Page 54 of Dearly Betrayed

“Casey’s working later. You should go sit at her table and tell her all about how good it felt to lose your virginity to your husband.”

“Hard pass.”

“Your loss. She likes you, you know.”

“I like her too.” I glance at him. “What do you care, anyway? Why’s it matter if your brother’s wife likes me?”

“It doesn’t.” His smile fades. “But it matters to you.” He leaves then, heading back inside.

I let him go and stay outside a little longer than I wanted, fighting the cold with hot coffee. I don’t know what to do about that man. There are moments where he seems to genuinely care about me, then there are moments where it’s like I’m nothing more than an annoyance, like a pile of spilled cereal or something. I felt like this sometimes when I was little, a girl running around with the boys, an annoying speck begging her older brother to teach her things. Except there’s a weird sexual element with Jayson that never existed when I was little, and that makes it so much more complicated.

Home was easy. I miss it desperately. I take deep breaths and blow air out, trying not to imagine my little flat situated above a bakery, the smell of bread coming up every morning, dampened only by the sounds of the bakers cussing at each other at ungodly hours. My cousins meeting at the pub around the corner, the girls drinking ciders and laughing at the boys, having family dinner with the aunts and uncles. I miss everyone and it kills me, stuck here in this country with these people I don’t know. There’s luxury here and that’s nice, but luxury doesn’t make up for real love.

Then there’s my father, the memory of him still looming like a ghost. I can almost pretend he’s back in Dublin with the rest, though I know he’s not. Only his body, tossed under dirt. That’s where my heart’s at, and even if I want to feel something for Jayson despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t, there’s nothing in me left to feel it. I’ve been excavated, emptied out, and now I’m a shell.

When my fingers finally get so numb I can’t stand it anymore, I turn and head inside. Jayson’s gone. Just like I planned.

* * *

There’s notmuch for me to do. Back home, I’d go to work. I had an office job in a shipping company related to the clan. It was dull, but at least I knew everyone and it was something to do. Papa kept promising something better. That never panned out.

I take a bath as threatened and ease myself into the water. I read for a while before getting out, showering off, and dressing. The condo’s empty, my footsteps echoing. The place is cavernous, and I pause outside of the guest room, thinking of the photocopied paperwork hidden in the closet in a little bathroom pipe access panel, shoved back into the wall. Not the best spot, but good enough for a little while. I’m tempted to leaf through it all and get a sense of what it means, but can’t bring myself to do it. I already regret telling Rian the stuff exists.

Instead, I head downstairs. Jayson’s on my mind the whole time, since I can still feel him throbbing between my legs. Or maybe that’s just the guilt eating me up.

I slept with the man that killed my father. That’s some Greek tragedy-style fucked-uppery, and yet I knowingly threw myself into Jayson’s bed. I could’ve had some restraint. But I didn’t. Now I feel like I’ve done nothing but betray my father’s memory and my entire clan.

Though isn’t this the point? I’m meant to stay with Jayson, to fall in love with him, to have his little Italian-Irish babies or something. I’m the link in the chain holding it all together, and even though Jayson says it’s only going to last for a year, wouldn’t it be better if it lasted much longer?

Better for the Grady Clan and for the Costa Family, at least.

But better for me? I don’t really know.

That’s the real problem.

Casey’s not working yet once I reach the main casino. I wander some more, considering heading to the cashier and asking for money, but end up at a bar alone instead. I can’t bring myself to act like a Costa.

I’m not one of them and doubt I ever will be.

The bartender brings me a big club soda and I swirl it as I people-watch. I used to sit in the park with my brother sometimes during lunch. We’d eat sandwiches and talk as we made up stories about the people that went past. He’d laugh and act like the lady with the three dogs is actually a spy and the animals are all trained to kill on command, or the big man in roller blades is a former circus pro with scars on his hands from training the lions. Those were easy days, back before I left for school.

“Fallon Grady.”

My name makes me jump. No, not my name—my old name, the Grady name. Nobody’s used that since I came here.

I turn to look. A man’s standing a few feet away wearing a big puffy jacket. Dark hair, squinting eyes, bulbous nose. He looks like a dozen men I grew up with.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Sorry it’s got to be this way.”

Something sounds off about him until I realize. He’s got an Irish accent. He sounds like me.

But there shouldn’t be any other Irish people here.

That’s when he pulls out the gun.

Chapter25

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