Page 34 of Irish Vice

I panicked.

But Braiden didn’t. He stepped up to save me with a grin and a filthy rhyme.

Even then, I could have laughed. I could have teased him, in front of all his men. I could have kissed him—like Fiona did.

I’m not made for this life. Not the heavy drinking. Not the raunchy humor. Not the raw, male power of it all.

Not the Irish Mob.

I pluck my collar from its velvet bed and shove it in my pocket. It’s mine. I’ve earned it.

Turning to escape, I find Aiofe standing in the doorway. She’s wearing her pajamas—soft pink fleece with a pattern of turquoise puppies. The slippers on her feet are huge lumps of purple fur that make her look like a baby sasquatch. She’s carrying a worn stuffed animal, a bunny with one ear permanently crimped into a fold.

“Hey there, little one,” I say. My hand is still in my pocket. I close it around the necklace, like I’m afraid she’ll try to take it away.

She comes into the room cautiously, as if the Big Bad Wolf might leap out from any corner. When she reaches me, she studies my skirt. She finds one of the tulips—brilliant pink against the black silk background—and she folds her hand around it.

“That’s right,” I say, when she looks up at me. “Just like the flowers you brought me.”

She smiles. Her teeth are tiny and perfect, like the “after” picture from an ad for orthodontia. Her grin lights up her entire face, and she finds other tulips on my skirt—purple ones and gold ones and more deep pink, scattered across the cloth.

“There you are!” We’re both surprised by the voice in the doorway. I don’t know what Aiofe thinks, but my mind automatically registers that it’s wrong. It’s too high, too English, too not-Braiden.

Fairfax claps his hands, as if he’s just discovered an overlooked present under his own private Christmas tree. “My two favorite girls, both in one place.”

Aiofe beams again. I try not to look like a thief as I drag my hand out of my pocket.

The noise from the party surges again. Fairfax glances over his shoulder before he shakes his head. “I hope you two can help me out.” He lowers his voice so we have to step closer, have to become part of his conspiracy. “I made too much food for the party downstairs. I have a pot of tea left over, and a plate of biscuits that will just go to waste. Will you let me bring them to you? A bedtime snack in the nursery?”

Aiofe claps her hands, her whole body wriggling with excitement. When she looks at me, her face is full of hope, as if I’m the only person in the world who can grant her fondest wish.

Fairfax is looking at me too. “Himself would be pleased if you stay,” he says.

He isn’t talking about tea and cookies.

“I don’t think I can do that,” I say.

Aiofe’s face crumples. Fairfax says, “Have a cuppa, and then make your decision.”

“I don’t like tea.”

“It’s chamomile,” he says. “Soothes the soul.”

Aiofe doesn’t need words to plead with me. Every line of her body is a breathless, desperate prayer.

“My soul is fine,” I lie to Fairfax.

“Of course it is.”

Another shout rises from the party. Fiona distinctly says, “You Fishtown Boys—” I can’t make out the rest of her declaration but the roar of male approval billows up the stairs like sewer gas.

Aiofe’s shoulders slump. So I say to Fairfax, “One cup.”

“And a couple of biscuits,” he urges.

I nod.

“I’ll be back in a tick.”