I’ve been sticking to the wall ever since.
It’s easy when I consider approximately three people I know are here. Four if you count Oona, who keeps shooting disapproving glances at anyone she believes isn’t eating enough.
Killian hasn’t said a word to me since the hallway incident. He’s across the room, deep in conversation with an older, white-haired, lanky man who vaguely resembles the other Callahans. His wife lingers beside him, elegant in pearls and a shawl. They beckon over a younger woman with brown curly hair who must be their daughter.
The older man claps Killian on the shoulder and gesturestoward the young woman like he’s making an introduction. She smiles up at Killian, hope in her eyes.
I look away before seeing his reaction, forcing down a sip from my wine cooler.
I have no interest watching him mingle with another woman; Bridget was enough for me.
It doesn’t matter either way.
He’s made it clear what’s happened between us was a fluke. He doesn’t see me that way, and Ihave toget it out of my head that there’s anything between us.
My gaze scans the rest of the room to distract myself.
Ronan and Simone are near the fireplace, both radiant and happy. Ronan’s skin is tinged red as if he got too much sun during their honeymoon. They’re chatting with an older Black couple I’m pretty sure are Simone’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Langston, who have a natural regal aura about them as they converse with their daughter and her husband.
Sean is being Sean, which is to say he’s flirting brazenly with Monique near the open bar. She seems to be tolerating it for the time being. Apparently she’s newly single after dumping her Korean attorney boyfriend, according to the gossip I picked up earlier. Sean probably thinks that makes her fair game.
Lochlan’s off in a corner with Seamus Callahan, the patriarch of the family. I study the old man for a moment, noting the way he leans heavily on his cane, a tremor in his hand.
He looks… frail.Fragile.
Almost as if a strong wind could knock him over.
Honestly, I wonder if he should even be here, or if he’d be better off in bed.
Mrs. Callahan—Ronan and Lochlan’s mother—is stationed at the bar too. She’s with Chantal, who seems a little nervous about the third drink she’s slurped down. Oonafinally interjects and drags her off, guiding her toward a chair to sit down.
All things I catalog from my corner. Ever the watcher at social events. Never the participant.
Always the wallflower.
“You know,” says a voice from my right side, “corners are meant for furniture. Not beautiful women like yourself.”
I glance over to find Cian with a glass of whiskey in hand. He’s cleaned up nicely for the party, wearing a button-up like most of the men in attendance. His tattoos still creep into view, rising up his neck and even his shaven skull.
“Oh,” I mumble. “I prefer the corners. Less crowded.”
“Fair enough.” He leans against the wall next to me, surveying the room. “I do too, if I’m honest. Corners don’t talk back.”
My lips twitch slightly. “That’s basically it. Parties are… overstimulating. All the noise. The people. Thesmells.”
Cian raises a brow. “Smells?”
“Not everyone smells good,” I explain. “Some people spray way too much perfume or cologne.”
He releases a thick chuckle, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sounds like you’re not so covertly talking about Sean. He wears that damned Ferocious Lion cologne he thinks makes him smell good to the ladies, but honestly? Smells like piss in an alleyway.”
“He might’ve been on my smells list,” I admit with a small laugh.
I happen to sense someone glaring from across the room. My gaze connects with Killian to find him watching us. A scowl darkens his features as he does.
To be honest? I can’t say I care.
Let him scowl.
