This Life 1

by Cara Dee

  I was a bundle of confusion, and part of me wanted to scream. This talk had helped me, though. Now I knew there was a game to play. I just had to figure out the rules.

  “Give Meredith a call and set up a meeting.” Grace closed her briefcase. “Don’t use your credit card. Tell her to put it on my account. And bring that fantasy of Finnegan’s with you.” She nodded at the contract. “Oh, and one more thing. Deny, deny, deny. When my son asks to know who’s been helping you, lack of evidence means innocence. America taught us that.”

  I spluttered a laugh and nodded. “Thank you, Grace, I will.”

  So, secrecy was part of being an O’Shea. Noted. I was gonna learn.

  “My pleasure. Next time we see each other, we’ll make a lunch date to discuss the wedding.”

  “Okay.”

  I followed her out, and she put on her coat again.

  “How do I know who to trust?” I blurted out.

  The sympathy made a swift return, and she adjusted her collar. “Let it take time. I didn’t fully trust Shan for at least four or five years. The only thing I know for sure is that Finnegan will prove himself worthy of you. He very much takes after Shan, and they both wear their hearts on their sleeves. It’s the one thing they can’t lie about—or hold secret. When my boy realizes he loves you, you’ll know it.”

  I stared at my feet, having hoped for another answer. The idea that Finnegan would fall for me felt farfetched, whereas I fully believed he’d try to play me in a room with lawyers around.

  “I’ll earn your trust too, dearie.” She patted my arm, her smile widening at the sight of my rings. “Did he tell you he asked for my opinion on the engagement ring?”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s how I know.” She winked. “Unless it’s about decorating his home, he hasn’t asked for my opinion on anything personal since he was a child. But there’s something about you. He’s going the extra mile.”

  Goodness, she had to leave now. I couldn’t take another sorcerer.

  “I’ll suspend my disbelief,” I chuckled.

  She grinned and picked up her briefcase. “Fair enough. I’ll see you at church tomorrow—for the first time.”

  “First time,” I echoed with a nod.

  Then it was just me, and I slumped back against the door and let out a heavy breath.

  So that was Grace O’Shea.

  Chapter 18

  Emilia Porter

  “Emilia, I’m home!”

  Well, that was good. After twisting the towel atop of my head, I exited the bathroom and let out a cloud of steam. I shivered at the cold and secured the towel around me.

  Grace didn’t fuck around with gift baskets from beauty stores. I’d never been so clean, scrubbed, and smooth in my life, I was sure of it. She’d given me everything from lotions and creams to scrubs and salts, from face masks and cleansers to razors and wax strips, from shampoos and conditioners to sponges and special makeup towels. I didn’t even know that was a thing.

  Reaching the railing, I peered down at where Finnegan was checking soccer stats on the TV.

  “Hi, short stuff.”

  He looked up at me and smiled. “Who you callin’ short, ya midget?”

  I chuckled. “Did you say something about clothes before?”

  “Aye, that’s right.” He kicked into gear, and my eyes grew large. Right there in the entryway, I counted five—no, six—six white gift boxes, similar to the one I’d gotten my first dress in.

  Finnegan stacked them all on top of each other and carried them up the stairs. “I haven’t cleared the walk-in yet. I’ll do that tomorrow.”

  “Wow, this is…a lot.” I shuffled by the foot of the bed as he set the boxes down.

  He hummed, lifting a bunch of the lids as if he was on a mission. “There should be a—there.” He unfolded something from silk wrapping. A wallet. He handed it to me. “I saw your gift cards in an old toiletry bag, and I know for a fact that you put your license in your bra sometimes.”

  I grinned and brushed a hand over the wallet. Black leather with some plaid pattern. “Thank you.”

  “And this.” He retrieved an opened envelope from his pants pocket. “I’ll order you the others once you’re an O’Shea.”

  It was a credit card in my name. “I’ve never had one.”

  “That would make you one unique American.” He walked closer, and his smile was half hesitant. “Did I fuck up earlier?”

