Fucking. Hell.
Seeing Roisin in that dress did something to me. It broke something that I didn’t know existed. It created a loop, an endless cycle, that I can’t seem to stop seeing.
The dress was hideous. Truly ugly, a frothy monstrosity that would have looked disturbingly inelegant on anyone…
Except Roisin.
She was stunning.
The delicate arch of her collarbone, the way the top was tight enough to press her luscious breasts up, creating an eye-catching amount of flesh that just begged for my touch, the neat waistline and how I could practically feel the arch of her hip under the voluminous fabric… she looked absolutely incredible in that fucking dress.
And, more than that, she looked like a bride.
Deep down, I am a possessive man. I want to protect the people I love, I want to make sure that they are happy, and I want it because they’re mine.
When I saw Roisin in that dress, something clicked in my mind. She was no longer just Roisin.
She became mine.
The feeling was so sudden, it rattled me to my core. I stormed away before I did something ridiculous… like kiss her.
Touch her.
Rip the fucking dress off and fuck her in the middle of Liam’s sitting room, which has been transformed by the ebullient Stassi Novikov into some kind of wedding planning headquarters.
Or a dress factory. I’m not sure which.
Either way, I couldn’t fuck Roisin senseless in the middle of it.
So I left.
Now, though, we’re sitting next to each other at the dinner table, which is oddly intimate. Liam and Stassi are sitting across from us, making this some kind of horribly fucked-up double date.
Even more so because Stassi is basically driving the entire conversation, and the rest of us are nodding along, caught in the torrent of her personality like fucking whitewater rafts in a spring torrent.
I force myself to focus on her words, and not on Roisin sitting next to me.
Stassi grabs some salad and passes the bowl to Liam. “Well that brings us to the flowers. Next, I’m thinking that we need some kind of options for the bar. Obviously an open bar—”
“For who?” Liam says.
Stassi arches an eyebrow. “Our guests.”
“Were we planning on guests?” Liam mutters.
Stassi rolls her eyes. “Well I’m obviously inviting everyone that needs to be here in order for it to be legit.”
“If we invite more than just the people in this room, we’re going to risk something that can’t be risked,” Liam grunts.
That’s interesting to me. “Risking what, exactly?”
Liam gives me a very wary stare, and I smile. “We’re about to be family, MacAntyre . I can help.”
“I need your help like I need a fuckin’ bullet in my head,” Liam retorts. “It’s no secret that you’re a fuckin’ viper, De Luca. I’d prefer to not be bitten.”
I’ve earned that, I guess. I put up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “All I’m saying is that there’s a whole lot that I can contribute to the situation, and you may or may not be in a position to decline that help. I don’t know your problems, but I do know that since Roisin is your sister, I’ll lump you in as family.”
His eyes narrow, and I lean back. “I might be a snake, but you sure as hell fuckin’ know that it’s to help my family.”
I’m dead serious, and the severity of my tone seems to convey enough that Liam nods slightly.
Stassi taps one surprisingly sharp-looking nail against her glass. “So the guest list can expand?”
“Who the… hell do you want to bring?” Liam bites out.
Her eyes narrow. “My mother, for one.”
“Stassi—”
“She knows I’d never get married without her. And if you don’t want this whole thing to blow up in your face, you’re going to need to have her on your side,” she says.
The bubbly, California-girl accent is gone.
Interesting.
Liam looks at her for a minute, the bags under his eyes seemingly growing deeper by the second. Abruptly, he stands, the screech of the chair harsh as he backs out of the room.
We watch him go. Stassi sighs and looks at Roisin. “He literally runs every time I try to talk to him about something deeper than the weather.”
“Liam’s… Liam,” Roisin offers lamely.
I lean in.
She gives me a wary look before shrugging. “We weren’t raised together. I don’t know where he gets it from. His mom was protected because she’s too high-profile to hurt, and she was able to raise him separately as part of the divorce agreement.”
“Divorce?” Stassi says, her eyebrows pinched together. “Divorce doesn’t happen in our world.”
“For her, it did. She and Niall, our father, had one. He raised Kieran. She raised Liam.”
“Splitting up brothers is brutal,” I mutter.
I’m surprised at how quickly the truth falls out of my mouth.
Both Stassi and Roisin turn to me.
I shrug. “I have two brothers. And a sister. I’ve been through a lot with them,” I offer.
It’s the tip of the iceberg. I would die for them.
I always planned to die for them.
When did that become past tense?
“Wait, but you didn’t live with your dad?” Stassi is looking at Roisin again.
Roisin’s shoulders slump, and I fight the urge to reach for her.
“No. I lived with my mom. Until my dad found us. Until Kieran found us,” she whispers.
If I could kill that motherfucker a million times, I would.
The sorrow that’s painted across her features makes something feral inside of me rise up and snarl with frustration. I want to destroy things, just to change that pain into something else.
I’m so riled up, I don’t know how to fucking calm down. It takes everything in me to take deep breaths and try to keep my shit together.
You need to let this go. She’s not yours. She’s been using you. She’s still using you. Let. It. Fucking. Go.
Stassi sighs, interrupting my stream of consciousness. “Families are complicated. I’m sorry, Ro,” she reaches for Roisin’s hand. “I met Kieran. He was a dick. I’m glad he’s dead.”
“I am too,” Roisin whispers.
Fuck. This.
I stand, running a hand through my hair. “I have to go,” I growl. Without another word, I leave the dining room, the women holding onto each other as I storm out.
I shouldn’t have agreed to this.
