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“Yeah?”
“It’s not a problem… but it could be,” she says with a mature honesty that almost stuns me. “I think, for now, it’s probably the smart thing to do.”
She stares at her hands, looking somewhere between disappointment and shame.
“I won’t buy us any more champagne if it helps.” I try to lighten the mood. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to do a dry month myself.”
Roisin brightens a little when she looks up at me. “Really? You’ll do it with me?”
“I’ll need you to hold me accountable, though,” I tease and she shoves me a little as she leans back against my chest.
“Thank you. It means a lot.”
We lie like that for a while. Sipping coffee and watching the world wake up out the window. Giggling a little at the marks left by last night’s activities.
I don’t bother checking my phone until I’ve finished my coffee. But when I do, I freeze. Roisin senses my tension and goes on high alert.
“What?” she asks.
I read through the message again before showing it to her.
“It’s Jack. Your sister agreed to meet with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Roisin
There’s no conceivable way to calm my emotions.
Leaning against the car parked by a coffee shop on the edge of town, I struggle to even manage my breathing.
It’s been months since I last saw Aimee. Back then, I had no idea that our family was part of the mafia. That her “boyfriend” was the head of a rival family. Losing her had been the worst thing I had ever experienced, and that includes the overdose.
Now… Now she’s waiting for me inside.
Or, at least, she’s waiting to meet with Arnie.
“I can go in first if you’d like,” he says as he locks the car. “I can tell them you’re coming.”
I shake my head. “No point, I’d rather you didn’t announce my arrival anyway.”
“What? Roisin Maguire not wanting to be the center of attention?”
I know what he’s doing, trying to snap me out of my turmoil by making jokes. But it’s difficult not to smile anyway.
“Why am I so nervous?” I ask quietly as he takes my hand. “This is all I ever wanted.”
He thinks about this as he walks us toward the door. “A lot has changed. I think it’s okay to feel like you don’t know what to expect.”
“Right,” I say, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth.
But before he pushes open the door, he pulls me to a halt. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
He means it, too. I can see it in his calm, steady eyes. But he’s already risked so much for me—even just to arrange this meeting. I can’t back out now.
Arnie drops my hand as I turn toward the door, taking a long breath in and out. The now-familiar presence of Arnie’s scent encourages me forward.
The cafe is nondescript, leaning into a 50s’ diner aesthetic with padded booths that may well have been around since then. A few tired-looking baristas linger behind the bar, more concerned with their cuticles than customer service.
