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“You should. The official opening is in a few days.” I turn to Carter as he laughs and shakes his head at Finn’s crazy confidence. But I don’t doubt that if Finn would try a little harder, he could probably get any of us in bed. The man is too pretty for his own good. “It was much, much better than I expected. The owner did a pretty fucking good job. Even if you just go to enjoy the shows, it’s still worth it.”
“Remind me who the owner is?” Finn cocks his head.
“Loreley Dietrich. You should really pay more attention to this shit man.” I answer.
“Or Lulu. She’s O’Rourke’s best friend.” Madds shows up out of nowhere, dropping his bulky frame on the sofa next to me, and I can’t help but notice the scraped, bruised hands. He fought bare-knuckled again… fucking idiot.
“Liam’s?!” Finn gasps.
“Morrigan, you idiot.”
“Oh. Yeah, I remember her from the party… she was holding on to this guy for dear life. I think she was just as shocked as Morrigan was. She looked terrified…” Finn lays back in his seat as Madds hums his distaste for that entire situation.
“I think it’s time.” Carter nods toward Jonathan, and we watch as the bartender leaves their table after delivering their drinks.
I get up, grabbing my drink, and walk toward the man that can make or break our whole plan.
* * *
MORRIGAN
I burstthrough the front door of a house that hasn’t felt like home since a month ago, when my parents all but sold me off to the highest fucking bidder. And my mother, my goddamn mother, should have known better, because she’s one of two people I told that I wanted to break it off for real with Ryan. One of two people that I had the guts to admit why. Now I know why she was insistent on me holding off.
“I didn’t love your father when I married him. Our parents worked in the same business, and back then… you wanted to strengthen your legacy, uniting two fronts was the best thing. I learned to love him. I would never take it back.”
Fucking liar. She gave me that speech the last time I talked to her about this. I wasn’t even the one to open the subject and now I can’t help but wonder if she discussed it with my father and he pushed her to talk to me.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” I storm through the house, straight to the living room, where I know she sits reading her magazine, as she always does at this time. “You’re seriously going ahead with this charade? I just got a fucking call about a cake tasting.”
“Language!” She barely raises her head from the magazine, her eyes flashing to me briefly before they return to whatever she was reading.
“Don’t you dare. I can’t do this, you know, bend to your will like I’m still that kid that took your word as law, depended on you, and thought she wanted the same things as you, just because that’s what you told her. I’m not marrying him. I’m not as stupid as you to ruin my life.”
I’m fucking seething. Since the moment that bakery called me, I’ve felt the need to smash everything around me. But I was in the office at the club, and I worked too hard on that place to destroy it.
My mother watches me, her eyes cold, emotionless in a way that makes me wonder if she’s always seen me as a puppet, if my only purpose here is for the strings attached to my limbs to be pulled to the will of its master. She cocks her head ever so slightly, her gaze deepening with the movement, my spine urging my body to straighten.
“Are you done?” That eerie calmness transfers to her tone of voice as well, and I wish her words would surprise me. Yet they only disappoint.
I nod.
“For some strange, unknown to me, and useless reason,” my father’s deep, threatening voice booms behind me and I stiffen, “you seem to believe that you have a choice.” I watch my mother’s reaction to the man behind me and one thing becomes clear: I’m not the only puppet here.
I don’t turn to him, my body completely still as I stand in the middle of the large living room of our…theirhouse. They insisted so much on me coming back here after university. I foolishly thought for a long time, that it was their low-key love or some protective parental instinct to help me out while I saved my own money to buy a place. But it was just as I always feared… all about control, and now they’re refusing to let me move, unless it’s to Ryan’s house.
What a fucking idiot I was.
That was never the case. And I’m not sure if I feel betrayed, disappointed, or just… broken.
My father appears to my right, walking toward the gaudy, floral sofa, where my mother sits, without sparing me a glance.
When did they become this? Or was I that blind?
“I’m not your slave, of course I have a choice.” My tone grows urgent, but I don’t yell, don’t raise my voice too high, which is a feat in and of itself since I can feel that all too familiar simmer under my skin.
My father sits down on the sofa, and I swear the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway has slowed down its ticking for effect.
“Mmm… true. You’re not a slave, and you do have a choice. Many, actually.” He speaks in a low, far too calm tone, and I’m just about to smile, victorious, thankful for some fatherly instinct, but then he carries on. “You have the choice between Coveview Estate or Ruthford Hotel for the reception.”
