Page 42 of Still Burning

What was also unexpected was that I had been given the master suite. It was on the third floor, and almost the entirefloor consisted of it. Why would I have been given all that space in Brady’s house? I didn’t even know where his room was, but I doubted it was more impressive than the group of rooms given to me, which Maeve had called the master suites.

One of my and Eamon’s wedding portraits hung over the white marble fireplace in my sitting room, which was attached to the bedroom. I wouldn’t go in there after seeing it staring down at me the first time. I wanted to ask for it to be removed, but instead of making a fuss, I just stayed out of that particular room. That photo was one of a girl who trusted the man she was marrying. She thought he loved her. She believed a lie.

There was a sharp tap on the door before it opened, and Shara, one of the two maids, stepped into the room. She was a petite blonde who I’d guess was close to thirty. Like Maeve, she wore a knee-length black service dress with a white apron. It was all very lofty and annoyed me that the employees had a uniform like that to wear.

“Mrs. Murphy,” she said with her pleasant Irish lilt. “I hope yer havin’ a nice afternoon.”

I’d tried to get her to call me Salem, but she, Maeve, and the other maid, Elva—who was around my age—all refused. Brady had said to call me Mrs. Murphy, and that was what they’d do.

I chose not to lie to the women, and when they said things such as this, I always responded honestly.

“No, Shara, I’m afraid I’m still a miserable soul who misses her home and hates everything to do with Ireland.” I paused, feeling bad about speaking poorly of her country. “I’m sorry. I know, to you, it’s a lovely place, and it’s home. You’d likely hate America.”

She laughed softly. “I’d like to visit though. But, yes, Ireland is home.”

“And everyone longs for home. This will never be mine.”

Her usually chipper expression faded. “I can understand that,” she replied. “But does it help at all that yer husband stayed herewhen he visited? He grew up in these halls, ye know.”

Yes, I knew.

Maeve had told me all about it. She’d taken the job when the boys were teenagers. Even when I didn’t respond to her stories that she thought were funny, she continued telling them to me. As if, one day, I’d throw my head back and cackle. It wouldn’t happen. I didn’t care to know about Eamon’s life. Not anymore.

Saying nothing, I gave her a nod and waited for her to tell me what she needed.

“Yes, uh…” She sounded nervous, and again, I felt bad about that.

In any other circumstance, I believed we could be friends. But seeing as she, along with the others, were so loyal to Brady, I trusted no one. They knew I’d not come on my own free will and I was basically being held captive. If I didn’t stay here, then Brady would kill Rome.

“Mr. Murphy is having a dinner tonight with guests. He requires yer attendance. He has also chosen what ye are to wear and instructed me on how to fix yer hair. Ye are to be in the parlor for predinner drinks at seven. What time would ye like to begin gettin’ ready?”

I was required to eat dinner with his guests? Was he serious? Yes. Yes, he was. He was the world’s biggest asshole. Correction: he was the world’s biggest criminal asshole.

Rolling my eyes, I turned to look back out the window. I could argue with him and refuse to go, but I was here because he held all the power. If he demanded I do something, then I’d have to do it. And I didn’t have the energy to fight him. I was too tired.

“Five thirty will be fine,” I replied with complete lack of emotion in my tone. My voice sounded as dead as I felt.

“Very well. I’ll meet ye in yer dressin’ room at five thirty,” she replied.

I didn’t turn around and say anything more, sitting in silencewhile the door clicked shut behind her.

Music played lightly in the background throughout the house as I descended the staircase. Glancing down at my dress, I thought again of how similar Brady’s tastes were to his brother’s. This was a dress that Eamon would have liked. He’d have chosen it, too, if it had been among the choices. But Eamon hadn’t dressed me. Our marriage wasn’t like that. He’d treated me as his equal. Brady would make a terrible husband. It was a good thing the man wasn’t planning on getting married.

Maeve appeared at the bottom of the stairs, beaming up at me. “Yer a beauty, Mrs. Murphy. Why, ye take my breath away,” she said, placing a hand on her chest. “No wonder Master Rí was so completely taken with ye. His eyes never wandered. I’ve never known a more devoted man.”

I didn’t need to hear about Eamon’s values. I’d heard enough.

This entire household had literally worshipped him, it seemed. None of them had thought it was wrong that he hadn’t shared this part of his life with me. The excuse that I’d never have accepted it was correct. I wouldn’t have married Eamon had I known. His lying to me to get what he wanted was unforgivable. And because of it, I was here. With his horrid brother.

“Thank you,” I replied.

She waited until I reached the bottom, then told me to follow her. I could hear the voices and Brady’s laughter as we neared the room I was supposed to have been in ten minutes ago. I did not care. I wasn’t his puppet. I had to draw a line somewhere. He had taken away all my control over my own life.

When I entered, I realized it was mostly men and only two other women. The room went silent, and Brady turned to see me. He stood up from the armrest of the sofa where he had been perched, listening to a story that another man had told.

“Ah, there she is,” he said brightly.

I didn’t mask my displeasure with him as he walked over to me.

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