Page 58 of Irish Vice

Aiofe holds up her basket, which is filled with brightly colored plastic eggs, the kind that open to hold boiled sweets.

“For me?” I ask, making a show of choosing the biggest one.

She squeals a protest and pulls the basket away. But then she thinks twice and digs into her stash. She pokes around for a moment, and I’m not surprised when she comes up with a bright green egg.

“Thank you,” I say, as if she’s offered me the legendary Sword of Nuada. “I’ll give it to Fairfax and ask him to cook it for breakfast tomorrow.”

Laughing, she shakes her head. I let her take the egg from me, and she shows me how it opens, how it’s filled with treats.

“Now that makes more sense,” I say, which makes her laugh again.

“Time to head home?” Samantha asks.

We can’t go back to Thornfield. Not until Fiona is packed and gone. “A day this lovely, I thought we’d take some air. What do you think about a trip to the zoo?”

I can tell Samantha’s suspicious, but she won’t push, not after I settle a warning hand on the ribbon in Aiofe’s hair. So she shrugs, and Aiofe claps her hands, and I lead the way to the Bentley like I haven’t a care in the world.

Like I haven’t just launched a war against the General of the Grand Irish Union.

23

SAMANTHA

Iwake before sunrise, tangled in bedclothes and fighting a nightmare. The images are hazy the way so many dreams are—I was in a courtroom, but it was also the zoo. I was pleading for my law license, but I was also explaining why I failed to feed the lions and giraffes. I was standing over three graves, but I was also locked in a concrete cage with steel bars as thick as my waist while Detective Tarrant read out loud from a Bible.

My pulse still pounds in double-time as I stagger into the bathroom and splash cold water over my face. My nose is sunburned; I spent too much time walking around the zoo yesterday with Braiden and Aiofe. My feet are sore, and I have blisters from my shoes.

By the time I’ve brushed my teeth and combed my hair, I’m beginning to feel more human. I didn’t eat dinner last night; I couldn’t face a bite of food after an afternoon of hot dogs and popcorn and cotton candy.

In fact, when we got back from the zoo, Aiofe was sound asleep, slumped against her seatbelt in the back of the Bentley. Braiden carried her into the house. With a rueful smile, I headed to the pool house, too full and too tired, too sunburned and footsore to consider heading after him for a session wearing my collar.

I’m still not hungry, but I’m bound by house rules. And honestly, I’m looking forward to the first breakfast in ages without Fiona Ingram sitting at the table.

It’s Monday, and I have a full day of online meetings, so I dress in one of my favorite outfits: Double-breasted Prada blazer, matching charcoal trousers, white shell, and low black pumps, in deference to my tender feet. I head over to the main house with a smile on my face.

“Good morning,” I say to Braiden.

He eyes my clothes with an approving leer before he moves to the sideboard. Pouring me a cup of coffee, he asks, “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well,” I lie. “I was exhausted after all that walking.”

“I can think of better ways to get tired out.”

His arm brushes mine and I blush. He chuckles as he takes his place at the head of the table. I haven’t seen him this relaxed…ever.

“Tired out,” Birte chants from her seat across from me. “Without a doubt. Out, out, out.”

Fairfax has provided his usual spread—eggs, sausage, potatoes, and the rest. I help myself to a bowl of thick, tangy yogurt, smothering it in heaps of fresh berries to convince Braiden it’s a meal.

Birte continues humming to herself, serene behind a full array of food as she sips a scalding cup of tea. Beside her, Aiofe eyes an empty plate. I push the platter of blood sausage—one of her favorites—closer so she can serve herself. Her face goes the color of skim milk.

Braiden says with a barely suppressed smile. “Someonewoke up during the night and ate all the sweets in her Easter eggs.”

I smother my own grin behind my cup of coffee. I half-expect Braiden to force her to eat, just to make his point. But it’s not fair to make anyone clean up the mess that will surely result.

“Try to drink some tea,” I tell Aiofe. “That might settle your tummy.”

She takes a courageous sip of the beige drink Braiden’s given her—mostly milk, with just a splash of tea. Birte loads her own fork with potatoes as if she’s trying to set a good example. “Drink some tea. Eat like me. Tea. Tea. Tea.”