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Art clasps his hands behind his back and squares his shoulders.

“Isn’t all that bad blood between the Harringtons and the Tallons over with now that Saint has Keira?”

“It’s worse than it was before,” I say. “Alasdair Harrington is nothing but a fucking pig in a pricey suit.”

Father Cormac inhales as if my language has cracked a stained-glass window.

Mara’s eyes sharpen. “Your quarrel is with them, Sera. We’ll be proud to welcome Fionn into our family. You should make peace with that if you want to continue your friendship with our daughter.”

“Who she’s forced to marry will never come between us,” I say.

Eilish turns her head, just enough to catch my eye. There’s nothing left to be said when even she can’t fight against the decision.

“A marriage to the Harringtons will offer stability within the families,” Art declares. “Eilish will have a husband who can protect her.”

Eilish takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

Art glances toward the doorway, and Mara reaches for Eilish’s shoulder, brushing imaginary lint from the sleeve of her dress. Father Cormac straightens.

I know before the morning room door opens, from the way Art’s mouth settles into satisfaction, that Fionn is about to walk in here and greet his new fiancée.

The air stalls in my lungs when a male member of staff peers inside. “Mr. Harrington is here, sir.”

“Let him in,” Art calls out.

Fionn Harrington walks into the room without breaking stride.

The midnight blue suit looks new, his tie knotted neatly, his dark hair dry and pushed back from his forehead, but my skin remembers rain, mud, and the weight of him pinning me to the ground.

His gaze reaches the window and passes over me as if I’m furniture.

My pulse kicks at the memory of grinding into him that night and how much I fucking enjoyed it.

I fold my arms, trapping my hands beneath them before my fingers can stray to the fading rope marks.

Alasdair Harrington comes in behind him, wearing a charcoal suit and a smug smile.

“Art,” he says, offering his hand before kissing Eilish on the cheek. “Great news, my dear. You’ll make an excellent wife for Fionn.”

Eilish straightens. “And will he make a good husband for me?”

“I’ll try,” Fionn says, strolling toward her and setting a hand on her shoulder. “Saying yes is the first step. After that, we’ll figure it out.”

“And Sera Tallon is here,” Alasdair says, full of mockery. “How fortunate we are that such a beautiful lady could join us for this important family announcement.”

“Ladies wear dresses and heels, Father.” Fionn glances over at me. “As you can see, the Tallon sister was raised by men.”

For one humiliating moment, I wish I’d worn a dress. Then I want to smash my fist into his mouth for making me think about it.

“And you were raised by staff who clapped when ya used the right fork.”

“It’s called etiquette, Sera,” he deadpans.

“Cute. Did they give ya a certificate, or is the entitlement implied?”

Mara murmurs my name, and Alasdair pulls two cigars from inside his jacket pocket. “Still no dress, no manners, and no sense of occasion, I see.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “That’s rich coming from a man who sends his son to do his dirty work.”