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)
Their exile. Four long months spent in the Connecticut house, theoretically out of danger, while the men in the family took care of the remaining threats. It had never occurred to them to ask her what she thought of the situation, because her opinions and feelings didn’t really matter as long as she was obedient. Carrigan swallowed down the old anger. Losing her cool would just reinforce her father’s belief that she was too emotional to be trusted. There was no winning with him, but she wasn’t going to make things harder on herself. She clasped her hands in front of her. “I was at Our Lady of Victories. It’d been too long.”
“I see.” He hadn’t moved, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was larger. More dangerous. His cold dark eyes watched her so closely, she straightened on instinct, her heart beating harder in her chest. He doesn’t know. He can’t possibly know. He didn’t move, but suddenly the room seemed a whole hell of a lot smaller. “Have you given any more thought to your decision?”
Here it was. She knew all the right answers to get him to hold off, but going through this song and dance was exhausting. “I’ve been praying.”
There was no hint of his thoughts on his face. The only warning she got was a slight lifting of his brows. “I grow tired of this game, Carrigan. Your age is becoming an issue, a fact both you and your suitors are well aware of.”
Suitors. Such an old-fashioned word, with more than a hint of romance if a person didn’t know better. Carrigan knew better.
Her father continued, “You’re not going to take your vows, and we both know it. Which means it’s time for you to pick a husband. The list of interested men has been steadily decreasing for the last year, and it’s time to stop toying with them. You have until your birthday to make a decision, or I’ll make it for you.”
Her birthday. December twenty-third. A little less than a month from now.
Her lungs turned to lead in her chest, each breath a searing agony that did nothing to clear the frantic buzzing of her mind. A blink of time and then it’d all be over. She’d known it was coming, but some small secret part of her had hoped they’d never have this conversation.
He was obviously waiting for a response, so she forced a small smile. “Of course, Father.” She kept her voice perfectly bland, giving no indication of the panic rising inside her with each tortured inhale. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to get married, let alone to someone her father approved of. It had worked out for Teague, but that was a one-in-a-million chance. She wouldn’t be so lucky.
“I’m glad you’re being reasonable about this.” He lifted a paper and motioned for her to take it.
Meaning he was glad she was doing exactly what was expected of her. Carrigan took the paper with shaking hands. It was far harder than it should have been to smile at her father as if she didn’t want to be as far from him as the earth would allow.
“Here are the candidates who are left. Choose wisely.”
She managed to push to her feet and leave the study without breaking down or showing the slightest flicker of emotion, but as soon as her bedroom door closed behind her, she slumped to the ground and dropped her head into her hands.
All the fighting and scheming, and for what? It was over. Tears threatened, but she pushed them back. Crying wasn’t going to do a damn thing for her. It was what weak women did in the hopes of manipulating the men around them. Tears didn’t work on her father. They never had.
She raised her head, resolve settling in her, loosening the band around her lungs. She had to pack an entire life’s worth of living into a month. There was no other option. And it had to be good.
Those memories were going to have to sustain her for the rest of her life.
CHAPTER THREE
Carrigan sat in the library, trying to recapture the feeling of peace she’d once been able to have here. It was no use. Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of her father and a reminder of her deadline ticking down. He’d given her a list of eligible men—a list that was apparently smaller than it had been a year ago. Like it was a shopping list that she just had to go down and choose one to spend the rest of her life with—to put her safety and future in the hands of. It made her sick.
She ran her hand over the soft fabric of the couch. Once upon a time, this place was her sanctuary. She used to lie here and stare at the ceiling and dream about what she wanted to do when she grew up. Back then, it had ranged from a lawyer to a fashion designer to—she snorted to think about it—a marine biologist. And now? What would she do if she hadn’t been born a daughter in the O’Malley family?