I show up to Callahan House the day of Chantal’s surprise birthday party excited but also with a belly fluttering from nerves.
Parties have never been my thing, even when I’m an invited guest. Simone and Monique made me promise I’d come.
My biggest reservation was running into Killian again (for the first time in months). Simone assured me she’d heard from Ronan he’s deep in training for his next match and likely won’t be coming. Believable considering parties have never been his thing either.
With no other excuse to get out of the occasion, I decide to keep my promise.
I’ve even bothered to go out and buy a party dress. Nothing fancy or particularly expensive, but I figured the occasion did call for something other than my usual T-shirt and jeans uniform.
The dress is a maroon A-line skater dress with a skirt that swishes and feels somewhat formal without being too much.
Best of all? It haspockets.
“So happy you came!” Simone exclaims the second I turnup in the foyer. She darts toward me for a quick, one-armed hug. “Monique wanted to make a bet whether you would or not.”
Monique, who’s standing off to the side with her arms folded, says, “And just so it’s clear, I was the one who was going to bet a C note that you’d be a no show.”
“Not surprised,” I say with a snicker. “But also… respect. Because I probably would’ve bet against myself too.”
“We’re pretty much done with the prep,” Simone says. “Though Oona’s made a couple of the kitchen staff cry. But I figure I’ll offer them a raise when she’s not looking.”
The women lead me through the rest of the house to where people have gathered on the terrace. Several buttonmen are already hanging out, as well as a few other people Monique explains are art world friends of Chantal’s.
“I can’t believe this has actually been kept a secret,” I say.
“Lochlan deserves an Oscar for keeping it from her this long. He’s told me that she’s been harassing him every other hour to know what he has planned.” Simone offers me a drink as she takes one for herself from the tray the staff have carried out. “Honestly? We all deserve an Oscar at this point. You saw the group chat—she’s been texting everybody about their ‘low-key dinner plans’ and how she thinks he’s up to something. I had to mute my phone so I didn’t accidentally spoil anything with my laughing emoji.”
I smile mostly because I’ve felt the same way.
Though I rarely contribute to the group chat they’ve made me a part of, I’ve enjoyed watching Chantal unravel the more suspicious she’s become.
Only a few months ago, I didn’t have any of this. I had five bucks to my name and was sleeping in and out of shelters, literally on the run from the Bratva.
Now I’m standing in a beautiful multimillion-dollarhouse surrounded by people who actually seem to care about me, and I’m loosely tied to the Irish mob.
It’s so crazy it feels like life has become a movie.
The time finally comes for Chantal’s arrival. Lochlan innocuously leads her through the home onto the terrace where everyone’s ready to scream, “SURPRISE!”
Chantal’s jaw drops open in pure shock. She surveys the people gathered on the terrace and then glances over at her fiancé as it clicks.
This is her birthday party.
Then she’s squealing in delight, throwing her arms around Lochlan and kissing him so much she leaves lipstick smudges on his face.
Several people on the terrace laugh. I do too, sipping from my cocktail. I’ve naturally started to gravitate toward the edges. Not because I’m not enjoying myself. More so because I’m naturally more comfortable on the outskirts.
The introverted wallflower in me will always prefer observing to being deep in the mix.
It’s fun for me to watch Chantal and the others from a short distance, smiling to myself as she moves on from Lochlan to her best friends.
But I’m not the only one hovering on the outskirts. I feel his eyes on me with a prickle at the back of my neck.
My gaze wanders, scanning the terrace to pinpoint the cause of the feeling. It only takes half a second before I do.
Killian’s standing on the opposite end of the terrace, seemingly having just arrived, in a plain V-neck and some jeans. His hair’s a little messy as if he’s come straight from the gym, and the bruises on his knuckles corroborate that theory.
Almost three months apart, and he’s exactly as I remembered him—broad-shouldered and moody and the only man thatmakes my heart flutter.