  I stifled my laugh—mostly. A snicker broke free. “Only a little.”

  “Then I bought flowers for a reason.” He sat down on the side of the bed and tugged me with him so I ended up sideways on his lap. “Tell me what I did wrong.”

  He seemed sincere, so I didn’t mess with him.

  “I don’t think feminism is silly,” I admitted.

  “Neither do I, princess,” he chuckled. “I like getting a rise out of people. I don’t see you as inferior or anything like that. But you gotta admit, you women take it too far sometimes.”

  I smashed my lips together and counted to ten. It would do me no good to nitpick, and if he chose to focus on a small group of loud screamers, I would simply have to show him. First, though, I wanted to be more comfortable with who I was. Right now, I was nothing but a small-town nobody. I had nothing to my name, and the man I wanted to argue with was my sole provider. Yeah, I wasn’t gonna go there.

  “Try drowning out the noise and focus on the core issues.” I smoothed out the slight frown between his brows. “Do you have any women in the SoM?”

  “Of course not.” He seriously thought that was a joke. “It’s called the Sons of Munster. I’d have a heart attack if you were around that shit.”

  “Ah. So, it’s your issue. Not the women’s.” I popped a kiss to his cheek and left his lap. “Well, I definitely don’t want to put your fragile heart at risk.”

  “Oh, the fuck you say?” His eyebrows went way up there.

  I let out a laugh and started digging through the boxes, and I had the strangest urge to message Grace about this. Which would’ve been dumb, maybe. Too soon. I didn’t yet know the kind of relationship I’d have with her—or if she appreciated gossip like that.

  “So did you get lunch?” I asked, holding up a pair of skinny jeans. How on earth did this Karla woman get my size perfect? She’d never met me.

  “Yeah, and this conversation isn’t over,” he said. “Nothing about me is fragile.”

  Especially not your ego, dear.

  That night, Finnegan and I went to dinner with Patrick and Sarah at an Italian restaurant near their building. Our building.

  Sarah showed up in a new dress, and she was sporting one massive rock on her finger. While Finnegan congratulated Patrick, Sarah leaned in and whispered, “He let me pick it out myself, so I went with the most expensive one on the display,” which sort of crushed my excitement. I kept forgetting she was in it to win all of it. And I bet she’d get a lot for that big diamond. It was surrounded by little emeralds, not that I was sure she noticed. She went on and on about the carats and whatnot of the main event.

  After we’d placed our orders and received our drinks, Finnegan draped his arm along the back of my chair and kissed my temple. “Is she even warming up to him?”

  I should’ve known he’d been observing Sarah. He observed everything.

  “I don’t know,” I replied softly.

  My answer deepened his frown, though he didn’t say anything else on the matter.

  I wondered what Grace would think of Sarah. She’d probably say Sarah and Patrick were mere days away from falling head over heels in love.

  When dinner arrived, so did a new topic. Sports. Both brothers were obsessed with soccer, which they religiously called “real football.” They followed hockey and some American football as well—they were hardcore Eagles fans—and I genuinely didn’t give a crap.

  The thing that stuck out the most tonight was how people came over to say hey to Finnegan and Patrick. It happened the first
time right after we’d ordered our drinks; a man stopped at our table to shake the guys’ hands.

  For sitting so far into the back of the restaurant, everyone sure had a way of running into us.

  “Patrick, my boy!” An older gentleman came over with a much younger lady on his arm. “Those were some good bets, eh? Your pop’s lucky to have ya.”

  Patrick chuckled and shook the man’s hand. “I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

  “Aye, I’ll be back next week.” He shifted his grin to Finnegan. “Good news travels quick, Finn. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.” That was quick. People knew about us? “Will we be having little Finnegans running around here soon?”

  It was Finnegan’s turn to shake the man’s hand—with a smile less sincere than Patrick’s. “God willing. Thank you, Jim. I’ll see you and your wife at Mass tomorrow, I take it? Or are you bringing this side piece?”

