Page 127 of Unrequited

“This is really delicious,” Bronwyn says, sweet and earnest. “Leave it to Seamus to find a woman who can cook when we actually need one.”

Her cheerfulness is infectious. I smile. “Thank you. I do like to cook.”

“Can you teach me?” she asks.

Ash snorts. Caitlin gently smacks his arm. “Ash, be nice.”

But he just shakes his head. “If you can teach Bronwyn to cook, we’ll call you a miracle worker.”

I chuckle, placing a bite of chicken into my mouth. “We’ll start small. Maybe toast.”

Seamus winks at me. My heart doesn’t flutter, it somersaults. We may be married, we may have spent months tangled in each other’s lives, but somehow he still does this to me.

And I want him. God, I want him.

Wine is passed around, and the conversation softens. It feels normal, almost.

“Where is everyone else?” Seamus asks, his voice lowering slightly. He turns to me. “I have brothers, too, you know.”

“I’ll introduce you shortly,” Keenan says. “After your absence, I had to send them on a bit of a recon. I’ll fill you in later. Tomorrow,” he continues. “By then, we’ll have the full family together. Here.”

Yay.

“I can hire a caterer,” Caitlin begins.

But Keenan interrupts, his eyes locking with mine.

“You could. Or you could give Zoya another opportunity to cook.”

A challenge. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Would you like that?”

He’s testing me. I meet his gaze, unflinching. “I’d love that. I cook for my family at home all the time.”

Silence. No one responds. And once again, I feel my cheeks burn.

My family. Their enemies.

Seamus leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “I’ve had enough of the social life now. Let’s go.” He stands. “Thank you for dinner,” he says, reaching for my hand.

“I prepared your old room for you, son,” Caitlin says,standing to embrace him. “It’s good to see you. Good to have you back.”

Keenan nods at Seamus but doesn’t rise. “I’ll see you tonight. I’d like to go over what you missed in your absence.”

“Yes, sir,” Seamus replies.

He heads for the door.

“Well, that went well,” I murmur to him, my voice a little wry, a little surprised, like maybe I hadn’t expected it to.

Seamus gives me a smile, slow and tight, but full of something private. Something just for me.

Once we’re in the hallway alone, the door clicks shut behind us, sealing off the muffled voices and lingering tension on the other side. It’s quieter here. Dimmer. The kind of quiet that lets truths come out.

He reaches for me without hesitation, like he needs the contact, and cups the back of my head, his palm warm and steady against my scalp. Then his forehead touches mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us.

“I love you, Zoya,” he whispers, and the weight of it lands softly but undeniably in my chest. “I’m sorry.”