Page 75 of Vengeful Vows

“I’m sure. Monday.”

We always do our visits on Mondays, so I’m not surprised.

“All right, Da.”

“How’s your girl?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye.

I sigh. “I don’t know.”

“She’s got a lot to think about, boyo. Don’t push too hard.” He claps me on the back as he walks away, back into the kitchen.

Marisol laughs at something he says.

I smile a little. I’ve always thought that Da and Marisol should start dating, since she’s single and childless, but I guess that’ll never happen.

He’s still married to Ma, in his heart, and I can’t blame him for that.

They’d been so in love.

I still remember a day when they’d been dancing. Ma giggled as Da swept her off her feet, kissing her throat, and little me stood in the doorway, watching, covering my mouth with my hand.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry, and I wasn’t sure why.

Now I know what that feeling was.

Longing.

I’d wanted, even at six years old, what my parents had. I’d wanted someone to dance with in the kitchen, someone to come home to.

And now that I had a taste of it, of what it could be, I want it even more. Want her even more.

But now, after all the blood that’s on my hands, after being the Irish scourge for most of my life—do I even deserve a woman like Bree?

Lara comes back downstairs, and I instantly go to her, meeting her at the base of the staircase.

“She’s going to be okay.” She pats my shoulder. “But you’ve got to give her some more space, Declan.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” I admit, frowning. “I need to see her.”

Lara smiles. “I guess maybe you’re not so against the idea of marriage anymore?”

I sigh. “Just... call me if she needs me,” I say, not wanting to get into it with my sister, of all people.

I need to talk to someone, but it can’t be Lara. She’ll tell Paige, and Paige will tell everybody.

Bree doesn’t come down for dinner that night, and all of us are a little subdued after last night’s conversation.

When I excuse myself from the table, I go right to the bedroom, feeling silly for knocking on my own bedroom door.

“Yes?" Bree calls.

“Can I come in?”

She pauses, and for a moment I think she won’t let me in, and my heart drops.

Then the door swings open, and she stands there in a fluffy pink bathrobe, her eyes puffy and red-rimmed.

“Oh, princess,” I murmur, walking inside, and she steps back as if she doesn’t want me to touch her.

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