  Holy shit.

  Patrick’s grin died. Sarah dropped her jaw. I dropped my fork, and it clanked against my plate.

  Finnegan looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “I told you not to bring me here,” the woman hissed before stalking away.

  I braced myself for Jim’s anger, but it didn’t come. He cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable, and confirmed he’d, of course, be there tomorrow with his family. Then he wished us a nice evening and left.

  I… How… What just happened?

  Patrick was annoyed. “Seriously, Finn.”

  “Yeah, fucking seriously,” Finnegan responded, and now he was irritated too. “This is a family place. We bring our wives and children here. It’s goddamn disrespectful.”

  “Here I was, thinking Em had removed the stick up your ass,” Patrick chuckled humorlessly.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. It was the first time I got a glimpse of how rigidly traditional Finnegan might be. I assumed Jim was involved with the SoM, and given his reaction to Finnegan, maybe he had, um, a lower rank? Shit, I didn’t know how this worked. I’d seen documentaries on TV about cocaine and mistresses everywhere.

  “Guys,” I said quietly, because another man was walking over.

  “Can a man eat his dinner in peace?” Finnegan muttered.

  Then it was a new round of polite greetings and handshakes, and thank goodness the man wasn’t here with a woman. Or, at least, not a mistress.

  Was that something I’d have to worry about with Finnegan? Considering his…status, being as inexperienced as I was in certain ways, it felt unlikely right now. And later… Ouch, I didn’t want to go down that road. It shouldn’t hurt me to think of either, and it did. It actually hurt.

  Who could forget the infidelity clause in his contract?

  Shaking that off for now, I tuned in to the current conversation instead, and it was a much lighter one. Music. I could handle music. This guy, Mick, owned a bar down the street, and he was offering his place for a party to celebrate our engagements. And he was telling Finnegan it’d been so long since he played live.

  “He was a little know-it-all growin’ up,” Mick told us. “He’d run up on stage and tell the musicians what they were doin’ wrong.”

  I giggled and put my hand on Finnegan’s leg under the table. He was quick to thread our fingers together, and second by second, the tension was leaving his shoulders. He even added to the conversation, thanking Mick for the offer, and said they’d think about it.

  After Mick left, I didn’t want anything to get awkward, so I brought up the music again.

  “It’s not the first time I’ve heard about you playing.” I’d heard it from Alec first, who hadn’t been able to convince Finnegan to play at my birthday dinner. “Now I really wanna hear you.”

  “You can probably find his tin whistle a mile up his asshole,” Patrick said.

  Not. Helping.

  “What can I find a mile up yours?” I wondered. “One of Sarah’s spiked Louboutins?”

  While Finnegan hugged me to him and smiled into my hair, Patrick could not look more incredulous. And offended.

  Sarah was laughing her ass off.

  Patrick and Sarah were going to check out a club after dinner, so we went our separate ways. Finnegan, who was usually so energetic and ready for anything, was tired and not in the best mood. My only problem was these new boots. Ankle boots with a heel, how were those a thing?

  “I’ll get us a cab.” Finnegan stepped closer to the curb, and I tugged him back.

  “It’s four blocks.” I nodded up the street. “Let’s walk.”

  “All right.”

  He was quiet. He was brooding.

  It was a nice evening. We were surrounded by skyscrapers and heavy traffic, though the noise was easy to tune out.

  I slipped my hand into his, and that earned me half a smile. He brought our hands to his lips and kissed my fingers.

  “So…how was your first day back in Philly?” I asked carefully.

  He sighed and looked straight ahead. “I guess I wasn’t prepared. Rookie mistake.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  He shook his head, almost out of reflex because he stopped himself and directed a frown at the ground. I figured he was going to say no, but then he spoke.

  “Actually, can I vent for a moment?”

  “Of course.” I squeezed his hand, secretly thrilled, and I wasn’t sure why.

  “When I got out of the can, it took exactly three days for my family to start saying I was different. And they were right. I used to walk around with the biggest chip on my shoulder, and I was the comic relief that made everyone lose their shit.”

