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“Sera?”
“I’ve already told ya,” I say quietly. “He said the wedding will go ahead. Fionn and I aren’t a thing.”
“Well, now that he’s had time to think about it,” she persists. “He might decide you're the woman he wants. You slept in his bed, Sera.”
“Since when does sleeping in a guy's bed make a girl important?”
“Oh, I don’t know—” she says, full of sarcasm. “Maybe since that’s not a typical Fionn move.”
“And how would you know what’s typical for Fionn?”
“Because I asked.”
I blink. “Who the hell did ya ask?”
“Keira.”
My stomach gives a small, unpleasant turn.
“She was here for a bridesmaid fitting,” Eilish says. “I asked a few questions.”
“About Fionn’s sex life?”
“Subtly.”
“Oh, I’m sure. You’re as subtle as a brick to the head.”
“I didn’t ask for positions, Sera.” Her voice turns dry. “I asked if he’d ever brought anyone home before.”
My muscles brace. “And?”
“And no,” she says. “Never. Keira said there were girls at boarding school. Plenty of them, apparently. He had a reputation.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“But no one there was important enough to bring home. He never brought a girlfriend back to the Harrington estate.”
I look away. “Probably because he knew Alasdair expected him to marry a beautiful woman like you.”
“Sera.”
“What?”
“He brought you home to his bed.”
“His house was empty.” I clear my throat as the memory floods me. “It doesn’t mean what ya think it means.”
“No,” she says softly. “I think it means exactly what you’re pretending it doesn’t mean.”
“Fine,” I say, my voice steady. “I’ll be there.”
The ballroom is already full by the time Eilish and I arrive.
Round tables dressed in ivory linen fill the room, champagne moves on silver trays, and the noise is fake laughter over boring conversations.
We stand near one of the picture windows, holding freshly topped-up champagne flutes.
She looks beautiful in a red dress, dark hair pinned up and makeup done by a professional because Mara Kinnane would rather cancel the entire function than let her daughter look tired in public.
