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He’s right. The thought that Liam might be the one who sold me out has crossed my mind, but considering that I’d be able to tell Interpol exactly how fucked he is as a business leader, and where I’d be able to sell his secrets to the highest bidder.
It’s not love or commitment, sure, but at least I know that I could hurt him just as badly as he hurts me.
Unless, of course, there’s more.
Marco seems to understand, and moves off of me. I breathe, sucking in air that seems oddly cold without his heat to warm it.
“We need to figure out who the fuck did this to you, Roisin. We need to figure it out, fast, because you don’t have time to argue with me. For better or worse, I’m here with you. I’m here to fucking figure this shit out.”
“And then you’ll leave when it’s done,” I whisper.
It’s too vulnerable. Too fragile. The question sits in the air like a glass suspended mid-drop, waiting to hit the ground and explode.
Marco breathes.
“Yes. When it’s done, I’ll be gone. We’ll be connected through Liam, but I have my own family to look after.”
I roll over.
The words hit me, somewhere that fucking hurts. I don’t want him to see me cry. I don’t want him to hear me.
But the fact that he will be gone, after this?
It’s the icing on the fucking cake.
Eventually, I suppose I fell asleep, because when I awaken, the light has changed from the soft gray of early morning to themuted, rainy gray of the wintery Irish morning. I sit up, blinking, and notice the lack of male presence next to me.
He’s gone.
But, he hasn’t left.
I think.
I shower quickly, opting for a comfortable, if luxurious, outfit. Expensive jeans and a cloud-soft cashmere sweater. I do my best to wrangle my hair into a composed state, choosing to keep it back and off of my face, before I head out into the manor.
I have no idea what to do right now.
Marco is, unfortunately, right. I need to start working Liam and Stassi over for information about who might have come up with the plan to frame me in the organization, but I don’t know how to do that.
Liam is my brother. For better or worse, I would rather just ask him outright.
And Stassi is… Stassi.
She is the unknown, though. So I do probably need to start there.
Sighing, I head into the kitchen, in search of my future sister-in-law.
Stassi, poised and perfect as always, is sitting in the kitchen. I note with some satisfaction that her outfit echoes mine; dark, well fitting jeans, and a black sweater that also looks quite soft.Stassi, however, looks like a literal model, and I give her sleek blonde hair an envious glance before sliding in next to her.
“Morning,” I say, reaching for the pastries displayed on the table in front of her.
“Oh my god. I’m so happy you’re awake!” Stassi beams. “Okay so, I’m thinking today that we need to go into town and run some errands.”
My fingers freeze on the croissants. “What for?”
“Well, I need to confirm some things with the florist, and I think that someone in town has a really cute little stationery shop that I’m thinking of using for the invitations.”
“Invitations?”