The manor isn’t huge, but I head straight for the front door. Choosing to be around Roisin like this was a fucking stupid idea.
I can’t stop myself, it seems, from caring about her. I can’t stop myself from wanting to help her and protect her.
Which is so fucking stupid, because she’s not mine.
She never was.
And even though we’re faking it right now…
She never will be.
The garden is cold and dead, and I’m more than happy to add to the general ambiance as I bring my poor attitude outside.
The night is cold. Bitterly so. It feels good against my skin, which is still broiling from the emotions I felt inside.
I’m a fucking wreck.
And I feel so out-of-control, it’s fucking killing me.
I take deep breaths, letting the cold, damp air sear into my lungs. My Nonna would have a fit if she could see me out here, sucking in air like I’m a fish out of water when that air is probably more full of moisture than the sea nearby.
I’m finally more in control of my breathing when I’m aware of my phone buzzing in my pocket.
I frown. The phone is the one I keep on me at all times for my family to reach me. It’s intensely secure, and only a handful of people on the planet have the access that it gives. Normally I use burner phones, but this one is for family.
And for emergencies only.
Fear flushes through me, and I grab the phone, hesitating as I turn it over to see who it is. My money, of course, is on Dino, who tends to need the most consistent support, but Sal might also…
I pause.
It’s not either of my brothers, or my sister, or Luna, my niece who has just recently received her own cell phone and absolutely has the number to my private line.
It’s… my brother-in-law.
And former best friend.
Frowning, I pick up the phone. “Elio?”
“Marco,” he rumbles, his Italian accent thick enough to make me concerned. It tends to become a little stronger when he’s upset or in trouble.
“What? What happened? What’s—”
“Nothing. No. Nothing like that,” he says quickly.
I pause.
There’s an awkward moment where I’m not sure if I should ask him what he wants to say, or if I should just wait.
I wait.
Elio clears his throat. “Ah. Well. How… are you faring?”
He also tends to fuck up and use weird English words when he’s nervous. “Fine,” I reply curtly.
“I see. Are things well with.. whatever you are doing?”
“Get to the fucking point, Elio,” I bark.
He huffs, the sound very European. “Am I not allowed to see how one of my… how someone I know and… find… that I…”
I’ve never heard Elio be this inarticulate. “Jesus Christ, are you fuckin’ choking?” I say.
“I want to see how you are doing, motherfucker!” he practically shouts.
I blink.
“Did you just call me to check in on me, Elio?”
He mutters curses in Italian. “Yes.”
Huh. Interesting. “Uh. Okay. Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Why am I supposed to ask how you are? Why am I someone you need to ask why I am checking in on you?”
I cough. “Sorry. Uh. I just didn’t… think…”
“I know what you think. And I think it is bullshit. I should be allowed to call in and check on my friend,” he snaps.
The word, friend, seems to hit me smack in the middle of my chest.
“Are we friends?” I blurt.
Fuck me. I haven’t lost control of my mouth this frequently since I was a fucking teenager.
“I would like to be friends,” Elio says.
Well.
Elio mutters. Like a sullen, pouting child.
I sigh.
Elio and I were once best friends. We’re the same age, and we shared some fun experiences when I was in college and grad school. Elio’s father was old-fashioned, and after we graduated high school, Elio returned to Italy to learn to run their business, but we remained friends and would try to get together to party whenever we could. We were young and stupid and jacked up on the kind of hormones that make you feel invincible, and we fucked and partied our way through Europe for long enough that it was cause for some concern. Our families negotiated for him to marry Catarina, my youngest sister, and it changed our friendship, because instead of watching my best friend hook up with women, I was watching my future brother-in-law, and it was a mirror to my own behavior.
And I didn’t like what I saw.
Then, Elio and Caterina got engaged, and my parents were murdered.
I assumed Elio to be behind the hit.
And I hated him. For years.
So no, I don’t think we’re friends.
Or I didn’t.
Clearly, Elio notices my silence, because he clears his throat. “Unless you do not wish—”
“We’re friends,” I interrupt.
Fuck it.
I can be friends with Elio.
Right?
He huffs. “I do not wish to be friends if you do not wish it, Marco. But I…” he pauses.
It’s pathetic how interested I am in this pause.
“Occasionally, I find that I require a friend,” he says finally.
I think about the situation here. The secrets I’m holding. The secrets I’ve always held, to keep my family safe.
I’ve always been okay with it.
Except now?
Those secrets seem heavier than they have ever been.
And most of all, I’ve held all of these secrets to keep my family safe. To keep my siblings safe. To make them happy.
But I haven’t been happy. I haven’t been safe.
And I am profoundly and completely fucking alone.
Fuck it, indeed.
“You know what, Elio? Fuck it,” I say. “I could use a fucking friend too.”
He chuckles. “I take it your endeavors are going well?”
“Fuck no,” I bite out.
In the garden, in Liam MacAntyre’s family home, within earshot of the woman that’s currently tangling my life into knots, I start to talk. I tell Elio about some things. Not everything, of course, because even if we’re friends, I don’t fucking trust him.
I don’t trust anyone.
It feels shitty, to tell him partial truths, but as he hesitates on some things as well, I can tell that he’s doing the same thing. Elio’s tells might be more obvious than mine, but neither one of us is in a place to give the whole truth.
Yet.
But fuck it feels good to just get some of it out there.
Finally, the words slow, and I heave a sigh.
“My friend,” Elio says, the laughter clear in his voice. “I think you have a fucking problem.”
“No shit,” I mutter.
Roisin is a problem.
And for the first time, I have no fucking solution.
