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I really didn’t want to deal with this. My head was spinning. Doing something was adding complication after complication.
“Adriana…” my mother began, but I cut her off.
“Let me handle Tristan’s decision in my own way.” I met my father’s eyes, imploring him to see reason. “Give me a chance to prevent a war between our families. Maybe there’s still hope for peace?”
My parents exchanged a glance. Carmen sighed. “Look, just let the kid grieve, okay?” she said. “The guy hit it and quit it. Ade’s feelings are hurt.”
“Thanks for the assist, sis,” I said, glaring at her.
“Are you telling me that piece of shit had sex with you and now he won’t marry you?” my dad said.
I elbowed Carmen hard before she could speak. “No. She’s just being an asshole,” I said. “Right, Carm?”
Her eyes widened. “Right,” she said. “Totally.”
My parents fell silent, the tension in the room thickening. My father furrowed his brow, clearly struggling to process the information. Carmen glanced at me with a mix of concern and guilt. It was clear that my attempt to divert their attention had failed miserably.
“I can’t believe Tristan would do something like this,” my mother spoke, her voice filled with disbelief and anger. “He knew what he meant to our family.”
“You mean what the pact meant to our family,” I said. “You don’t like Tristan. Why did he wait until now to tell us?”
“He didn’t,” my father said. “I was just hoping he would change his mind. I gave him time to make this right. It’s too late now.”
I tried to swallow, my throat dry.
My father’s expression hardened as he took a step towards me. “We’re not going to let him get away with it,” he declared firmly. “We’ll make him pay for what he’s done.”
I glared at my sister. “Are you happy, Carmen?” I asked her. “You just started a war.”
My sister glared at me, defiantly. “No, Ade,” she said. “Tristan Callahan started a war. You just happened to be the first victim. And we’re going to get him back.”
Chapter Eight: Tristan
“So you’re not going to marry her,” Kieran said, taking a sip of his beer.
“Isn’t that what I just said?” I retorted, making no attempt to mask the annoyance in my voice. We were seated in our usual booth at the back of The Irish Rover, a run-down pub that had been our turf since before I could remember. Not the Crooked Thorn; we didn’t go drinking there if we didn’t want to run into my dad, and his temper had been worse than usual lately.
He was angry. I supposed he had every right to be.
Kieran’s gaze never wavered from mine, his expression impassive. “You understand the implications of your decision, don’t you?”
“Of course, I’m not an imbecile,” I scoffed. “There’s going to be hell to pay. But it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”
Kieran took another gulp of his beer before setting it down. “There’s more at stake here than just your own life, Tristan.”
I clenched my jaw as anger washed over me. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I made this decision lightly?”
“I think,” he said. “That you’re a bit like my mum.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
He shook his head. “Not in the slightest. But she was more idealistic than dad ever was. It’s one of the reasons...”
I waited for him to finish as I caught the rest of my boys arriving from the corner of my eye.
“It’s one of the reasons dad is still around and my mum is, well, not. Both of our mums, really.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I took a deep breath, my throat constricting with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. That, according to Dusty Smith, was not the reason our mothers weren’t around. I wasn’t exactly going to say that, though. “So what are you saying, Kieran? That I’m too naive? Too foolish to understand the real world?”
