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I grip my fork tighter, forcing myself to smile and nod as they praise the family that murdered my parents.
“Yes, the Keans have been good to us,” Mrs. Hart agrees.
"More wine?" Jenna asks, touching my arm.
"Please." I hope I’m smiling, but it could be a grimace.
After dinner, Jenna clears the dishes as she encourages me to talk to her mother who’s slowly moved back to a chair in the small living area. I join her, studying her as memories come back to me. I remember her working in our garden and how my mother used to love to talk to her and learn about the plantsand flowers. Does she know that her daughter helped kill my mother?
"Mom, did you take your evening medication?" Jenna's voice carries an edge of worry.
"Just before dinner, sweetheart." Mrs. Hart's smile is tired but genuine. She catches me watching them. "She fusses too much."
"I do not." Jenna arranges her mother's pillows, checking her temperature with the back of her hand. The gesture is so natural, so filled with love. I can see her doing that with her children. For a moment, I imagine it, Jenna’s smile and infectious laugh as she corrals a group of children. I rub a hand over my chest to get rid of the odd sensation burning there.
This isn't what I expected when I planned my revenge. I thought I'd find co-conspirators, people who knowingly helped destroy my family. Instead, I'm watching a daughter desperately trying to hold onto her only remaining parent.
The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. I know the terror and grief of losing family. And now I’m planning to inflict that same pain on Jenna.
Mrs. Hart's breathing grows labored, and Jenna immediately reaches for the oxygen tank beside the chair.
"I'm fine," Mrs. Hart insists, but her pallor says otherwise.
Jenna meets my gaze, vulnerability raw on her face. Guilt, my now default feeling around Jenna, rises for being the bastard plotting to break her heart while she deals with this.
Again, I feel like there’s a war going on inside me. I can’t reconcile this warm, loving woman with the one who helped the Keans take everything away from us. And because I can’t, I feel like the fucking monster in this situation.
“I have to admit, I felt a bit of déjà vu the other day with all that commotion,” Mrs. Hart says.
Jenna sits next to me, her hand squeezing mine, and I hate myself for how natural it feels.
“It was a lot of bark, but no bite,” I say.
“Why?” Mrs. Hart shakes her head. “What was the point? Do you know who's behind it?”
“No. But it’s all under control.”
“Ronan gave Blaise a promotion.” Jenna beams at me like she’s proud of me. Again, it does all sorts of things to my insides that I don’t like.
“Congratulations,” Mrs. Hart says.
"You must have been so scared." Jenna’s hand tightens around mine.
"I was more worried about everyone else." The half-truth slips out before I can stop it. I did worry about her being too close when the bombs went off. But if Ronan or any of his men got caught up in one of the blasts and were maimed or killed, I wouldn’t give a shit.
She smiles up at me, trust shining in those green eyes. "That's what I love about you. Always thinking of others first."
The words hit like shrapnel. If she knew the truth, that I orchestrated the attack, that I'm using her, that smile would shatter. It’s what I want. But fucking hell, she’s making it hard.
My brothers would call me weak. Maybe they're right. Because sitting here with the woman who is the villain of my life’s story, I'm starting to forget which version of myself is real, the vengeful son plotting destruction or the man who's falling for Jenna's pure, unguarded heart.
13
JENNA
The night has filled me with joy. The two people I love most in the world are here together with me. But Mom is tired, so I help her down the narrow hallway to her bedroom, supporting her slight frame against mine. Her steps are shaky, uncertain, and my heart squeezes at how frail she's become, especially at such a young age, forty-five.
"I can manage from here, sweetheart." Mom pats my arm, but I keep hold until she's settled on the edge of her bed.