The next day, Devon Whitehall knocked on my apartment door, looking like sin in a stripy navy-blue suit and a dashing haircut. I, in contrast, was wearing Walmart’s finest dress from six winters ago paired with shoes that had seen better days and a discounted windbreaker from Salvation Army.
Carrie Bradshaw, right behind you!
“Mr. Whitehall?” I hugged my door, stifling a yawn.
He shouldered past me, soldiering into the studio apartment where Emmabelle was asleep in our shared bed, clad in nothing but a thin red negligee, one bronzed leg flung over the duvet.
She caught his attention, making him pause and admire the view.
“And who is this foam-born Aphrodite?”
“That would be my sister, Mr. Zeus. Now if you’d be as kind as to peel your creepy eyes off her legs…”
Devon turned toward me reluctantly, shoving a mass of paperwork in my chest. Like Cillian, Whitehall had the uncanny ability to make the air stir around him. But while Kill made me want to die in his arms, Devon sent off a different vibe. A mysterious one.
“I filled out most of it. Sign where indicated with arrow flags and your initials on the bottom of each page. Go through your spouse’s details one more time and ensure all the information is correct. There’s a list of outstanding documentation I’ll need you to hand over before the marriage can be resolved. It’s on the last page. Get it to me by tomorrow morning. It’ll take the court two business days to process the application, in which you agree not to claim any of your and Mr. Veitch’s mutual funds or possessions.”
“We have no mutual funds or possessions.”
“Precisely.”
Asking him how he planned to grant me a speedy divorce was futile.
Cillian Fitzpatrick was a resourceful man and only worked with the cream of the crop. With people like Devon Whitehall and Sam Brennan on retainer, he could do just about anything, short of plucking the moon from the sky just so he could enjoy a bit more darkness.
I clutched the papers to my rib cage, excitement and dread swirling in my gut.
“Thank you, Devon. That’s—”
“Bugger, don’t thank me, you silly little thing.” He lifted a hand, indicating for me to stop.
“I didn’t do this out of the goodness of my heart. I did it because your future husband needs a baby-maker, preferably the kind that would bring positive press to his doorstep. Which is why you will also find in this load of legal documents a nondisclosure agreement and a prenup, both of which I advise you to read carefully in the company of a proper solicitor.” He plucked a few notes from his wallet, tucking them between my fingers. “Here’s some cash in case you can’t afford one. Consider this my wedding gift to you. There’s a sheet of dos and don’ts attached, some stipulations you verbally agreed to yesterday. No house-sharing, a non-compete clause…”
“Non-compete?” I blinked. “I’m not planning to open a petroleum company anytime soon.”
I mean, never say never, but this was a pretty unlikely scenario.
Devon smirked.
“Having access to the Fitzpatrick clan means you can spy for the competitors or decide to work for someone who’d pose a conflict of interest.”
“I’d never do that.”
“Clearly, darling.” He patted my head as though I was a puppy he was about to turn his back on before adopting its sibling. “We trust you completely. And by ‘completely’ I mean, about eighty-three percent. The other seventeen is why we prefer to have it in writing. You’ll have to mortgage your inner organs if your never turns into a maybe.”
“How do you live with yourself?” I murmured absently, flipping through the pages. I meant that as a general statement. Devon, Kill, Sam…they were so jaded, I sometimes wondered if they believed in anything at all.
Devon laughed easily, his gaze sliding toward my sister again.
“Considering your face was smashed by mobsters, I wouldn’t judge your future husband for wanting to protect his assets.”
Future husband.
The words hadn’t sank in. Not yet.
“Do you mind?” I jerked my head in Belle’s direction. She usually slept like the dead, but I didn’t want to take any risks. “My sister doesn’t know what happened.”
“Is she blind?” He cocked an eyebrow, his eyes zeroing in on my black shiner.
“She thinks I got robbed.”
“No offense, but you don’t look like the type to carry extra cash.” A pause. “Or coins. Or food stamps. You’re dreadfully gaunt.”
I wanted him out of the apartment, out of this building, and out of my life before Belle woke up. I still hadn’t told her about Cillian. By the time I got home yesterday, she’d already left for work and returned sometime after five in the morning, when I was asleep. We were having dinner and drinks at Ash’s tonight, and I thought it would be a good idea to break the news then.
I shook my head.
“Look, can I have my future husband’s phone number?”
Devon plucked my phone from my hand, inserting Cillian’s contact info into it.
“How do you know my code?” I frowned.
“Had to write down your birthdate six hundred times when I filled in the paperwork last night. You seem like the predictable sort. Again, no—”
“Offense. I know.” His eyes were still on my phone, his thumbs flying over my screen. “You realize prefacing something with these words makes it automatically offensive, right?”
“The code to get to him is six six six. He only responds to texts. Sporadically.”
Shocker.
Devon slapped the phone over the pile of documents I was holding.
“Cheers, Persephone.”
