Page 63 of False Heir

“Because I don’t let them trouble me,” Kieran replied without missing a beat, his gaze fixed on some distant point outside the window.

“Meaning?” I pressed, curious despite myself.

“Meaning,” Kieran said, turning his attention back to us, “I just never fall in love.”

The words hung in the air, devoid of bitterness or regret, spoken with such finality that they felt like a verdict.

“Never?” Liam echoed, skepticism etched onto his features.

“Never,” Kieran affirmed, picking up his pint again. “I have enough to worry about, honestly.”

“Must be convenient,” I mused aloud, although a part of me wondered what it would cost to live with such emotional detachment.

“Or lonely,” Liam added softly, the whimsy gone from his tone.

“Maybe it just means I have more time to play video games,” Kieran said softly.

The tension lifted a little, replaced by the familiar rhythm of our banter. But I couldn’t shake off Kieran’s words that easily. Never fall in love...

If only it were that easy.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Tristan

The sun hung low over the Boston marina, a lazy after-lunch glow warming the docks and casting long shadows that danced lightly across the water. The air was thick with the scent of salt and diesel—a familiar smell that took me back to days when life was less complicated.

“Let’s take a walk,” Kieran suggested, his voice barely rising above the sound of boats bobbing against their moorings.

Without a word, I fell into step beside him, our footsteps in sync as we navigated through the maze of white yachts and small fishing vessels. Liam trailed behind us, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, whistling some tune that seemed out of place amidst the solemnity of the moment.

We reached the old bench, its paint peeling from years of neglect and harsh winters. It was our spot—the one constant in a world that never stopped changing. We’d sit here to plot, to dream, to escape. Today was no different, though the weight of recent events pressed down on us, heavy as the humidity in the summer air.

Kieran pulled out a spliff, the scent hitting me before I even saw it—earthy, slightly sweet. It was an invitation without words, a ritual that needed no explanation. Liam reached for it, eager, a spark of something like relief flickering over his face.

I hesitated, my mind clouded with images of Adriana. Her laughter, her touch—it all seemed so distant now, like a dream I was struggling to remember. I watched the spliff make its way to Kieran, then to Liam, and finally, it came to me.

“Take a hit, lad,” Kieran said, his eyes locked on mine.

I lifted the spliff to my lips, drawing in the smoke slowly, letting it fill my lungs, hoping it would numb the ache, if just for a little while.

The first puff released a plume of white smoke into the air, hanging heavy in the stillness between us. It seemed to carry with it the weight of unspoken emotions, thick and suffocating. I exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate against the canvas of the marina, boats bobbing gently in the water.

Liam’s voice cut through the silence, hoarse and low. “So, Adriana, huh?” He looked at me, searching my face for something. “Things really rough?”

I nodded solemnly, taking another drag, feeling the burn in my chest. A temporary relief from the constant churn of thoughts about her—Adriana with her sharp wit and guarded heart. The way she held herself, like she was ready to fight or flee at any moment. It should’ve been a warning, a sign to stay clear. But I’d never been one to heed warnings.

“Can’t shake her,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper, betraying the turmoil that simmered beneath the surface. Adriana Orsini had become an enigma, etching herself into my every thought, leaving me restless.

Liam just watched me, his expression unreadable. We were brothers, bound by blood and loyalty, but there were oceans within each of us that remained uncharted, filled with our own private monsters.

“Let’s focus on what we can control, yeah?” Liam eventually said, a forced levity creeping into his tone. He took back the spliff, holding onto it like a lifeline as he leaned back against the worn wooden bench, pretending for a moment that everything was alright.

But we both knew better.

“So is she…leaving?” Liam asked.

“Leaving? She’s pregnant with my children,” I said. “She’s not leaving.”

“But you could pull a full Irish goodbye, eh? Gotta forget the fancy girl,” Liam said with a cynical laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around us like a temporary shroud. His gaze was distant, red-rimmed and weary.

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