Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Seamus leans across the table, holding my gaze. “Your entire fucking life, you've been loyal to this family. Every decision you've made has been for the betterment of our family.” His hands clench into fists. “There's no one more loyal than you, Ashland.”
I nod.
“I've watched what you've sacrificed for us. For our family.”
I nod again, a lump rising in my throat when the face of my brother flashes into my memory.
“Aye,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“We'll do everything we can. We will fight to the death. Do you hear me, Ashland? To the death.” He smiles suddenly and winks at me. “Don't fuck it up with the girl.”
I turn and head toward the kitchen.
Seamus is on my side. All my brothers are on my side. If we make the move… if we do this right.
For fuck's sake. We walk a knife's edge. One brisk blow of wind, and we'll teeter off to our deaths. I could bring destruction down on the whole family.
Or.
Or… we’ll go down with them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bianca
My mind is absolutely reeling. Ashland is a McCarthy. The McCarthys who I have been conditioned to hate.
The McCarthys knew my father died working for them, and Ashland has verifiable proof that the McCarthys have been taking care of my family financially for years.
Marcus doesn't love me.
Marcus is a murderer.
But right now? There's something about being in the large, warm, comforting kitchen at the McCarthy family home that makes me feel welcome in a way I don't think I ever have. I'm not used to this.
The camaraderie between the sisters. The warmth and welcome.
Their mother sweeps into the room, tall and majestic, with kindness in her eyes I can spot a mile away. She has dark-black hair that's silver at the edges, swept up in a messy bun that’s kind of cute. She wears a pretty but simple cream-colored lounge set. I want to hug her.
“Well, hello,” she says, giving me a bright smile. “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”
“Mam,” Bronwyn says‚ the youngest of all. She's rosy-cheeked and fair, with long blonde hair, and her eyes dance with merriment. “You're not going to believe this,” she says with a grin. “This is Bianca White.”
She pauses, as if waiting for her mam to have a moment of recognition. But she doesn't.
“The name's familiar,” she says.
“No, it's not who she is that's going to surprise you. You probably wouldn't know… something about her father working for us. Right?” she says to me.
I nod.
Caitlin smiles back at me and winks.
“Then what's going to take me by surprise, lass?” she says, tipping her head to the side.
“It's who brought her here today,” Bronwyn says, as if announcing she just found the juiciest bit of gossip to share with her mother.
She looks at me. “Who'd you come with, Bianca? What a lovely name for such a lovely girl.” There’s an authenticity in her voice that makes me warm inside.
No one ever calls me beautiful. No one except Ashland. I swallow.
“Ashland?” I say, and I don't know why it comes out as a question.
She stares and blinks. “Ashland? Are you joking?” She grins, walks over to me, and grabs both my hands, squeezing them. “You're with Ashland, love? That's why he's been so secretive.”
“Aye,” I say with a smile. “Things are complicated, but aye, I'm with him.”
“Oh,” she says, brushing the air as if the complications don't matter. “Every single relationship in our family is complicated, lass. That's what happens when you're, you know, the McCarthys. But wait. Oh, right. It was your da who managed the ring, wasn't it?” she says, as if cataloging the memories as she taps her lips.
“Aye.”
Bronwyn shakes her head.
“It's alright,” I say. “At this point, I think it's important to talk about the truth. You have to understand, Mrs. McCarthy—”
“Please,” she says, reaching for my hand. “Call me Caitlin, lass. Sit down, have a cuppa. I always say there's nothing like a cup of tea to settle you, right? Have a seat, love.”
I take a seat, and tears prick the backs of my eyes. My throat is tight, and I feel like I'm going to cry. I need to, I think, but not now. Mam's always told me to suck it up, pull myself up by the bootstraps, and whatnot. But here, Caitlin's patting the table beside her and gesturing for somebody in the corner to bring a plate of shortbread.
I look over, and Erin's smiling. “Here,” she says. “Caitlin's right, Bianca. Everything in this family is complicated, so don't apologize for that. But I've been thinking…” She pulls a chair across from me. “I have some questions.” She shakes her head. “No, not now.”
“What is it?” I ask, looking at the shortbread. The other girls tuck in, and I take one myself.
While they talk, Caitlin pours me a bracing cup of hot tea. It's so hot, it nearly burns my tongue. But she's right—it does help. I swallow a bite of shortbread, and Bronwyn pushes the plate toward me to take another.