Page 117 of Unrequited

“We bleed for our family here. We marry for them. We kill for them.” Her words fall heavy. “You think a warm pussy and big eyes like yours got you a seat at this table?”

I shake my head and let out a short, dry laugh.

“I’m so pleased to meet you too,” I tell her. “As far as the warmth of my pussy and size of my eyes, I think that’s something you’d best take up with your brother.”

I flash her something that could almost pass for a smile if you didn’t know better. It’s tight and polite. “Interesting,” I say while shaking my head. “Seamus speaks so highly ofyou.”

And for a second, just a beat, her face shifts. There’s a flicker in her eyes. Regret, maybe. Sadness.

She straightens and crosses her arms over her chest. “Why don’t you tell me your side of the story then?” she says, quieter now.

“Sure,” I say with a shrug. “Might as well hope for the best.”

I tell her everything, bare bones but honest. “We met in a pub. I fell in love. So did he. He went to jail, and I thought he was gone.” I let that hang there for a second. “While he was away, my oldest brother arranged for me to be married to someone else. It seems Seamus wasn’t having it.” I shrug. “He broke out of jail to come and get me because, apparently, I mattered to him.”

Their eyes widen.

And then, softly, “It was actually on my wedding day that Seamus killed him and took his place.”

A beat.

“And now we’re married.”

I give her a sweet smile that doesn’t touch my eyes.

Her jaw drops. “He didwhat?”

“How does that match with your version?”

But before she can answer, the kitchen air shifts when someone else walks in.

She has long, dark hair streaked with silver. A woman, still beautiful though aged, in that timeless, maternal kind of way. Her presence is calm but unyielding. Her eyes land on me, and her voice is soft, laced in velvet but backed with steel.

“Kyla,” she says sharply, and her tone alone demands silence. “Your argument is not with Zoya. Leave her. Please. Be kind. Just because you’re bitter about your life doesn’t mean you get to take it out on your new sister-in-law.”

Kyla visibly bristles. But she obeys. Barely.

“Sweet girl,” the woman says gently, walking over to me, her hand out. “Come. You’re shaken. Let me make you some tea. I’m so sorry for your welcome here,” she adds, almost in a whisper. “I think if you understood… It’s been a rough few days.”

She trails off, eyes flicking away like she isn’t sure herself howto finish.

“Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t. But let’s have a cup of tea, shall we?”

I nod slowly, my throat tight. “And you are…?”

“Oh, lass,” she says with a soft chuckle, “I forgot myself. It’s a shame things happened the way they did. You’d have already known me by now.”

She gives me a smile that’s all warmth.

“My name is Caitlin McCarthy,” she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I’m Seamus’s mother. Your mother-in-law. Welcome.”

She kisses me on both cheeks, soft and gentle and real. It’s the kindest thing anyone has done since I got to Ireland, and I nearly cry from the sheer tenderness of it.

Almost.

“I like her,” Bronwyn pipes up, stepping back into the kitchen like she hadn’t just vanished. She’s younger, bright-eyed and mischievous.

She’s got a round face, curves like her mother’s, and thick hair hanging all the way to her waist. She’s young, but there’s wisdom in her eyes.