“We are,” Anya says.

  “Good.” I nod. “Two more things. The first is…if either of us wants out at any time, it’s a done deal. No questions asked. We get divorced and part ways.”

  I let that pronouncement hang.

  “And the second?” Anya asks cautiously.

  “The second is…don’t fall in love with me.”

  She blinks and then studies me with a charming little head tilt. “What if you fall in love with me?”

  I have to bite back my laugh because she actually seems to be serious. “Never gonna happen. No offense.”

  “What if it does?” she pushes.

  “In the unlikely event that does occur, I’ll figure out what to do about it then. I’m not too concerned about it, though, because, like I said, it’ll never happen.” I emphasize the last few words to make sure there’s no mistaking where things lie.

  “Fine,” Anya says.

  “Fine,” I parrot.

  “But I have conditions of my own,” she shoots back.

  I smother my smile at her fierceness. I’m also more than curious about what she’s going to ask for. “Go on.”

  “I want a garden. A big one.” She spreads her arms out as wide as she can as though to indicate the size. “I also want a house with windows. Lots and lots of windows. And they have to overlook the garden. I want my own sewing room. Oh, and my own bedroom.”

  There’s a long pause. Is that it? She stares at me expectantly as though waiting for me to say something. Or, perhaps, more likely, to argue. “Done.”

  Anya gives a satisfied nod like she’s entirely too pleased with my answer. Are those really her conditions? I’m not sure how I feel about them. Not a single one had anything to do with me or what she expected of me and this sham of a marriage. Thinking of all mine almost makes me sound like an asshole. I basically told her to leave me the feck alone.

  “I’ll talk to a realtor and give them your preferences. See what they can find that meets them,” I tell her.

  “Thank you.”

  Another awkward silence descends. Anya doesn’t quite meet my gaze anymore. Instead, she glances everywhere but at me. I clear my throat. “I’m glad we understand each other,” I say for lack of anything better. “All right, well, if that’s settled, I’ll be going.”

  I turn quickly toward the front door.

  “When do you want to get married?”

  Anya’s question stops me. I pivot to face her. She’s wringing her hands, and her cheeks are flushed. But she’s at least looking at me. Never, a voice inside me yells. “I’ll let you decide. I believe you said you were going to speak to Pierce.”

  “Yes,” she replies.

  Except having her talk to him feels like a pussy move on my part. If he’s going to be my brother-in-law, then I’m going to be the one to have a discussion with him. “I’ll do it.”

  She blinks. “Do what?”

  “I’ll talk to Pierce. You just decide on a date.”

  Anya grimaces. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You know how he is. It will be better coming from me.”

  “I said, I’ll talk to him,” I bite out. I’m not going to hide behind her.

  She widens her eyes and cocks her head a fraction. “Fine. But I still think it’s a terrible idea.”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “Okay. I’ll look at a calendar and get back to you.”

  “Fine.” The room suddenly feels like it’s closing in on me. I stretch my neck side to side as though loosening a constricting force around it. “If there’s nothing else, then?”

  Anya shakes her head. “That’s all.”

  “Good. Call me when you pick a date.” Without a goodbye, I nearly run out the front door. I jog down the steps of the porch and the length of the path leading out to the street where my car waits. It’s almost as though demons are chasing me. I force my pace to slow.

  I slide behind the wheel and glance toward the house. A shadowy figure stands at the front window, peering out. I turn, start the car, and pull away from the curb. My eyes drift up to look out the rearview mirror as the house gets smaller and smaller. What the feck did I just agree to?

  Chapter 6

  Anya

  * * *

  I turn from the window, not even sure what compelled me to watch Paddy leave. Mila and Caitlín stand in the middle of the living room. My sister’s eyes are wide with shock while my best friend’s spit annoyance.

  “What a wanker,” Caitlín barks out her newest favorite British insult she learned from Lucia, Rory’s aunt. “The nerve of him spouting off those stupid fucking conditions. I’m almost ashamed to call him my brother.”

