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ONE
ANA
My world is spinning around me. I feel dizzy, like I could faint. Dimly, I realize I’m grabbing onto the countertop for support, staring into the blazing green eyes of the gorgeous woman standing in front of me with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at me as if I’m her worst enemy.
Which, I suppose if what she’s said is true, I am.
“I’m Saoirse O’Sullivan. I’m Liam’s fiancée. And just who the fuck are you?”
“What do you mean, you’re his fiancée?” I manage, focusing on the first part in an effort to avoid answering the second. “I—he hadn’t mentioned—”
“Well, he wouldn’t, now would he, if he were keeping another girl in his house?” Saoirse looks disgusted, shaking her head. “I want to say I don’t believe this, but in some ways, it makes some things make better sense—”
“No.” I shake my head firmly, because even if she’s quickly coming around,Irefuse to believe it. “He doesn’t have a fiancée. He would have told me, he wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t what?” Saoirse looks at me keenly, and I catch a glimpse of something sparkling on her finger in the light of the apartment, something that I don’t want to look at too closely, so that I don’t have to admit what it is.
But Saoirse clearly isn’t going to give me that luxury. She raises her left hand squarely in front of my face, her own creased with anger, her lips thin and set.
“Aye,” she snaps, that slight hint of a Gaelic accent slipping through again. I love hearing Liam’s. It makes his voice sound smooth as cream mixed with whiskey, like an Irish coffee, and just as full of heat when it slips into his voice because he’s aroused. I hate hearing it on this woman’s voice, sharp and cutting, slicing into me and making me think of Liam right now, at this moment, like that—when there’s a very real chance that he’s lied to me. Or, if not actively lied, lied by omission.
How could he not tell me if he had a fiancée?
I’d been with Alexandre, I’ve fully admitted that, along with my feelings for him. But I hadn’t beenengagedto him. I hadn’t—
I’d promised to stay with him, true. I’d said I loved him. Despite the fact that my bond to him had been one of someone who was owned, I’d meant those words when I’d said them. Deep down, I can’t argue that Liam having been engaged prior to us is so different, but still—
How could he not have told me?
Saoirse waves her hand in front of my eyes, as if trying to pull me back to the present. “Take a good look at it,” she snaps. “My grandmother’s ring, put on my finger by Liam McGregor, in front of my father and uncle and Father Donahue, promises made by us both in front of all three of them and God. So whoever you are, I’d thank you to tell me what you’re doing in my fiancé’s apartment.”
I open my mouth and close it again, stunned by the sight of the ring on her finger, the oval diamond glittering in the sun, flanked by emeralds the same bright green as her eyes. Natural emeralds, not the overly dark green that lab-created ones take on. They’re set in yellow gold, the band filigreed on the sides. It looks like an heirloom piece, an antique.
I feel sick, thinking of Liam sliding it onto her finger with a promise. Her grandmother’s ring. In front of a priest.
Those things hold weight. Not just to him and Saoirse and me, but also her family. And, in a more far-reaching sense, I suspect to the organization he runs, too. I don’t know the ins and outs of Irish crime. I barely know the Bratva, and my father was involved in that.
The last time I got mixed up in the dealings of a crime organization, I was tortured nearly to death. Since then, I’ve tried to avoid it—clearly with limited success. First Alexei, and now falling for Liam, who is probably playing a dangerous game if this woman is to be believed.
But I can barely think about that. All I can think about is that he’s promised to marry someone else. He’s been in my bed,insideme, pleasuring me and calling out my name as I repeatedly did the same for him. He’s sworn to me he loves me, held back his kisses and his desire waiting on me to feel the same, forcing us to wait to sleep together again until I’d forgotten Alexandre. And all the while, he’s been doing that—while engaged to someone else?
I can’t believe it. Iwon’t.
Saoirse drops her hand, looking at me with frustration written across every one of her pretty features. “Are you an idiot?” she asks, narrowing her eyes. “I’ve asked you twice now—”
My thoughts circle back to something she’d said before. A name. “Father Donahue,” I blurt out, and Saoirse narrows her eyes.
“What about him?”
“You said he performed your—your engagement? What do you mean?” The idea of that seems strange to me. I’ve never pictured getting engaged other than having the man ask me in some romantic setting. Sofia didn’t so much get engaged as getting muscled to the cathedral between Luca and Don Rossi, and Caterina’s engagement was decided without her present, and her wedding was equally rushed.
Saoirse sighs. “It’s a tradition of the Kings, when their highest-ranking is engaged to be married. He signs a document with a priest, the bride-to-be, and two of her male family members present.” She shrugs. “It’s all very archaic, as many of their traditions are, but not without its charms. And,” she adds, her eyes narrowing. “Liam performed that ceremony withme. So that brings me back to the question—”
“Father Donahue,” I blurt out again, and Saoirse rolls her eyes, but I don’t stop to let her talk. “He’s in Manhattan. Is that where you live?”
“No.” Saoirse looks at me as if I’m a bit slow. “I live here in Boston. With my father—”
“So how could he have performed your…your engagement?”
