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They should have every ounce of that anxiety around her. Alaina was ruthless as an O'Leary, and I'm sure nothing's changed now that she's an O'Connor.
Yet, I also saw a side the public doesn't get to see. She seems a loving mother and wife, kind to her family members, and even showed me sympathy.
It's confusing.
Lauren took me aside after Tynan left and assured me Alaina isn't to be feared, and to act normal around her. I trust Lauren, but letting go of decades of thoughts is hard.
Alaina smiles bigger. "Did ya sleep okay?"
I shrug, admitting, "Not really."
Her face falls. She assures, "Don't worry. Everything will be okay."
"How do ya know? Ya don't know my da."
She studies me a moment, then states, "I do. I know everything about him."
"Why would ya?"
"It's my job."
My insides quiver, and I look away, blinking.
She places her hand on my arm and softens her voice, reiterating, "Everything will be okay, Maeve."
I lift my chin and lock eyes with her, asking, "Why hasn't Tynan come home yet?"
"Sometimes things take time."
"If ya know everything, tell me what my da has gotten himself into," I beg.
Sympathy fills her expression. It's the same look she gave me when I first saw her in the dining room yesterday. She doesn't answer my question, just saying, "Everything will be fine. Tynan will take care of it." She smiles again, slides her arm around my shoulders, and steers me down the hall.
I don't argue and move along with her.
She says, "Let's go have some breakfast."
"I'm not that hungry."
"Well, ya need to eat. Tynan will be upset if ya don't. So will Tully. You should try, okay?"
Unsure what else to do, I cave and nod, agreeing, "Okay. I'll eat a little."
"Good!" She beams and leads me to the breakfast room where the others are already sitting.
My mind never stops racing with questions. I barely hear the conversation, only taking a few bites of soda bread and sipping my tea. After breakfast, I go to the sitting room and turn on the TV, but it might as well not even be on. My worries won't disappear.
It's several more hours until Tynan finally appears. He steps through the doorway, booming, "Hey, princess."
I turn off the TV, jump off the couch, and demand, "Where have ya been? Why's it taken so long? Is Da okay?"
He shuts the door and points to the couch. "Have a seat."
My anxiety reaches a new high. "Why? Where's Da?"
Tynan sits and pulls me next to him, answering, "He's at home."
A bit of relief fills me, but I still question, "He's okay? He's not hurt?"