  Her irritation amuses me, but I smother it because, while I appreciate her indignation on my behalf, it’s entirely unnecessary. “It’s fine, Caitlín. In fact, it’s perfect. Everything Paddy laid out as his conditions are the very reasons I asked him to marry me in the first place.”

  Mila breaks out into a coughing fit. Caitlín smacks her on the back, but my sister waves her off. “You asked Padraig Donnelly to marry you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bu—bu—but, why?” Mila sputters.

  I cross the room, perch on the edge of the couch cushion, and pat the spot next to me. My sister takes a seat while Caitlín makes herself comfortable in the recliner.

  “Because it’s the only way we both get what we want,” I tell her. “You want me to find some man to marry. Someone who will take care of me.”

  Mila clutches my hands. “Of course, I do.”

  “Well, now I have.”

  “Not Paddy, though,” she exclaims before quickly turning to Caitlín. “I’m sorry, I know he’s your brother.”

  Caitlín tosses up her hands in a helpless gesture. “Don’t apologize. I’ve already made my opinion known on her choice. Which aligns one hundred percent with yours.”

  Mila pivots back to me. “Wait. You said we both get what we want, but what you mentioned were things you said I wanted. You don’t want that, too?”

  My shoulders drop but then I straighten them. “No, I don’t. Which is something I’ve told you countless times, but you never listen. Every time we go to one of Pierce’s family functions, you foist these men off on me.”

  Hurt crosses Mila’s face. “I only want to see you happy.”

  “I know you do, but I’m not. I’m not saying that to hurt you. It’s just how I feel.”

  “What if I promise to stop?” Mila asks.

  I let out a deep sigh. “Do you know how many times you’ve already promised me that? Hundreds.”

  Tears well in my sister’s eyes. “Have I really made you that unhappy?”

  “No. God, no,” I rush to reassure her, squeezing her hands tightly. “It’s not you. It’s me. But some random guy isn’t going to magically make me happy, either. I know I don’t talk a lot about what happened, but for far too long, all my choices were taken from me. Marrying Paddy is my choice. Good or bad. It’s not a decision I made on a whim. I’ve thought about this for months. I’m doing this with or without your approval.”

  “And you think choosing to marry Paddy is going to make you happy?” Mila asks, not unkindly.

  I chuckle humorlessly. “I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be happy. Not the way you want me to be. Content? Maybe. But I think having some breathing room to do what I want without any sort of expectation will make me less unhappy. I don’t know how else to explain it. I’m not interested in the physical aspect of marriage. Just the thought of it makes me a bit sick to my stomach. Paddy is safe. He can fuck any woman he wants, so long as it’s not me.”

  None of us speak for several minutes.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t seen how much pain I was causing you,” Mila finally breaks it, her voice catching.

  My heart pinches. “I know you were only trying to help because you love me.”

  She nods and takes a deep breath. “I’ll support whatever decisions you make, but you know that Pierce is going to be another story.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, I will say one thing about my brother. He’s certainly got balls for stepping up and being the one who tells Pierce instead of letting you do it. I’m actually a little impressed. And nothing Paddy does impresses me, so that’s saying a lot. Although, now I have to figure out when and where this little tête-à-tête is going to happen because I need to be there to witness it. Pierce is going to kill him,” Caitlín says with far too much excitement.

  I glare at her. “You are so mean. Besides, Pierce can’t kill Paddy if I’m going to marry him.”

  Caitlín huffs out her disappointment. “True. Well, shit. I was really hoping for some violence. Ooh, maybe Pierce can just kick his ass. Free entertainment. Unless, of course, I sell tickets. I can’t be the only one who would pay to see that.”

  I bite back a smile. Mila bursts out laughing but quickly stifles it. “I guess we need to pick out a date and start planning then, huh?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course. You’re my sister, and I love you.” She takes a deep breath before letting it out. “When were you thinking?”

  Mild panic seizes me. I have no idea. Deep down, I’ll admit I wasn’t sure I’d get this far. “How about next week?”

  Mila screeches, and Caitlín coughs under her breath. I wince.

