voices fade as I look at Liam sideways, my heart racing.
I knew he would be here, but seeing him still makes me clench.
“I’m trying to decide if I like it.”
He seems to consider hard. “I think it’s incredible. The harsh strokes, the vague impression of violence. My kind of work.”
“Are you bullshitting me right now?”
“Oh, these paintings are trash.” His grin is boyish and I almost forget that he’s ruining my life.
My father appears, striding up behind Liam, and stops at my elbow. “Ah, Regan, there you are. And Liam, I was just trying to find you two.” He frowns between us and I do my best to put on my polite, vapid smile, the look I give everyone at places like this.
“I take it this is your daughter?” Liam asks politely.
“Regan, meet your future husband, Liam Lankshear.” Even father has the good grace to look uncomfortable. It’s the most awkward I’ve ever felt in my whole life, but I do my best not to show any familiarity. It doesn’t matter if this man’s been between my legs—twice, for the love of all that’s fucked and holy, I did it twice—I have to put on a show.
“Hello, Liam, it’s good to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s mine.”
We shake hands. He holds on for much too long before leaning in and chastely kissing my cheek. Dad watches, his scowl deepening, and I fight back panic. I know that look: he’s unhappy with how this is going, probably because Liam’s being a stupid dipshit.
“I’m told you work in the construction business,” I say, desperate to spark even the emptiest conversation imaginable.
“You could say that, sure.” Liam raises his glass of dark brown liquor to his lips. “I like to tell people that I’m in logistics.”
“Liam’s an important member of the Whelan organization. Isn’t that right, Liam? Finn Whelan has nothing but good things to say about you.”
“Finn always was good at lying.” Liam keeps his eyes fixed on me with that godawful confident smile. “But for once in his life, he was being honest about your daughter.”
Dad clears his throat. “Ah, I hope Finn said only good things.”
“He said fantastic things.” Liam’s smile broadens. “It’s a strange situation we’re all in, but I’m hoping we’ll make the best of it. Right, Regan?”