Page 16 of On The Rocks

“Do you think he sees it?” she asked. “And that’s why he’s asked for you?”

I bit my lip thoughtfully, thinking back to my aunt’s birthday party when Callum didn’t even throw me a look, let alone a smile. He spoke to Shannon, though, a lot. “He doesn’t see me. He’s blinded by what’s on the surface.”

“Then he’s not good enough for you,” she declared.

“Whether he is or not, I’m going to marry him.”

“No, you don’t—” Emily began to protest, but I cut her off.

“I owe him, Em.”

“You don’t even know him,” she sputtered.

“I mean, I owe Patrick,” I murmured. “He took me in, made sure I got an education. He kept me fed and clothed, and he made sure I stayed out of the system.”

“It doesn’t make you indentured to him,” Em pointed out. “Your dad saved his life, and you lost him because of it. Patrick owes you, Em. You’ve been asked to supervise that dig next year in England. The instant you put your name to it, you’ll have sponsors lining up. Go and make it a success, and then you can write that book you’re always talking about. You don’t need to get married to break away from that toxic house. You’ve got the world at your feet.”

“But I want a family,” I whispered. “I want babies.”

Em went silent.

“Marrying Callum O’Shea isn’t a hardship,” I pointed out. “He’s beautiful and personable. The dig sounds incredible, but it won’t give me what I really want.”

“But you’ll move away forever if you marry him,” she mumbled.

My heart jerked painfully at the thought of leaving Emily.

I met her on my first day at Yale, when we bonded over an eighteenth-century tea plate. Em was everything I wasn’t, and although, technically, she was a nerdy girl too, she was hot with it. If I ever had a spirit animal, it was Emily; we were the same person in different bodies. If she had crazy red, frizzy hair, I would’ve sworn we were separated at birth.

“You could visit,” I suggested. “If you liked it, you could move. You could do your research from anywhere.”

“Maybe,” she replied. “Or you could tell your guardian to fuck off, and we could both go to England and leave those bitch sisters and a poor excuse for an adoptive mother behind.”

My mouth curved into a smile just as a knock sounded from my door and the snippy, bored voice of my Aunt Orla called, “Maeve. Callum’s downstairs. We’re waiting.”

Butterflies flapped inside my belly. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Call me later,” Em ordered. “I want to know everything.”

I said my goodbyes and disconnected the call, grimacing as Aunt Orla screeched my name again from the hall.

“Coming,” I called out, sitting up and shuffling toward the edge of my bed.

The door suddenly opened to reveal Orla standing with her arms folded across her chest, tapping her foot impatiently and wearing a pinched expression. “Jesus, Maeve. What’s taking so long? It’s not like you bother with makeup.” Her stare swept down my outfit, and her lips thinned, though for the life of me, I couldn’t work out why she was so irritated. She was the one who insisted on me wearing it.

Getting to my feet, I brought a hand up to smooth my hair down.

Aunt Orla always tried to make me feel like I wasn’t good enough. I knew I wasn’t conventionally pretty, but I was smart and a decent person.

“He’s been here ten minutes,” she bit out. “Couldn’t you try to make a good impression just this once? Your guardian’s made a decent match for you. Can’t you show some gratitude?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words got stuck in my throat.

It wasn’t worth it. Orla never listened. The more I argued with her, the worse she was to me. Marrying Callum wasn’t something I asked for, but I was determined to make the most of the situation. Anything that got me away from her and her nasty daughters couldn’t be viewed as bad. If anything, it was a godsend, one I was going to embrace.

I plastered a smile on my face. “Sorry, Aunt Orla. I didn’t know Callum was here.”

She waved her hand toward the door and snapped, “Go then.”

---