  “Are you kidding?” My sister gapes. “There’s no way we can plan a wedding in a week.”

  “Why not?” Caitlín tosses out. “Brenna married Emilio within two weeks of the contract being signed.”

  Mila glares at her, but I could hug her. “I don’t want some fancy wedding. Just you, Pierce, and Paddy’s immediate family is fine. I can make my own dress. We can pick some flowers from the garden outside. Keep it simple.”

  “I’m sure Mother will let you use the music room of her and Da’s brownstone,” Caitlín volunteers. “That’s where my sister got married.”

  “You don’t think she’ll mind?” I ask, growing more excited at the prospect. I’ve only been inside the room once, but I remember it being beautiful. Plenty of space for the few of us that will be there.

  Caitlín shrugs. “I don’t see why not. Especially if it’s just close family. There’s enough room for everyone.”

  I glance at Mila, who is looking resigned to the fact that this is what I want. “Fine,” she says, giving in.

  I throw my arms around her. “You’ll see. It’ll be perfect.”

  She hugs me back, far tighter than usual and for far longer. At last, she releases me and sits back, wiping away the tears that have welled. She stares at me, her eyes still shimmering with wetness. “I can’t believe you’re getting married. I remember the day you were born and standing outside the hospital nursery, watching you. You looked so tiny lying in that bassinet. You never cried. Just laid there with your eyes wide open and searching as though you wanted to see everything there was to see.”

  Tears surface. Mila had been more of a mother to me than our real one. “Maybe we can go to Bath Beach this weekend and see if we can collect some seashells for decorations like we did when I was little. Get some little bottles and fill them with sand and a few shells.” It had been my favorite thing to do.

  “Oh, and you can wrap a pretty ribbon around the neck of the bottle,” Caitlín adds.

  “I’d like that,” Mila says.

  “Good, then it’s settled. I’ll need to run to the store and pick out the fabric for my dress. Probably get more thread, too.”

  “What kind of dress are you thinking?” my sister asks.

  “I’m not sure yet. I need to pull out my sketch pad and draw some designs. Definitely something simple. Classic. Maybe with lace sleeves.” I start picturing in my head a bunch of different designs and discarding each of them. None of them are what I have in mind.

  “Whatever you decide on, you’re going to be a beautiful bride,” Mila says matter-of-factly. Her tears have finally dried.

  “I hope I get to be your bridesmaid?” Caitlín asks. “I’ve always wanted to be one, and now’s my chance. But I’m not wearing one of those obnoxious prom dress-looking things with big, poofy shoulders.”

  “Of course, you’ll be my bridesmaid, and I’m a little offended that you’d think I’d make you wear something so hideous.” I pout and turn to Mila. “Will you be my maid of honor?”

  “I think, technically, I’d be a matron, but that makes me sound old. Also, I’d be honored.”

  My gaze bounces between Caitlín and my sister. “I guess I’m getting married, then.”

  A surge of panic rises up and nearly chokes me. Holy shit. I’m getting married.

  Chapter 7

  Paddy

  * * *

  According to Brenna, Pierce is almost always in one of three places. Emilio’s office at Empire, interrogating—otherwise known as torturing—guests in his underground “playroom” or lifting weights at Gallo’s. I track him down at the latter. The scent of sweat mixed with the musky odor of male bodies smacks me in the face as I step through the front door. Grunts, groans, and the sound of clanging metal come from deeper inside the building.

  One of the Gallo sons—I can never keep them straight—mans the front desk. “Welcome, Mr. Donnelly. It’s nice to see you again.”

  I nod. “I’m looking for Pierce.”

  He points toward the back of the weight room where the bench presses line up near the free weights. “I believe Mr. De Luca is being spotted at one of the benches.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him and make my way across the floor.

  The place isn’t crowded, but there are still a fair number of men present. Familiar faces of some of Emilio’s soldiers greet me with a chin jerk while others observe the path I take toward the hulking man lying on his back. He’s lifting and lowering a metal bar with a shit ton of weights on either end, above his head, down to his chest, and up again. Standing over him is Giovanni. Great. I hadn’t planned on having nearly the entire family as an audience. At least Emilio isn’t here.