  We took the opportunity to cross the street when the light turned green, and I stayed quiet while he lit up a cigarette.

  “I got my priorities straight when I was in prison,” he continued. “I want more than a crew and the gigs we had.” Jeez, he made it sound like he was in a band. “For that to happen, I gotta focus and aim higher. I gotta show the older guys that I can be trusted with bigger jobs. But everywhere I go, I run into these two-bit fuckwits who can’t spell loyalty, and they’re the ones I gotta impress.”

  “That guy…Jim?”

  He nodded. “He works with my pop sometimes, but he has his own crew.”

  “Does everyone have, um, a crew?” I didn’t speak mafia.

  Another nod from Finnegan. “Think of a pyramid. You have the boss at the top. That’s my uncle. He’s got his own crew, and their only job is to…uh, oversee, I guess you can say. Everyone has side gigs, but whatever. And the crew I run is down here.” He showed with his hand, leaving room for another level of crews before reaching the top. “Before I can reach my uncle’s inner circle, I have to be recommended by two higher-ups and join their line.”

  “I understand.”

  “The problem is my age,” he told me. “Because when me and my boys head out for a job, we make a hell of a lot more money than most crews in my father’s generation.”

  “Doing all legal things, I bet.”

  “Of course,” he replied with a faint smirk. “So it’s not what I do, ’cause I’m already a top earner. It’s because I’m only twenty-five. And it’s irritating as fuck to basically work for a generation that drilled all our traditions and rules into my skull, but they won’t fucking abide by them themselves.”

  I looped my arm with his instead and hugged his bicep. He wasn’t looking for what I thought, and that was good. I wouldn’t know what to say. I could listen, though. And ask.

  “Can I ask what rules they’re not following?”

  He grimaced and took a drag from his smoke. “Maybe not rules. It doesn’t go against any law to fuck around and have second families on the side, but this isn’t some Italian borgata. Real family actually matters to us—or it’s supposed to—and you’re loyal to family.” He exhaled some smoke, frustrated. “Everything’s gone to shit since my grandfather was boss. We respected family, and we were men of our word.”

  He was showing me a whole ne
w side of him, one I instantly knew I could get ridiculously attached to. I wanted family to be sacred.

  “I think I got sidetracked,” he said pensively.

  “Sorry—”

  “No, it’s…” He chuckled and kissed the side of my head. “It’s not you. It’s my fucked-up brain. Bottom line, it pisses me off to suck up to men who don’t deserve my respect, and I realize now that it’s what Philly brings outta me. It makes me miss the days when doing my own thing was enough.”

  “You can’t go back to that?” I mean…it wasn’t like Finnegan was hurting for money. That couldn’t be the reason he felt the need to climb the ranks.

  “No,” he answered quietly. “It’ll be worth it in the end. Our syndicate has to change, and no one else seems to be willing to do the job, which is another thing I don’t get. Fuckers.” He took a last drag, then flicked away the cigarette. “Today was a wake-up call. As bored as I was in your shitty town, I was more myself. Patrick isn’t lying when he says you’re the reason I was less uptight out there.”

  I let out an uncertain laugh. It couldn’t be true. “I don’t think I have that much power.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he murmured. “If Philly’s gonna try to suck the life out of me, I’m gonna need you here to make it all better.”

  “On one condition.” I smiled up at him. “You gotta play for me.”

  He cracked a grin and hugged me to him. “Deal.”

  “Finnegan? Can you come here and see if my dress is conservative enough?” I inched back from the bathroom mirror and tucked away my mascara. I’d never really dressed for church before, so I was more than a little nervous. Plus, I’d be meeting all these people I’d once sworn never to associate with…

  In order to cover up the marks around my neck, my only option was this black, knitted, ubersoft turtleneck dress. It seemed modest enough, ending right above my knees, and it had three-quarter sleeves. The concern was it fit like second skin.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, princess. You’re a vision.”