“Wait!” I called out. “What about Colin Byrne? Can I tell him I’ll have the money ready for him?”
He stopped at my threshold.
“Ah, that’s the best part of becoming a Fitzpatrick.” He opened his arms. “Your problems are no longer yours. I do believe Colin is Sam Brennan’s jurisdiction. To that end, I’d say you’re all covered, and that Byrne is thoroughly and royally fucked for laying a hand on you. Welcome to the family, Persy.”
“What do you mean you’re breaking the pact?”
Sailor spritzed her pink lemonade across the table and all over my dress, the liquid shooting through both her mouth and nostrils.
She coughed, waving her arms around. Aisling dashed to her rescue, patting her on the back. The liquid must’ve gone down the wrong pipe.
The unshakable storm knocked on the greenhouse where we’d sat down for dinner, the hail threatening to impale the glass. At twenty-five, Aisling still lived at Avebury Court Manor, her parents’ mansion. She said it was because between med school and her charity work, she didn’t have time to maintain an apartment, but we all knew she took care of her parents, tended to them like one of their servants, and was not likely to leave before she got married.
The greenhouse was warmly lit with an array of colorful succulents strewn everywhere.
“She is not breaking the pact.” Ash hurried to hand me napkins after ensuring Sailor was okay. “She’s still married to Paxton. She can’t wed anyone else.”
I dropped the bomb as soon as I sat down at the table before I’d even had time to help myself to a spring roll.
“I am breaking the pact.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself for another storm, right here in the greenhouse. “I’m getting married to Cillian. He is working on my divorce certificate as we speak.”
“Cillian-Cillian?” It was Emmabelle’s turn to choke, this time on a crab rangoon. “Tall, dark, broody. Two little red horns peeking from either side of his head? Possibly a tail tucked between those steel ass cheeks?” My sister grabbed a dumpling with her chopsticks, tossing it into her mouth.
“My brother Cillian?” Ash supplemented.
“Yes.” I pressed my forehead to my still-empty plate with a groan. “One and the same.”
“Why?” Sailor asked.
“How?” Belle demanded.
“Is he threatening you?” Aisling shrieked.
“Look, if it’s about money, Hunter and I would be more than happy to help.” Sailor reached across the table to dab at my collar, pretending to remove the lemonade stains she put there.
“Me too. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knew you only married my brother because you were struggling.” Ash put a hand on her chest over her heart. She wore a cardigan and a checked long skirt. Her raven-black hair was carefully tied into a chignon.
They didn’t get it. Any of it. The reality of my life. My situation, my commitments, my misfortunes…
“Of course she doesn’t want to marry him.” Sailor flung her arms in the air. “It’s Kill Fitzpatrick we’re talking about. He hasn’t exactly won any Mr. Personality awards in the last decade.”
“Love changes people. You and my brother are prime examples of that,” Aisling pointed out.
Sailor shook her head. “Hunter has always been good and lost. Cillian is bad and knows exactly where and what he is. A wolf can never be a pet.”
Your husband starred in a sex tape, I wanted to scream. Who died and made you the moral police?
I shot Belle a glance. She sipped her chardonnay, studying me intently. My sister was surprisingly quiet. I half-expected her to blaze out the door straight to Cillian’s house and extract more info from him at knifepoint. But no. She was just taking it all in. Absorbing.
“Look.” I sighed. “Thanks for the offers, but I’m good. I’m marrying him because I want to. I know it’s sudden, but Kill and I have gotten close in the past few—”
“You better not finish this sentence,” Belle warned coldly, draining her glass of chardonnay. “You’re already breaking the pact. At least have the decency not to lie to us. You and Kill don’t know each other beyond you being his baby sister’s friend.”
“If Cillian asked you to marry him, it’s for all the wrong reasons.” Sailor’s voice softened as she tried to change tactics. “Did he tell you he doesn’t have any feelings? Like, at all? He takes pride in that.”
Slurping a noodle between my lips—my first bite this evening—I nodded.
“I know who Kill is. We’ve been running in the same circles for years now.”
“Kill doesn’t run anywhere.” Sailor laughed. “He swaggers with a cocky grin and fucks shit up. Just tell me what kind of money you need, and I’ll get you out of this. Forget about a loan. Don’t pay me back.”
She turned to the shoulder bag hanging over her seat, plucking out her checkbook and slapping it on the table. She clicked a pen and began writing me a check.
“For my part, I’ll ask Athair for a good divorce lawyer,” Aisling chimed in brightly. “This is totally fixable. It’s not too late to say no. We can make sure you’ll still get—”
“You want the truth?” I snarled, shooting up to my feet, shaking with anger. “Fine, here’s the truth—I’m not like you guys. Belle is a street-smart, man-eating lady boss who is out to conquer the world and build an empire. Aisling, you were born into royalty. You have more money than some countries, two brothers who would kill for you, and a promising career as a doctor. Sail, you already met your Prince Charming, and you have a father and brother who’d get you out of anything. Me…” I shook my head, laughing bitterly. “I’m different. I wanted to marry for love. And I did. Saying it didn’t work out would be the understatement of the century. Now it’s time to marry for comfort. It is not the noble or honorable thing to do. Trust me, I’m well aware of that. But it’s my choice. I choose security. I choose stability. I know he is not going to love me, but he will take care of me, and that’s something Paxton failed to do. If I can live with it, then so can you.”
