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“I suspect all the girls feel that way.”
“I like them, you know. Keely and Ash and Dara, but also your brothers and your mother. I think they’re good people.”
He’s quiet for a moment. I can tell what he’s thinking.
Good and Crowley are not words that get mixed up often, unless someone’s saying how skilled his organization is at killing.
But he seems contemplative. When he speaks, it’s like his voice is far away. “Are we good? We take care of our family, protect the people we love, defend those in our organization. I would murder a man for you, Alisa. Does that make me good? My brothers would do the same for their wives. Are they good? I don’t think the word has meaning when it comes to people like us. To be good requires more than self-preservation. More than I can offer at least. No, I think the word falls short. We aren’t good. But we are Crowleys, and we protect our own.”
I take his hand, squeezing it. “That’s good enough for me.”
“I meant to tell you earlier, but I suppose now is a good time. I took care of your father.”
I don’t reply right away. I know what he means. My father is gone. I should feel something: relief, joy, sadness. Instead, my father is only a cold emptiness in my guts. “Do I want to know the details?”
“No, but I’ll tell you, if you ask.”
I raise his hand to my lips and kiss it. “No. Thank you.”
“That’s what I mean when I say I’m not a good person. But I do love you very much.” He looks down, the corners of his lips pulling into a slight smile. A rare sight from Liam. “Should we go inside before I get even more introspective?”
“Please, this philosophizing is bumming me out.”
“Wouldn’t want to damper your big day.”
I get on my toes and kiss him. “Thank you. And I love you. And if you’re not good, at least you’re mine.”
“That’s all I need.”
We hold hands as we head back into the party.
