Page 26

“I prefer this dress, Mother.”

“Ladies,” Art says, gesturing toward the table. “Let’s sit.”

Of course, they put Eilish beside Fionn and Mara ushers me to the seat across from him.

Wonderful.

I lower myself into the chair, smoothing the linen napkin over my thighs as one of the staff pours champagne into my glass.

“The bangles are a nice touch.” Fionn nods to my wrist.

I laugh into my champagne flute. “They’re not bangles.”

His brows drift up. “Oh, really? What would you call them?”

“Cuffs, Harrington.” I sigh. “They’re called cuffs.”

Mara speaks quietly to Eilish beside him, and Alasdair reaches for his cigar case, but Fionn’s attention stays on me.

“Interesting.”

I smile. “Try not to be dazzled by them. I know beautiful things confuse simple men.”

His mouth curves. “I wouldn’t say confuse.”

“No?”

“Distract.”

I reach for the gravy boat at the same time as he does. His knuckles skim over mine, and for one stupid breath, our gazes clash, and I notice the flare of his pupils, blackness swallowing amber.

After a quick breath, I pull back, and he pours gravy over his meat, unaware that my heart is racing and the skin under my dress is covered in goosebumps.

“Manners, Sera,” he says. “Harringtons first.”

“Choke on it.”

The word slips beneath Art’s voice, quiet enough to behave itself in company.

I set my champagne flute next to my freshly poured water and suddenly have nothing to do with my hands. “You should be used to shiny things, given ya grew up surrounded by them.”

He glances down the table at his father, then brings his dark eyes to mine. “I prefer things a little less polished.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” I tap my nails on the tablecloth. “I’m sure you ruin everything ya touch.”

His gaze drops to my hand, brief and exact, before lifting to my mouth. “Probably.”

I resist flipping him off because I’m a guest here and understand how the game works, how manners override morals.

Mara leans across Eilish. “Your fiancée looks lovely, doesn’t she, Fionn?”

“Beautiful,” he replies, full of respect for the woman beside him.

However, that’s all he says. One word. Nothing more elaborate or charming.

I lean sideways while a server sets a plate of carved turkey in front of me. “Lucky her. Nothing says romance like a man forcing a woman to be his bride.”

“Sera,” Eilish murmurs.