A tense silence stretched between us. The only sound audible was Sailor’s hard swallow.
“I’m breaking the pact,” I whispered, the lie burning on my tongue. I was marrying for love. It just happened to be tragically unrequited. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Eight years ago, Sailor dragged all of us to a charity ball Hunter had invited her to. In it, we saw a girl who went to our high school hanging on the arm of a man thirty years her senior. She looked bored and sad and lost and rich. A beautiful, empty urn where hopes, dreams, and ambition once resided. Watching her expression alone sucked the life out of the party. We promised each other we would never let one another marry anyone for anything other than love.
“Listen, I have options. I do.” I grabbed my bag and coat. “I choose to be with Cillian. He may not give me love, but he’ll give me everything else I’m looking for. I’ll be able to start the family I’ve always wanted, have kids. A place to call my own…” I trailed off. “All I’m asking is for you to support this. It’s crazy, and insane, and unconventional, but it is still my choice.”
Aisling dropped her head into her hands.
Sailor looked the other way as if I’d slapped her.
Belle was the only one who stood, picked up her own bag, and took my hand in hers.
“Welp. If you excuse me, I have to go scream at my sister, have a mental breakdown, then accept her decision. See you later, ladies.”
Belle and I ended up heading home, taking a rain check on dinner.
The mood had soured, and no one was hungry anymore.
Ash said she would always be there for me if I changed my mind, and Sailor threatened to shoot Kill with her bow and arrow and pin him to a wall like a butterfly if he screwed up, something we all knew she was capable of, seeing as she was an archer.
Ten minutes into our ride back home, I finally broke the silence.
“How come you didn’t freak out?” I stared out the window, watching the ice-crusted buildings zipping by. Belle signaled onto a side street.
“Sorry, were you expecting a whole production?”
“Expected? No. Predicted? Yes.”
She laughed. “I’m not Willy Wonka. I don’t sugarcoat stuff, sis. You know how I feel about Kill Fitzpatrick, but you’re not a baby anymore. You can make your own decisions, even if I think those decisions should land you in a psychiatric ward.”
“That never stopped you from being super protective of me before.”
Wait, was I mad at my sister for not making a scene? No. Of course I wasn’t. That would be ridiculous. Then again, I was a bit ridiculous. And it wasn’t in Belle’s nature not to raise hell when the opportunity presented itself. Plus, she wasn’t exactly Cillian’s number one fan.
In fact, if Cillian did have a fan club, she would probably burn the place down.
And dance on its ashes.
And then post about it on Instagram.
(To her grid, not stories. That’s how committed she was to despising him.)
“I’ll always have your back. But honestly? I’m half-sold on the idea. Paxton left you penniless and heartbroken. I watched you suffer through the past eight months, trying to hold your head up. If you want to switch tactics and marry a wealthy man who will provide for you, I’ll be the last one to judge you for it. Ultimately, we all make choices to the best of our abilities.”
She paused, gnawing on her lower lip. “There’s also something else.”
I turned to look at her, ungluing my eyes from the window.
“I know you’ve never said anything, but I always kind of knew you had a thing for Kill. It was in your eyes when he entered a room. They changed. They glittered,” she whispered. “It’s never too late to change the name of the prince in your story. Just as long as you don’t end up with the villain.”
“He can’t be the villain.” I shook my head. “He’s already saved me.”
“You know he can’t love?” she asked quietly.
“Love is a luxury not everyone can afford.”
“Well, if anyone can move mountains, it’s you, sis.”
She removed one hand from the steering wheel, squeezing my knee.
I wondered how much Belle knew about my situation. Devon was right. I didn’t look like the kind of woman to get brutally mugged. While Belle took care of my wounds and fussed over each scratch the day after Kaminski beat me up, she held back on her usual Spanish inquisition and didn’t nag me when I said I didn’t want to file a police report.
There was an ocean of lies and secrets between my sister and me, and I wanted to swim ashore, fall at her feet, and tell her everything.
About Pax. About the loan sharks. About Auntie Tilda’s Cloud Wish.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t rope her into my mess. It was mine to fix.
“You’re not the naïve little damsel everyone thinks you are.” Belle killed the engine, and I realized we were parked outside her building. “You have nails and teeth, and a spine to go with them. Persephone wasn’t only a floral maiden. She was also the queen of death. Your groom’s in for a rude awakening. But know this—if Kill ever tries to play Hades, I’d descend to the underworld myself to rip his balls off.”
