Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I follow him into the living room. Seated at the table is a large man with light-brown hair that curls at the ends, his brown eyes dancing with something unreadable. He’s built like Seamus, broad and imposing. He wears a faded tank top and worn jeans. Muscular arms, tattooed sleeves. Tough, but there’s something warm in the way he looks at me.
“My cousin, Colm,” Seamus says. “Colm.” He lifts his chin a bit when he says it, pride in the word.
“My wife, Zoya.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Zoya,” Colm says, giving me a respectful nod.
“Pleased to meet you too,” I reply softly. “I was just about to make Seamus some breakfast. Are you hungry?” I ask, still standing.
“Zoya. Sit.” Seamus barks the order, and I sit without thinking, hands folded in my lap. Colm’s eyes sparkle, like he knows exactly who Seamus is and what I’m learning about him too.
Apparently, he knows Seamus’s ways well.
Seamus rests his larger hand atop mine. “I know, beautiful. And I promise, I’ll give you another chance. But for now, I want you to sit.” His voice is low, protective, not patronizing. He’s not treating me like a child. He’s shielding me. There’s a difference.
“Now, angel,” Seamus says, “Colm’s come to tell me what’s going on.”
“I think if it weren’t for you, ma’am, your father would’ve stormed the damn castle already,” Colm adds, half-joking, half-serious.
Seamus lets out a breath, then turns to me. “Me mom has a way of gentling me dad like no one else could. At least a little.”
“I think your dad suspects something’s up,” Colm says. “But you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, don’t you?”
“No,” Seamus says, quiet but final. “I’ve got very little explaining to do to anybody. What I have a lot of is work.”
He turns to me, his steady gaze locking on mine. “I won’t apologize for taking Zoya. She’s mine. She belongs to me. There is none other.”
Colm smiles and nods once. “Okay.”
That’s so very him. So very Seamus.
“My plan is to stay here with my wife as long as I can,” Seamus says, with calm determination. “And when it’s time… when it’s time for me to go, I will. I reckon we’ve got at least one more night.”
Colm winces. “I think your mom probably talked your dad into that, eh? Branson’s gone for now.”
“Fuck Branson,” Seamus growls.
God. I remember the story he told me about the king and his trusted advisor, the one who tried to usurp the throne.
I know exactly who Branson is.
Colm holds Seamus’s gaze without flinching. “It’s time,” he says.
Seamus doesn’t blink, but something inside him gives, something quiet and worn thin. That weight, the fatigue of it, slides into his features.
“I figured,” he answers. There’s no fight in it, but there’s no surrender either. Just inevitability. Colm’s eyes flick to me again, sharp and cold, but not unkind. He’s measuring me, calculating, adding up the cost of who I am and what I’ve already changed.
“They know,” Colm says. “Or they will. You made it clear when you took her.”
“Aye,” Seamus replies. No apology in it. Just fact.
“Then get ahead of it, Seamus. Show your face before they start knocking down doors. You know how this works.”
His voice shifts, deeper now, more serious, like the gravity just increased in the room. “You know your father. And you’ll lose whatever grace you’ve got left if you don’t move now.”
Seamus doesn’t speak right away. His jaw locks tight, that familiar twitch in his cheek giving him away. He stares at Colm like he’s not sure whether to thank him or break something.
Then, finally, he gives a single nod. “Tomorrow, we’ll go.”
My heart stutters. Tomorrow. It’s not just a looming possibility anymore, but a promise. A plan.
We’re leaving this little pocket of stolen peace. Walking straight into the fire, into the center of all the fury and judgment waiting for us. What we’ll find on the other side, I can’t even guess.
Separation, maybe. Or worse.
Colm exhales, and there’s something gentler in him now. He turns to me with a nod. “Pleased to meet you, love,” he says, and there’s a softness in it I didn’t expect. Then he’s gone, turning on his heel and slipping out the door without another word.
The lock clicks behind him, and Seamus is already moving, bolting it. He presses his forehead to the frame, his breath shaky and low.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
I wait… letting the silence bloom around us.
When he finally turns back to me, that same weariness clouds his eyes, but they’re still alive. Still burning for me, even when everything else in him looks like it’s cracking.
“Come here, angel,” he murmurs tenderly.
So I go. I step into his arms like I’ve always belonged there. He wraps them around me, and I press my face to his chest. I fit perfectly. Like we were carved for this, made for each other in a world that wants us apart.