Page 92 of Vengeful Union

She slides off me and plops down beside me, humming contentedly.

I throw my forearm over my eyes, trying to calm down, and she puts her head on my chest, her arm around my waist.

“I’m going to have to buy that dress from Bree,” she says, and I bark out a laugh, removing my arm from my eyes to look at Lara.

“I should really call her. I assume Declan has let her know the plan, but...”

“She’s your sister,” Lara says simply, and I nod.

I haven’t taken care of my little sister the way I should, but I guess if I had, she may not have ended up a Burke, and from what Lara says, she’s happy.

I roll over and grab my phone off the nightstand, scrolling down to her contact and calling. I put it up to my ear and listen to the tinny ring.

I’m nervous, which seems strange because Bree and I were so close when we were young.

She answers on the third ring, sounding out of breath.

“Rory?"

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“I’m a hundred months pregnant, it’s always a bad time,” she mutters, and I laugh.

“So, what are you naming my niece or nephew?”

“Nephew, and we’re stuck between Connor and Finn.”

“I like Finn. Wasn’t that Grandpa’s name?”

“It was.” She pauses. “Enough with the small talk. How’s Lara?”

I glance over at her. She’s snuggled up next to my side, her eyes half-lidded.

“She’s good,” I say vaguely. “How’s your husband?”

“Worried about his sister.” Her voice is a little flat. “What are you even doing, Rory? This isn't like you.”

I sigh. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Me? Or Lara?” There’s a teasing note to her voice, and I groan.

“Don’t start.”

She laughs. “All right, fine. Have you gotten any dirt on our father?”

“A little. Not much.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “Anything about Ma?”

I frown, sitting up.

Lara whines and readjusts herself against me. She’s clearly exhausted.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you find it a little fishy, Rory? The way she left? She was always so attached to us and then suddenly, she’s gone without a word? Without even telling us goodbye?”

“Our father didn’t have anything to do with Ma leaving,” I say firmly, but something niggles at the back of my mind. A folder on his computer, titled something in Irish Gaelic.

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