Page 51 of Claiming Genevieve

I suck in a breath,dropping my phone on the counter. I stare at the text, rereading it, knowing deep down that I should call Rowan. I should tell him about this. But realistically, what is Chris going to do?

When he showed up at Dahlia’s and we argued there, he said I have no idea the kind of connections he has. But what connections could those really be? “He’s a fucking hedge fund manager,” I mutter out loud, looking at the string of texts. “He has money, but…”

Rowan is mafia. Dimitri and Alek are Bratva. They’re all more powerful than Chris or any of his connections, surely. Who would interfere with them, or do anything to anger them? How could he possibly think he really has a leg to stand on when I’m the wife of the heir to the Irish mafia in New York?

“He’s just blowing smoke.” I look at the phone again. “He has to be.”

And if I show these texts to Rowan…I don’t know if he’s as violent as Alek, if he’d actuallykillChris, but he’d hurt him. He’d go after him and beat him to a bloody pulp for this—I feel sure of that. And what would that accomplish, other than just making Chris even angrier? He’s being a piece of shit, but plenty of people have piece-of-shit ex-boyfriends.

That doesn’t mean that they should sic the mafia on them.

I grab my phone, clicking the screen off, and shove it back in my pocket. I can’t help but feel that I don’t belong in this world, that it’s definitely for the best that my marriage to Rowan is temporary. I didn’t hate that Rowan knocked him out cold after Chris slapped me, but anything beyond that…

I can’t fathom the level of violence that I know would be unleashed if I showed any of the men in my life those texts. And while a small part of me, deep down, likes the idea that Rowan would violently defend me… that doesn’t mean Iactuallywant it to happen.

Just that the fantasy is kind of nice.

My phone buzzes again, but I don’t look at it. All I want is to stop thinking, for a little while, about how much of a mess my life has become. I want to curl up with my wine and my chocolate and my book, and make the world disappear for a little while, instead of thinking about everything that I can’t control right now—like my crazy ex, or the end of my career.

Or the husband that I’m not supposed to want, but can’t stop thinking about.

19

ROWAN

“Are you ready for this, son?”

I look at my father from where I’m standing across from him in his office, and I nod, despite the fact that I’m not at all sure that it’s the truth.Am I ready to meet with the other heads of the families, whom I know for a fact don’t believe that I’m capable of filling my father’s shoes?

Truthfully, I don’t think I am. I think, in fact, that they might be right about me. The weeks that have passed since I’ve come home have done nothing to make me feel better about my future, or to make me feel more capable of taking on the responsibility that’s being passed down to me.

In fact, I’ve started to think it might have been better if I hadn’t come home at all, and just let the Gallagher name die. That maybe I should have accepted that I didn’t deserve the money I lived off of and stood to inherit, and accepted that I’d have to find my way in a more mediocre life. After all, what have I really done since I’ve come home?

Nothing much, other than contributing to ending my now-wife’s ballet career through my obsession with her, and somehow stumbling into an arrangement that will end with us having a child that I’ll have no idea what to do with.

An arrangement that she’ll walk away from in the end, leaving me with nothing.

My father snaps his fingers with a vigor that would fool anyone into thinking that he isn’t actually riddled with cancer. “Pay attention, son,” he snaps, and I blink back into focus, giving him a quick nod.

“Sorry.” I shift on my feet, meeting his gaze. “Just thinking about how the meeting might go.”

It’s a lie, of course—I was thinking about Genevieve, just like I am most hours of the day. But I do my best to refocus, because today’s meeting is important. Everything I’ve done and sacrificed and arranged so far to fulfill my father’s wishes could all be for nothing if Dimitri and Antony refuse to accept me as the future boss of the Irish mafia. And while it would be highly unusual for them to do so, it’s not impossible.

“You should be,” my father says tightly. “This is your chance to make an impression, son. Don’t fuck it up.”

I press my lips together, biting back the first five retorts that come to mind. “I won’t,” is all I say, when what I really want to say isif you were so sure I’d fuck it up, you should have left me in Ireland.

Of course, then I would never have met Genevieve. And maybe she’d still be dancing, still gliding across that stage like a work of art. One thing’s for sure, I wouldn’t have learned what it felt like to feel as if, for the first time in my life, there’s something that I want more than a simple fuck.

Life was easier when that was all I wanted.

“Let’s go.” My father pushes himself up from behind the desk with some difficulty. He’s still able to walk and move around on his own, though the treatments have made him tired, and the doctors aren’t sure how much longer that will last. For now, though, he’s maintained that much independence. I have a feeling that once that goes, the rest of him won’t be far behind. My father was never someone who wanted to be coddled or cared for. He won’t take to it well now that he’s ill.

I nod, following behind him as we head out to the blacked-out SUV that’s waiting in the driveway. My thoughts are still lingering on Genevieve—on her appointment tomorrow, on what the doctor will say, on what the results will be once they’ve taken her cast off and looked at her ankle. She’s firm that her career as aprimais over, but I can’t help but hope that maybe she’s wrong. That maybe it wasn’t that bad, and she can have all she used to and more.

Of course, I know nothing about ballet, so I’m probably wrong.

“This is a huge responsibility you’re taking on,” my father says, turning to look at me. “All the businesses we’ve talked about, the deals I’ve gone over with you… all of it will be yours to manage and run as you see fit. That’s no small thing, son.”

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