Page 10 of Irish Vice

My fingers go to the fresh bandage I wrapped around my forearm when I woke this morning. That was when I thought the worst part of my day would be managing a seeping wound, reminder of a wayward bullet meant to take Samantha.

I trace the outline of an older wound beneath the gauze, a scar I’ve carried since I was six. A madman trapped me in a closet then, murdering seventeen of my classmates and five innocent nuns. I’ve long grown used to the acid burn deep in my ruined skin, to the bitter taste of failure. I should have stopped the killer. Twenty-two tombstones measure how I failed.

I stop myself from scratching as Aiofe and Grace appear in the garden, rounding the corner of the pool house. When Aiofe catches sight of Birte, she flies across the lawn, her small features lighting with joy. Grace plods along after, her plain face tugged into sullen lines.

Before I can see how Birte responds to the attention, my phone rings again. It’s a blocked number, one I’d ignore if this were a day my life wasn’t falling apart. Instead, I answer: “Kelly.”

“Tell your guard to let me past the gate.”

“Fiona.” She’s hours early, which can’t be a mistake.

“Boss,” she prompts me.

“I’ll not call you Boss in my own home.”

“You’ll give me the honor I’m due.”

“Your da’s my General, and I call him Boss. You only get the title when you act in his stead.”

“I always?—”

I make a point of cutting her off. “You’re here to learn, your da said. Lesson one. I make the rules at Thornfield.” I tap my phone, opening the front gate. “Come on up to the schoolhouse, Fiona. Make yourself at home.”

5

SAMANTHA

Alec Fairfax is a marvel.

When I arrived in the pool house this morning, I found a building that hadn’t been touched in months. While the floor-to-ceiling windows looking over the pool provided stunning light, their water-spotted panes hadn’t been cleaned in ages. There were visible gaps between the door and its frame. The dorm-size refrigerator and microwave seemed functional, but I had a choice of sleeping on a too-short couch, a pool table, or the floor, with a stack of brightly colored beach towels as my only linens.

By the time the sun set over the main Thornfield house, a complete transformation was made. Fairfax commanded a small army of specialists—a carpenter to install weather-stripping and window shades; housekeepers to dust, mop, and polish the windows till they gleamed; multiple teams of delivery men bearing a king-size bed complete with wrought-iron headboardand footboard, a pair of nightstands, a mahogany armoire and matching chest of drawers, an overstuffed armchair perfect for reading, and a full array of lamps. The last crew to arrive brought towels and sheets and blankets, along with a duvet covered in a honeysuckle-and-tulip print.

The floral design is gorgeous, a classic pattern in greens and blues and cream. It’s prettier than anything I’ve owned in years.

I shouldn’t like the duvet. I shouldn’t allow it. I should have the discipline to stick with the plain solid colors I deserve. But I can’t stop staring at the beautiful flowers—one good thing to come out of today’s chaos.

Fairfax himself brings my clothes from the house—four suitcases that he must have ferried in stages before knocking at the pool house door. “Would you like me to unpack for you?” he asks.

“No,” I say, reaching out to take one of the bags. “I’ll do it.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Miss Samantha—” he starts.

“Please. Just Sam. Like before.” Before I moved out of the house. Before I found out my husband had another wife.

“Sam,” he starts again. “I owe you an apology.”

“No, you don’t.”

“An explanation then.”

“Your explanation is that you work for my husband.” That’s not exactly true. Braiden and I are not married.

Fairfax threads that needle delicately. “Nevertheless, I regret I did not tell you about the first Mrs. Kelly.”

The first Mrs. Kelly.

I shake my head, because we’re all trapped in these lies together. “Thank you,” I say. And then I purposefully try to brighten the mood. “I can’t believe you’ve done all this in just one afternoon.”