Page 44 of Claimed By Daddy

A FEW DAYS LATER

Opening the wine fridge nestled under the kitchen counter, I reach in for the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. The wine bottle clinks softly against the countertop as I set it down and pull out two glasses. I’m about to pour a glass for both me and Eavan when heavy footsteps approach behind me. I turn in time to see Cillian step into the kitchen.

The air in the room suddenly feels thick and heavy—this thing between us is still not settled. “Hey, Cian.” I push the glasses aside and lift the bottle from the counter. His eyes flit between me and the two glasses, and I can feel the judgmentin his gaze. The two of us haven’t had a proper conversation about everything. We’ve actually been ignoring the elephant in the room and avoiding each other since the day he caught me balls deep in his sister and he bloodied my face over it.

“Enzo.” His greeting is flat and guarded, a far cry from the joviality he used to address me with. I slide the cork back into the bottle, my fingers moving with a practiced ease, as the room falls into an uncomfortable silence for a moment. “I didn’t know you were…” He stops, shaking his head like he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. His expression hardens, and I can’t blame him.

What I did… What Eavan and I did—hiding our relationship from him, keeping him in the dark—has been hard on him. And our relationship. We all know that.

“I’m getting a glass of wine for Eavan,” I share, forcing a casual tone and setting the bottle back on the island.

“I can see that,” he mutters dryly—a chuckle almost escaping him.

“We haven’t really had a chance to be alone since... everything happened.” I stumble a little through my words. “But… for what it’s worth… I want to officially apologize.”

Cillian’s brows furrow, and he crosses his arms over his chest before leaning against the counter. His eyes narrow slightly, and he gruffs, “Oh yeah? For what exactly? Sleeping with my sister?”

“No,” I laugh, the reaction a mixture of amusement and discomfort. “I’ll never be sorry for that.” The muscle in hisjaw twitches, and I can’t help but smirk at his reaction, knowing my answer has completely caught him off-guard. I shift my weight, holding his gaze. “But I am sorry. Sorry that I didn’t tell you. About Eavan. About us.”

His expression softens slightly, the tightness in his shoulders easing as he uncrosses his arms. “I just… I don’t get it.” He shakes his head. “You’re my best friend, Enz. My brother. You and Eavan… Out of nowhere…” His words trail off as he tosses his hands up in exasperation. They fall to his sides, and he mutters. “It feels like I was the last to know, and I can’t help but wonder why you felt you couldn’t share that with me.”

The words stinging, I swallow hard.I let him down. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. Fuck… I didn’t mean for it to happen at all. And when it did… I just… I didn’t know how to explain it. I fucked up. I should’ve convinced her to let me tell you sooner.”

His eyes search mine as though he’s trying to verify the sincerity of my words. He lets out a heavy exhale, his shoulders slumping in resignation. “You’re not the only one who fucked up,” he confesses, breaking the silence. “Eavan and me... We have our own shit… I’m not exactly blameless for her thinking I’m not capable of seeing her as anything more than the little girl she was when I left home.”

“I’m not willing to give her up. Not in the slightest. But I don’t want to lose our friendship.”

“We’re not friends, Enzo.” Cillian shakes his head, and the words hit me like a punch to the gut. “We haven’t beenfriends for years. You’re my brother. My fucking family. I can’t deny that I was fucking pissed—and hurt because of the secrecy—but I get it. I do.”

“We should’ve told you. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s done now,” he laments, his voice finally easing. “I’m not mad. Well, not anymore. I get it. I just... I needed to hear that. From you.” Cillian nods again and jests, “And maybe you could not force me to endure listening to the two of you at night again.”

“We can pick you up some headphones,” I lightly quip. “Or some earplugs.”

He rolls his eyes, a small laugh rising from him. “Just, don’t fuck this up, Enzo. If you hurt her, I will beat the ever-loving shit out of you… again.”

“I would expect nothing less.” I feel a sharp grin tug at my lips. My eyes wander behind Cillian to the terrace where Eavan is patiently waiting for me to return with our drinks. Her silhouette is framed against the fading light of the evening—her hair blowing slightly with the soft breeze. “I could never hurt her. And if I did, I’d deserve whatever you did to me. Probably worse.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page.” Cillian wraps his arm around my back, and he pulls me close until our shoulders bump. After clapping me twice on the back, he steps back with a nod—a true bro hug. “You better get back out there before Eavan thinks you’re avoiding her. Or that I’ve murdered you.”

I turn toward the counter, finally pouring the wine. The distance between Cillian and me is still there, but it feels a little smaller now. A little more manageable. The bottle glugs softly, and as I pour the second glass, the door slides open to the terrace.

“Enz,” Eavan calls from the cracked door, her expression showing her concern over finding Cillian was my hold-up. “Are you coming?”

“Yeah, princess,” I answer with a smile, not wanting to deny her my attention for another second. “I’m coming.”

“Be good to her,” Cillian insists as I lift the two glasses from the counter.

“Always.”

The night air is cool, but not enough to make me uncomfortable. Except for the soft hum of the city below, its skyline lights dancing across the adjacent buildings, the terrace is quiet. It would be remarkably relaxing if I weren’t constantly glancing over my shoulder, worried that I’m going to need to intercept a bloodbath in the kitchen between Enzo and Cillian.

Their conversation has stayed civil—at least it appears so from this side of the glass—but this is the longest they’ve spent alone since Cillian walked in on the us. I checked on them a few minutes ago and thought Enzo was coming, but something held him up again.

I lift my feet onto the terrace chaise and pull the blanket over them. The soft clink of glass pulls my attention to the sliding door, where Enzo is finally returning with our drinks. He has an odd grin on his face, and I can’t quite tell if he’s amused with himself or relieved.

“Mission accomplished,” he announces, handing me one of the glasses—the moonlight reflecting on the surface of the white wine.

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