Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
All that was left to her was to go on the expected dates and pick the least horrible one of the bunch. Then it was a matter of hoping for the best. She could stack the deck in her favor to make up for the lack of choices, but in the end it all came down to whoever she chose to hitch her wagon to. There was no reason to expect that she’d enjoy spending time with any of the men, since she fully expected her father to pick men similar to the caliber of man he was.
God, she hated this.
Carrigan patted her brother’s hand and rose. The longer she procrastinated, the less time she’d ultimately have. It was better to bite the bullet now and get this shit started. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure.”
She felt his worried gaze on her all the way out of the library and into the hallway. It was only when she shut the door behind her that she breathed a temporary sigh of relief.
Now, to deal with her father.
She found him in the formal living room, looking bored as her mother pored over some kind of photo album—something to do with the upcoming wedding, no doubt. It would be held in just under two weeks, so most of the details had already been taken care of. It stood to reason, though, that little last-minute things were bound to pop up.
She stood in the doorway, waiting for them to acknowledge her. Her father looked up first, almost comically pleased for the distraction. “Carrigan.”
It was far too tempting to make small talk—about anything other than the real reason she was here. That was the coward’s way out, though. “I’m going to meet the men you have on this list.”
Her mother finally looked up, green eyes narrowing. “What list? I haven’t seen any list, Seamus.”
“It’s none of your concern.” He spared one of his rare smiles for Carrigan. “I’m glad you’ve decided to be reasonable.”
“Anything for the family, Father.”
Besides, if the man she married turned out to be a monster, she could always take a page from Callie’s book and shoot the bastard dead.
* * *
Sloan floated through the hallways of her childhood, feeling more like a ghost than a woman. The feeling had been there in their giant home in Connecticut, and she’d wandered the house at all hours of the night, driven from her bed by the treacherous thoughts of what could have been. If she’d made different choices the night Carrigan was taken. If her brothers hadn’t drunk themselves stupid and walked home. If her father hadn’t been so willing to risk all of them in a grab for power.
She didn’t like the answers she came up with.
They didn’t really matter. The past was dead and gone, just like Devlin. She pressed a hand to her chest, stopping at the top of the stairs, feeling like she’d just run ten miles. Devlin. One of her brothers was dead, and everyone was going on as if nothing had changed—as if their world hadn’t turned to dust around them.
It wasn’t fair, and she knew it. Life went on, whether they wanted it to or not.
She took a deep breath and kept walking, her bare feet padding over the cool wood floors. She wasn’t a child. She knew life had to go on. It couldn’t come to a full stop just because her heart was so broken she didn’t think it’d ever recover. Devlin had been only twenty, three years younger than her, and growing up they’d always been close. Of all her brothers, he hadn’t expected her to change. He’d been perfectly content to share the comfortable silences she was so fond of, broken only to bring up something interesting that one of them was currently reading. And he’d managed to accept the weight of the burden their family placed on them, while still striving for more.
And now his dreams were ashes in the wind, whisking hers away with them.
Their father liked to say that great privilege brought great responsibility with it. He was a liar. He hadn’t been the one forced to make compromise after compromise. He was completely content to move his children around like pieces of furniture, aligning them to his satisfaction to keep the O’Malley clan strong. What did their individual happiness matter in the grand scale of the family’s safety?
Not even a tiny bit.
Her stomach lurched, leaving her lightheaded, and Sloan paused to lean against the wall. She might have gotten away with her midnight wanderings in the old redone farmhouse, but there were too many people here. It was only a matter of time before one of her well-meaning siblings guided her back to her bedroom. Or the guards reported her to her father.
Imagining how pleasant that conversation would be had her picking up her pace. She passed Keira’s door, hearing strains of some hard rock song on the other side of the door. It was selfish to think Sloan was the only one suffering. Her youngest sister had taken Devlin’s death just as hard—if not harder. She’d started drinking. A lot. Sloan knew that Carrigan chalked it up to her age, but she wasn’t so sure. Keira drank like she was trying to escape the thoughts in her head. That kind of thing didn’t simply disappear over time.