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I think that’s where Liam is.
The fact that he appeared to me at the cottage recently does give me some doubt, but if he’s getting married and trying to make at least somewhat of a spectacle of it, then he’s going to be at home in the house that’s officially unofficial.
As it always has to be.
I meant what I said to Marco in the dressing room. I do hate mafia men. I hate that they’re bossy and demanding, that they think you owe them every single thing.
I hate that they’re self-assured and conceited. That they think you can throw money at a problem and it will all go away.
I hate how much they're like my father, if I’m being honest.
The problem is that Marco?
He’s nothing like my father.
My fingers drum anxiously on the leather interior, the luxury of it absorbing the sound from my fingertips annoyingly well.
Marco is…
In many ways, yes. He’s absolutely a mafia man. He’s conniving and arrogant and slick, always with a plan up his sleeve and a fucking song in his heart as he murders people in cold blood.
I’ve seen him do it.
But on the other hand..
The Marco that I got to know at the cottage is kind. He’s protective, but in a way that doesn’t feel condescending oroverbearing. I had the sense, many times, that he genuinely cared for me.
That he wanted me.
Just like I wanted him.
Just like you still want him, you hussy.
I flush.
The memory of riding Marco’s thigh, and then his fingers, is something that I’m probably going to feel very conflicted about for a long time. Because, as much as I hate to admit it, I want Marco with every fiber of my being.
Which is a problem in itself.
I promised myself a very long time ago that I wouldn’t sleep with anyone who was in the same sphere of influence as my brothers and my dad. After Kieran scared the shit out of me, and my dad basically imprisoned me, I swore off men altogether.
You’ll find someone you want badly enough to try all this out with, I would tell myself.
I know the basics. I own a vibrator, and I’m not naive or anything.
But the truth is, I haven’t exactly been with a man yet.
And that… almost went out the window earlier today, when I was practically begging Marco to take me.
I shuffle, uncomfortable as I look out the window.
The Jaguar is literally eating up the road on the way to Sligo. The family home, interestingly, is an old converted manor. The joke was that the English lord who tried to inhabit it waskilled because of MacAntyre weapons that we smuggled into the country back in the day, so it was given to the MacAntyre family.
Except it isn’t in our family name.
The people in the town protect us, which is something that I’ve hated ever since I was a child. I can see how for Liam it’s an advantage right now, and it’s another reason I’m thinking he will probably have the wedding here. He can control, through the town, who has access to our home.
When I was a child, though?