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 blink.
“Regret taking you?” he says, his voice rising. “Jesus freaking Christ, woman. It was the proudest moment of my life.”
Then he turns, and just like that, he’s gone.
I shower, dress, and get ready. I return to the kitchen, but I’m still stuck on everything we just said… and everything we didn’t.
I text Rafail.
Hey how are you? Things are good here. I met Caitlin McCarthy and I love her.
The response comes back quickly.
Rafail
He treating you well?
So well
I wonder if my response is too canned, too rapid. Will he believe me?
All he writes back is:
Rafail
Glad you’re doing okay.
Nothing else.
He doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m pretending. But why? What happened to make him think I’m lying?
What are my brothers thinking? What are they planning? Don’t they know that half the men in this house blame them for the bloodshed, for the men they lost? I was the one who saw it all. I was there. I watched Seamus take them down.
What if I’m the reason Seamus loses everything?
What if they turn on him because of me?
What if he dies, and it’s my fault?
My eyes flutter closed, and I force a deep breath. Sometimes this estate feels like a fortress. Other times, it’s a prison.
Over the next few days, Kyla brings me clothes. She doesn’t bother with pleasantries. She’s polite in the way a soldier is: brisk, impersonal, calculated.
Bronwyn, though, she’s different. She makes it easy to talk. I end up showing her and Caitlin how to make some of our family’s favorite dishes, and in just a few days, they’re making them almost as well as I can.
That night, I prepare dinner, something special. One of my family’s signature Russian dishes: steaming pelmeni with sour cream and butter, fresh dill chopped fine, and black bread on the side. Comfort food from home. For dessert, I try something Irish I found online, a whiskey-laced bread pudding soaked in cream. A bridge between worlds, I think.
At the table, Keenan eyes the plate in front of him with curiosity. His mouth quirks up.
“Is this some sort of ploy?” he asks, amusement dancing in his voice.
“What do you mean?” I say.
“Pairing the Russian food with the Irish?” He arches a brow. “Are you trying to get me to literally swallow peace, Zoya?”
Heat flushes up my cheeks. I look away.
“Da,” Seamus mutters, frowning. “She’s an expert at cooking Russian food, and she’s learning to cook Irish. What’s your point?”
Dinner is a little stilted after that. A little too quiet, too careful.
Later, alone in the sitting room, with the fire low, the light casting soft shadows on the walls, I finally say it.
“I want to go back to our house.” My voice is soft. Not demanding, just aching. “Why do we have to stay here?”
“It’s safest for now,” he says. “Unfortunately.”
“Will they talk about me behind closed doors?” I ask. “They don’t want me here, Seamus.”
He sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I’m trying to protect you, Zoya.”
“You’re hiding things.”
“I’m keeping you safe,” he snaps.
“From what?” I press. “The truth?”
He doesn’t deny it.
I stand. The ache in my chest spreads like a bruise under my ribs.
“Are you sure you don’t regret this?” I whisper. “Regret me?”
He doesn’t answer right away. That pause, it shatters something.
“No,” he says at last. “Of course I don’t. Zoya, I wish I could tell you more, but I’m working on this. Every second. I promise.”
“I don’t belong here,” I say, the words painful to even say. “I don’t belong with the Irish. I’m a fish out of water. A square peg in a round hole.”
He reaches for me, but I pull away. I can’t stay. Not right now.
I leave the room before I break down because the one thing I can’t say out loud is the one thing I can’t stop thinking:
What if he dies because of me?
What if they turn on him, and it’s my fault?
That night, I fall asleep long before he does. He paces on the balcony, phone in his hand, fingers flying across the screen, sending texts like he's trying to fight a war with words.
I think about the moments he made me believe in us. Every kiss, every whispered promise. Every time he held me, like I was his anchor. The months that kept us apart.
But now… what if love isn’t enough to survive a war?
Chapter 25
SEAMUS
I knew I was being watched. That wasn’t paranoia, it was instinct. It's why I kept Zoya right beside me, as close as I could without chaining her to me.
Because I don’t trust Branson. Not for a goddamn second.
He’s been my boss since before I was of age. A kingmaker in a crumbling empire, hiding behind my father’s trust. And I was too young back then to see what he was doing. Too loyal. But the veil dropped in recent years. I finally saw the power play for what it was—he’s been usurping the throne under my father's nose. And now, he knows. He knows I married her. That Zoya’s not just mine, she’s family now.