Page 125 of Lovely Venom

Gulp...

CHAPTER FIFTY

Connor

Raina and I linger in the kitchen, standing shoulder to shoulder near the island, soaking in the warmth that only a Quinlan Sunday dinner can bring. I wink at Sabine, who’s slicing through a fresh loaf of crusty bread, the serrated knife whispering against the wooden cutting board.

“You heard Ma. We got this,” she says, flicking a glance toward the stovetop and waving the bread knife in silent warning.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” Raina says, her eyes catching the glint of either the monstrous diamond Grayson put on Sabine’s finger or the more modest, well-worn jewel on her right hand.

Sabine waves her fingers. “It was my sister Norah’s.”

The room quiets with her reply.

But we’re used to this. We don’t tiptoe around my deceased sister Norah. She’s still here. And probably another reason Ma will never leave this house. Norah’s soul is here. She’s not a ghost trapped in the walls. She’s all around us.

Still, my throat goes tight, the same as it always does when we explain to someone new thatNorah is gone. It’s a dance we’ve all learned. How to thread our words carefully, how to keep the grief contained, and talk about her with joy. Not sadness.

Griffin once told Ava to pay attention when we talk about Norah. ‘You’ll know which one,’ he’d said. ‘Listen for whether we speak in the present or the past.’

Raina’s fingers lift instinctively to her throat. “Was?” she asks, her voicenearly a whisper.

“She passed. Years ago.” Sabine lifts her right hand and presses a kiss to the oval garnet stone, set in a delicate gold band. It was Norah’s favorite. “We each wear something of hers every day.”

“That’s incredibly thoughtful,” Raina says, her voice a little hoarse now. “Each?”

“All these brats,” Sabine says, jerking her head toward me.

Raina’s about to get a crash course in the Quinlan family tree, whether she wants one or not.

“Five people remembering her every day must mean she was special,” she says, her voice laden with quiet sorrow.

“Do you have siblings?” Sabine asks, passing the bread into a paper-lined bowl.

“It was just me and my mom.” Raina shakes her head. “She passed last year.”

Sabine winces, genuine empathy darkening her expression. “I’m so sorry. Our da’s been gone for a couple of years now. My brothers all look like him. In different combinations.” Her eyes flick to me and then soften. “Connor even sounds like our da. Sometimes it’s like Da never left us.”

“You’re lucky to have grown up in such a big, loving family,” Raina murmurs, shifting her weight like she needs to disconnect from the emotion.

Before Sabine makes her runaway, I loop an arm around Raina’s waist. “Don’t scare the lass off.”

Sabine smiles genuinely at me. “She don’t look scared to me.”

“I’m not. And I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Raina says, her tone lifting. “Sabine is a beautiful name.”

“Her name isSiobhan,” I say, leaning into the Gaelic lilt, proud of our heritage.

“Brat,” Sabine hisses a laugh, glancing between Rainaand me.

“Don’t call your brother a brat, Siobhan,” Ma calls from across the room, not even looking up as she wipes her hands on a dish towel. “And how many times do I have to tell you to get out of my kitchen, Connor?”

“We’re going, Ma.” I squeeze Raina’s hand and lead her away from the kitchen.

As we pass the console table crowded with frames, Raina slows. “Was this her?” she asks, fingers reaching toward a photo.

With her strawberry blonde hair and the same Quinlan blue eyes, Norah’s laugh is frozen in time. Her arm is slung around a younger, untamed Sabine. They look caught in the kind of happiness we never could have guessed had an expiration date.