  Pierce’s face is red with exertion. He heaves out a massive groan as he struggles to lift the bar until the sound explodes fully into a roar, and his arms shoot up and he drops the weighted bar back in its cradle. He rocks his legs up, then down, and propels himself to sitting.

  “Christ, Pierce, I thought you were going to pop a vessel that time. You’re insane, you know that?” Gio shakes his head.

  If Pierce were one to roll his eyes, he would have. Instead, he merely stares at Giovanni, looking down his nose at him in annoyance despite the fact Gio is standing and Pierce isn’t.

  “Impressive,” I say with a drawn-out golf-clap. “How much was that?”

  Both men swivel to face me. Gio smiles and lifts a hand in a brief gesture. “How’s it going, Paddy?”

  Pierce rises slowly to his feet, his stare intense. Each sinewy fiber of his body ripples with the movement. The fecker’s muscles have muscles. “Padraig.”

  In all the years I’ve known him, not once has he ever called me Paddy. It’s as though using any form of a nickname offends him. I glance between him and Gio. I like Brenna’s brother-in-law. He’s a good guy. I only wish he weren’t here. I shift my attention back to Pierce. The fiery red eyes of his throat tattoo seem to be staring intently at me, as well.

  Ignoring the heated sensation I get from them, I raise my gaze to meet his cold one. There’s something in his expression that pricks the back of my neck. “Can we talk?”

  Pierce is slow to answer. “Sure.”

  He doesn’t move. Just crosses his arms and waits. I tilt my head, gesturing toward an empty corner of the room. “Over there.”

  I move in that direction, and heat sears into me. We might be allies in business, but this is personal. I’m not expecting it to go easy. Once I’m satisfied we’re far enough away from any prying eyes and ears, I turn. Pierce is directly in my personal space. My body goes rigid, and I have to force myself not to take an instinctive step back.

  I steel my spine and look him straight in the eye, refusing to let his six-and-a-half foot, massive frame crowd me. I may be leaner, but I’m nearly as tall. We remain silent. Staring. I can be as broody as him.

  After several seconds, Pierce raises an eyebrow. Tired of this subtle dick-swinging contest, I break the tense atmosphere. “Anya and I are getting married.” It’s a short, succinct statement. I want it to be obvious that I’m not asking. Maybe not the best approach to take with him, but I’m hoping he respects the directness.

  Pierce’s cold eyes suddenly burn with fire. He takes a single step forward and closes the already narrow distance between us. His chest collides with mine. “The fuck you are.” It’s a low growl that rumbles through me.

  “I’m afraid that’s not up to you to decide.”

  “It is when I bury you and put everyone out of their misery.”

  Okay, so maybe this could be going a little better. “I’m sure Anya would have something to say about that.”

  Pierce sneers. “Hiding behind a woman. Typical.”

  “What the feck is that supposed to mean?” I snap.

  “I’ve watched you for years. The way you move from woman to woman. Using them to hide your insecurities and make yourself feel better because otherwise, there’s nothing of substance there. You’re shallow. Vain.”

  He’s really starting to piss me off. “You don’t know a fecking thing about me.”

  “You’d be surprised by what I know about you, Padraig.”

  “Go to hell.” I don’t need this bullshit. I shoulder Pierce out of my way and head for the door.

  “That’s it. Run away like a scared little boy. Anya deserves a better man than you, anyway,” he goads.

  I whip around and, without any thought to the consequences, throw a punch. It lands hard against Pierce’s cheekbone. His head snaps to the side. Then he slowly swivels it back and faces me. “That’s a start.”

  His mocking tone reminds me far too much of Grand-da’s. The taunts I used to endure. With a roar of fury, I charge, tackling him, and take us both to the floor. Punches are thrown. One of his lands. My cheekbone crunches, and black spots appear in my eye. I get another one in. Blood appears from a cut along his lip.