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“We’re going to have a lovely memorial for him, and I want you there to say a few words. About how he was a lovely father.”
I stiffen, bile pooling in my stomach as a low growl rumbles out of Niall. My mother looks at him sideways, returning her gaze to my face.
“My father was Paul Rogan,” I grit out. “NotHart.”
“Father figure, then.” Mother waves her hand airily like it doesn’t matter. “It would be a nice show of support. I know there were all those nasty rumors after you went to live with your father, no doubt started by him out of jealousy. Still, this show of unity will put them to rest once and for – what are youdoing?”
She breaks off her upsetting monologue with a gasp, her wide, horrified eyes staring at Niall, where he has lifted his left hand to stroke the nape of my neck comfortingly. His right hand is clenched into a fist, pressed firmly against the outside of his right thigh, and his jaw and eyes are tight.
I think he’s stroking my neck to calm himself as much as to calm me down.
“Stroking her neck,” Niall replies easily, his tone not matching the tightness in his face.
“Stop that!” Mother glares at him. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“Sure, and why on earth wouldn’t I?” Niall shoots back. With a huff, Mother turns back to me.
“Also, I think it would be a nice touch if we put your name as Amelia Remington on the order of service.”
She actually flinches at the frankly terrifying sound that snarls out of Niall’s chest.
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” Niall grits out at her. Mother blinks at him like she doesn’t understand how he could talk to her in such a manner.
“This doesn’t concern you. I see no reason why it should make a difference whether she’s listed in the order of service as Amelia Remington or Amelia Rogan,” Mother sniffs, raising her nose at him. Niall’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Seeing as her name is Amelia Byrne, it would make a great deal of difference,” he growls back at her, his hand leaving my neck and gripping my shoulder.
My mother’s eyes widen in shock, zeroing in on his hand on my shoulder. Specifically on the fourth finger of his hand where his plain silver wedding ring lies. They flash down to my lap, where I’m twisting my fingers, taking in my gorgeous Claddagh ring.
“You, you….” Mother mouths in outrage. I clench my hands into fists, holding them in my lap.
“I have no intention of attending any sort of service for Hart, Mother. And as for all those nasty little rumors. They were all true.”
Standing, I cast my eye over to her precious figurines. “Oh no.” Sarcasm drips off my every word. “It looks like your favorite little doggy figurine has a broken leg.”
She leaps to her feet, shrieking and hurrying over to the figurine Niall broke, cradling it and wailing as Niall snorts behind me.
“Have ye suffered enough, lass?” he asks me quietly.
Sighing, I wrap my hands around his bicep, hugging myself close to him. “You know what, Niall? I think I have. Take me home?”
“With pleasure,amhuirnín,” Niall presses a kiss to my hair and sweeps me out of the room.
He lifts me into his SUV, climbing in and pulling away from the curb. We haven’t driven five minutes before he growls at me.
“Are ye okay,amhuirnín?”
I shrug, smoothing my hands over my skirt. “Yes. When I moved in with Dad, it hurt that she didn’t take my side. That she refused to hear anything against Hart. But now….” Wrinkling my nose, I smile as Niall’s hand reaches over, covering mine and squeezing. “Now I know she’s not worth the effort of being upset. I refuse to let her bother me. I don’t need her to be my family. I have you.”
“And so ye do,momhuirnín dílis.” Niall’s voice is gruff with quiet emotion. His eyes are burning into mine when I glance across the car at him. “Why did ye smash the figurine?”
Iknewhe was going to bring that up. I shrug and sigh again, rolling my eyes.
“Didn’t you see her back there? She cares more about those freaking things than about the fact her husband molested me. Her daughter.”
“Don’t remind me, lass,” Niall grits out, his hand disappearing from mine to grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.
Reaching across, I stroke the backs of my fingers against his cheek. He leans into my touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he blows out a heavy breath. He lifts a hand off the steering wheel when his eyes open, catching my hand and pressing my fingers against his lips.
