Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
She grimaces. “Oh dear. Tell me he didn’t try?”
I laugh. “He did.”
“No. Oh, I’m sorry.” She grimaces. “Not his strong suit.”
“Definitely not.”
We laugh again, and I catch Kyla watching us from the doorway, coming and going with plates.
Ashland’s in the background too. Observing, quiet.
Bronwyn enters just in time to admire the honey cake. “It only takes thirty minutes,” I tell her. “Fresh food doesn’t have to take forever.”
“Let’s bring this out,” Caitlin says, and leads me into a large formal dining room.
“We don’t eat in here much anymore,” she says. “It’s gone out of style, hasn’t it? The old tradition of the family table.”
I nod. “We eat in the kitchen too.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “But tonight is special.”
Bronwyn walks in. “Bronwyn, darling, wine glasses, please. Kyla, fetch your dad his drink.”
They move quietly, obediently. But I notice Seamus isn’t here yet.
It twists in my gut.
“So,” Caitlin says, pouring a glass of white wine. “Tell us about yourself.”
I take a sip, fruity, sweet. I like it.
“I’m the youngest in my family. Three older brothers, one sister. She lives in South Africa with her husband. My brothers are all married. I stayed close to home.”
“How’d you meet my brother then, staying so close to home?” Kyla asks boldly, tearing into a roll.
My cheeks burn.
“She gets snappy when she’s hungry,” Bronwyn says.
“Eat, Kyla,” she says calmly. “And maybe shut up.”
“Girls,” Caitlin warns, sharp-eyed. “Go on, Zoya.”
I clear my throat. “I got tired of my brothers’ rules. Took a little trip to a pub one night. Met Seamus there. He’s always been good to me.”
“When was this?” Kyla presses.
“A while ago,” I say, dodging the trap.
Seamus said I was safe here. But am I?
“If only he didn’t act the feckin’ traitor,” Ash mutters.
I set my wine glass down, hard. My gaze slices to Ash. “I told you. Don’t call him a traitor.”
He scoffs. “You can defend him if you want, but it won’t work.”
“No,” I snap. “You want to go at him, do it to his face. But I’m telling you right now, my husband is not a traitor.”
I jab my finger into the table, my fury rising.
“Is that right?” Ash gets up.
“That’s right,” I say, standing.
“That’s my girl,” I hear Seamus say behind me. Relief floods through me.
I exhale at the sound of his voice, like a warm tide cutting through the chaos.
“So brave. That’s my good girl. Ashland, sit down. You want to call me a traitor to my face, lad?”
Ashland scowls, his jaw tight. “You brought a fucking Kopolov into the house.”
“I did.” Seamus’s voice is calm, but there's steel underneath. “Obviously. I did more than that, actually. I put the man she was about to marry into the ground.” He turns to face Ashland directly, like he’s challenging him to argue. “Does that say anything about my decision?”
Then he steps to my side, fingers weaving through mine like it’s second nature. He bends down, kisses my temple, slow and deliberate, and says, “I love her.” Then, eyes back on Ashland, “You want to take this outside?”
A shiver runs through me at the tone of his voice.
Ashland hesitates. Then, quietly, “No, sir.”
He sits down.
“Kyla?” Seamus asks, narrowing his eyes at his sister. “I heard a tone I don’t care for when you were speaking to my wife. Want to try that again in front of me?”
She answers softly, looking down at the table. “No. But give us a minute, Seamus. I’ve given you several.”
But he snaps, sharp. “My decisions are between me and Dad. I’ll demand nothing but respect from the rest of you. Zoya is one of us. She’s Zoya McCarthy now.”
“She’ll never be Zoya McCarthy,” Kyla hisses. She pushes back her chair with a loud scrape, tosses her napkin on the table like it burned her, and storms out.
Caitlin lets out a breath like she’s been holding it for minutes. “Oh dear,” she mutters.
Seamus moves half a step like he’s about to go after her, but Caitlin reaches out, gently pressing a hand to his arm.
“No, son. Leave it. I’ll have a word with her.”
My heart thuds.
I don’t want them to fight over me though. That’s not what I came here for. That’s not what love is.
“Now, lad, come and sit. Eat. Have some of this delicious food your wife made for us.”
“My wife?” he echoes, looking at me with a kind of wonder, like the word tastes new and sweet on his tongue. “They put you to work already?” he asks, taking a seat.
“Mm-hmm,” I say, a little sheepishly. “The housekeeper had to leave.”
Caitlin chuckles, then turns to him. “You know how I am at cooking?”
“I do know how you are at cooking,” he replies, grinning apologetically, and I stifle a giggle.
“This looks delicious, Zoya,” he says, his eyes scanning the table.
Bronwyn leans in, smirking. “See? Now I know why he married you. You know how to cook. The rest of us are absolute shite at it.”