CHAPTER 17: THE ARRANGEMENT
750 Words
Cillian
I had not forgotten Aoife.
I simply had not thought about her while Valentina stood across from me in a green dress and told my father she was not furniture.
That was different.
Not better.
After dinner, Declan sent everyone away except Ronan and me.
Valentina left first. She did not look at me.
The bruises on her wrist had darkened.
I watched the door close behind her.
Declan watched me watch it.
Of course he did.
His study smelled of smoke, old leather and whiskey. The family crest sat above the fire in carved oak, large enough to remind every visitor that Declan had inherited a name and mistaken that for becoming one.
"Aoife is here," he said.
I looked toward the rain-streaked windows. "Eamon said tomorrow."
"Plans change."
Ronan poured whiskey. He handed me a glass.
I set it down.
"You knew," I said.
Declan sat behind the desk. "I asked them to come."
"Because of the collapse?"
"Because of several things."
"Valentina."
He did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Ronan drank. "Does Aoife know she is being used to solve an argument?"
"Aoife understands family obligations better than either of you currently do."
"That means no," Ronan said.
Declan ignored him.
"The Kavanaughs keep the northern route open. Their money keeps judges cooperative. Their clinics keep you alive. The marriage joins those interests."
"You have said this before."
"And you agreed before."
I had.
Twenty-seven years old. Fever that would not break. Bruises I could not explain. Eamon telling me my marrow looked wrong but refusing to say dying until the third appointment.
Declan waited until the physician left, then placed a photograph of Aoife on the desk.
She was twenty-five in it. Red hair. Serious eyes. A woman raised to sit through negotiations about her own future without moving her face.
I said yes because I expected to be dead before it mattered.
Aoife said yes because she understood that an O'Malley widow could hold more power than an unmarried Kavanaugh daughter.
Neither of us called it love.
We did not insult each other that way.
"There was no date," I said.
"There will be."
"Not tonight."
"Soon."
Ronan leaned against the drinks cabinet. "You sound romantic."
Declan looked at him until he looked away.
"Children secure alliances," my father said.
My hand tightened around the chair.
"Do not discuss children while my physician is hiding medical records."
"Then stop behaving as though time is generous."
The fire cracked.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
Aoife had asked once whether I wanted children.
We had been at a Kavanaugh dinner. Too many courses. Too many men speaking about routes as if they were discussing weather.
"No," I said.
She took a drink and asked, "Because you do not want them or because you think you will be dead?"
I did not answer.
She did not ask again.
That was the most honest conversation we had ever had.
Declan opened a folder on the desk. Documents. Dates. Properties. A wedding reduced to pages and signatures.
"She has waited long enough."
"She has not complained."
"She has pride."
"So does Valentina."
The name was out before I could stop it.
Ronan's glass paused near his mouth.
Declan looked at me for several seconds.
"There it is."
"There is what?"
"You cannot speak about one woman without bringing the other into the room."
I said nothing.
"Aoife has known you since childhood," he continued. "She knows what this family is. She will not ask why you leave at midnight or why blood is on your clothes at breakfast. She understands silence."
"Valentina does not."
"Exactly."
"That was not criticism."
Ronan looked into his drink.
Declan's expression hardened. "She argues with you. She questions your doctor. She humiliated Finn at my table."
"Finn humiliated himself."
"You broke his hand."
"Yes."
"Over a wrist."
I pictured Finn's fingers around her skin.
"Yes."
My father exhaled slowly.
"Whatever appetite this situation has created, control it."
"Do not call her appetite."
"Then stop looking at her as though you are starving."
The sentence landed because it was true.
I was starving. I had watched her for six months and now she was under my roof, wearing a dress I wanted to tear off her, and every time she said no to another man my c**k got harder. I wanted to starve her of everything except my hands and my mouth and my c**k until she forgot how to say no to me.
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