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He turns sharply and walks away then, leaving a dozen unanswered questions scattered through my mind—until they all coalesce under one realization.
One that, depending on what I do about it, could change everything.
6
SAOIRSE
“Saoirse? Are you ready?Saoirse?”
My mother’s voice outside my bedroom door makes me cringe. Iambasically ready, just putting on the last touches of my mascara, but the way she’s calling out my name makes me wish I wasn’t, just so I could put off going downstairs longer. The fact that Maggie will be at this bridal shower is the only thing that makes it even mildly tolerable—that, and the fact that I’ve been raised to do this very thing.
To smile, be polite, and endure events with people whose company I don’t enjoy for the good of my family, for the good of the Kings, for the good of the life that I’ve been bred to live. All of this, from the pretty white cotton eyelet dress I’m wearing to my Louboutin sandals to the sparkling diamond earrings in my earlobes, is because of my family. Because of who I am.
I’ve never even tried imagining a life without it. I wouldn’t know how.
Connor is my way forward. Making nice with the women downstairs and establishing my place in their hierarchy is my way forward. Any pleasures of my own that I want to reach for will come later, after that. I remind myself of that fact as I recap my mascara and take a deep breath.
“I’m coming!” I call out, only to hear the door creak open. I grit my teeth in preparation for it to be my mother, only to see Maggie’s curly crop of hair poke around the door and her wide grin.
“I told her she was needed downstairs,” Maggie says, slipping into my room and closing the door. “Y’know, I used to think this room was stupidly grand as a kid, and I always thought it was just because Iwasa kid and it seemed so different from mine, but it really is. You live a different kind of life, Saoirse.”
She’s not wrong. I don’t have to look around to know what she’s seeing—the vaulted ceilings, the French doors leading out onto my own private balcony, the stone fireplace and floor length gilded mirror, the thick rugs over a gleaming hardwood floor and the matching mahogany furniture, culminating in a four-poster canopy bed fit for a princess. I’d been in her childhood room a few times, visiting her family with her after we’d made friends in college, and I know it was nothing like this. I remember the shag carpet, the popcorn ceiling, the twin bed lovingly made up with a quilt Maggie’s mom had sewn herself. I’d felt an odd nostalgia every time I’d been there for a life that I can’t even fathom living, a simpler life, with so many more choices.
It felt ungrateful, and it still does, but it doesn’t change the fact that there was a lingering ache every time I was there, or that I feel faintly embarrassed, knowing what Maggie is seeing in my room.
I want to be more than just the spoiled rich girl that Connor sees, more than just the broodmare that my family expects me to be.
But first, I have to do what they want me to do.
“Let’s go.” I give Maggie an encouraging smile. “No time like the present to get it over with, right?”
“You shouldn’t want to get all of thisover with,” Maggie mutters. “This should be an exciting time in your life, not—” she breaks off as she sees the expression on my face. “Or maybe I just don’t understand.”
“I just need you to be supportive,” I whisper as we walk down the stairs. “This is hard enough as it is.”
“Supportive. Got it.” Maggie gives me her best smile. “I’ve always been good at that.”
“And one day, this will be you, and I’ll live vicariously through your excitement.”
Maggie snorts. “Not bloody likely. I haven’t met a man yet who could tolerate me.”
“You mean you haven’t met a man whoyoucan tolerate,” I say with a laugh as we reach the bottom of the stairs, and cross to the sunroom where my mother has laid out the bridal shower brunch.
It’s gorgeous, I have to admit that much. Two long tables are full of food—waffle boards piled with mini waffles, silver pitchers of syrups and ceramic bowls of fruit and whipped cream and honey, more fruit towers with cream for dipping, cheese boards with crackers and jam, and more savory foods too. There’s mini quiches, tiny breakfast tacos, a chilled shrimp tower and an omelet station with every topping you can think of—chives, smoked salmon, shaved steak, various cheeses, salsa, avocado—more than I can fully take in, really. There’s a Bloody Mary station and a mimosa station with different juices to mix with the bottles of Cristal champagne, and then another table weighed down with gifts. I wince when I see that. I’d asked my mother to tell any guests not to bring gifts—Connor and I could more than afford to outfit our own home, and his family estate is definitely already equipped with everything we could ever need, but of course she hadn’t listened to me.
What else is new?
My mother and all of her friends are already in the sunroom, of course, the French doors opened out onto the back garden to let in the lightly flower-scented summer breeze, and to the right of the glass-walled sunroom, the pool can be seen sparkling aquamarine in the sunlight. Aside from Maggie, my only other close friends here are Angelica and Lori from college, the other girls my age are all the daughters of my mother’s friends. I know their names, of course, but I’m no closer to them than that.
And, of course, Caterina and Sofia are there, both with glasses of orange juice instead of mimosas, thanks to their pregnancies. Both of them smile politely at me as I walk in, and everyone turns to cheer.
“Saoirse! Everyone, here’s the happy bride-to-be!” my mother crows, standing up. She’s wearing a bright, sunny yellow dress that does nothing for her, cut high at the throat with sleeves to her elbows and a hemline at her knees. My mother is actually a very pretty woman—what some would callhandsome—and she’s kept her figure even into her forties, but she covers it up as much as possible in the name ofpropriety.
It seems like the goal of this life that we’ve all been born into, every single one of us except for my college friends, is to keep us women having as little fun as possible. I think back to my rides on the back of Connor’s motorcycle, the night in the sex club, galloping down an Irish beach with him, and feel a shiver go down my spine.
At least he’s given me some freedom outside of that.My life will have possibilities that my mother’s never did, that none of these other wives and daughters will have, because Connor enjoys coloring a little outside of the lines, bucking tradition where he can. In that, I’m lucky, and I know I should be more grateful than I am.
“This is lovely,” Caterina says, getting up to come stand next to me as Maggie makes a beeline for the brunch table.
