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“So,my brother is low-key obsessed with you,” Beibhinn calls out from her walk-in wardrobe as I sit on the edge of her bed, waiting as she picks out some gym clothes for me to borrow for my first training session.
“Um…what do you mean?” The slight squeak in my voice does nothing to help hide my avoidance.
As much as I hate it, she’s not wrong, but she’s not entirely correct, either. Over breakfast, Liam’s stormy eyes remained on me, watching my every move. I spent the whole meal shifting in my seat and trying to ignore his accessing glare. So much so I can still feel the weight of his scrutiny beneath my skin. Would I call it obsession? Absolutely not.
Hate, want, curiosity, or lust — whatever it was, now is not the time to figure it out. I’m still raw after this morning’s trip down my mother’s memory lane, and the last thing I need to be doing is diving into the mystery that is Liam.
Sure, I can’t deny he was trying to read my mind across the breakfast table, but for what reason?
“He’s just trying to figure me out.”
Beibhinn steps into the room, her brat-tamer brow raised as her knowing glare calls me out. She tosses a pair of deep purple Gym+Coffee yoga pants and a matching sports bra towards me.
“I’m calling bullshit. Everyone at the table could feel the tension between you two. I’m pretty sure my ma was playing wedding bells in her head. I could hear her brain ticking from across the table — a Ryan and a Devereux, a match made in Killybegs’ history,” she punctuates with an eye roll.
I don’t correct her way-off observation. Mainly because I don’t want to discuss my morning breakdown or the fact her brother, who had just met me, could tell there was something wrong with me the moment I stepped foot into the main house. Liam istoogood at reading my body language. Even last night in the gym, he knew whatever was on my mind was keeping me up at night. When Liam looks at me, he’s not looking at my exterior. Instead, he sees past the wall I put up to the emotions I hide inside. It’s unnerving.
Beibhinn has mistaken Liam’s ability to read me for something else, and it’s easier to let her believe whatever fantasy she’s conducting in her head.
“Killybegs’ history?” I ask as I change into the clothes she gave me.
“Yeah. Two of the Killybegs Kings together, making pretty, arsehole elite babies who’ll one day rule the syndicate and all its peasants.” She opens her mouth and then sticks her finger in, pretending to gag as she rummages through her impressive shoe/runner collection.
I laugh at her antics and ask, “Who are the Killybegs Kings?”
“They are the families who run this town, and all of Leinster, really.”
“Wait, that’s twelve counties.”
“Yup. Welcome to the life of the rich and corrupt. Money breeds power, and power breeds fear.” She hands me a brand new pair of Nike Air Zoom Pegasus 38. “Try those.”
Pulling on the runners, I ask, “Who are the families?”
When I arrived in Killybegs, I knew it was home to the wealthy. What I didn’t realise was just how far that wealth ran. If my mam was part of this, why did we spend my childhood on the coattails of poverty? Why did she run from it all? Who was she trying to escape?
At first, I thought it was my father. But now, after reading that note this morning, I’m back at square one.
“Well, there are the Ryans and Devereuxs, obviously.” She holds out her hand and starts counting on her fingers. “Then you have the Kings and the Bradys. Those four families are the originals — old money with enough power to rule the Emerald Isle.”
Beibhinn takes a seat at her vanity and starts applying her face cream. Through her reflection, her eyes find mine. “In the later years, they brought in four more families, with newer money but enough connections overseas to make them valuable players. They’re known as the Bishops and Knights of the Killybegs syndicate — The Reilly, Deegan, Crowe, and Smith families.”
“Soooo,” I draw out. “You’re saying I’m part of some Irish mob family?”
She spins around to face me and tilts her head to the side. “Mob? This isn’t some American tv show, Saoirse. The Killybegs Kings are legitimate businessmen.”
Finally dressed, I access my reflection in her ceiling-to-floor length mirror. “Why do I get the feeling you're being sarcastic?”
“Have you ever met a legitimate businessman who lives on a multi-million-euro estate?”
My face must say it all because she throws her head back with a laugh. “Welcome to Killybegs, Saoirse. Now, move your peachy arse. Time to turn you into the badass you were born to be.”
