18. Aoife
Aoife
Saoirse kicks her little legs happily on the changing table, her tiny hands waving in the air as I carefully fasten her nappy.
“You’re so lucky, you know that?” I tell her, smiling as her green eyes twinkle up at me.
“Your biggest problem right now is what color onesie to wear. Meanwhile, your Da is trying to marry me off to some stranger.”
Saoirse gurgles in response, her chubby fists grabbing at the air, and I can’t help but laugh softly. “Exactly. He’s being ridiculous, right? As if I don’t have enough on my plate.”
She giggles, her laughter so pure and infectious that it softens some of the frustration I’ve been carrying since my argument with Ruairi.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I continue, pulling a soft pink onesie over her head.
“I might want kids someday. But not now. I have things I want to do first. A life I want to live. And settling down with some guy my brother’s trying to set me up with isn’t in the plan. ”
My hands still for a moment as I think about Eamon. His piercing blue eyes. The way his touch made me feel like the most important person in the world. I should’ve told him who I was. Left him my number. Something.
I shake my head, trying to push the thought away. “See what I mean, Saoirse? Men only complicate things.”
She coos softly, her small hands patting my arm, and I lean down to kiss her head. “Come on, love. Let’s get you to dinner.”
When I step into the dining room with Saoirse on my hip, I immediately spot Ruairi and Bridget, who are already seated. Bridget smiles warmly, but when Ruairi stands, I immediately know something’s off.
“There you are,” Ruairi says, his expression softening as he moves toward me. “I was wondering when you and my little princess would arrive.”
I’m about to respond when a deep, unfamiliar voice cuts in. “And who’s this beautiful little one?”
I freeze, my eyes snapping to the man sitting at the table. He’s older, probably in his late forties, with dark hair that’s starting to silver at the temples. His tailored suit fits perfectly, and the way he carries himself screams wealth and power.
Ruairi steps beside me, taking Saoirse from my arms. He leans in close, lowering his voice. “Please be on your best behavior,” he whispers, his tone clipped but pleading.
He presses a kiss on the baby’s temple. “This little one,” he says warmly, his tone softening in a way it rarely does. “Is my daughter, Saoirse.”
The man’s expression shifts, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “A beauty, like her mother, no doubt,” he says, nodding to Bridget, who smiles in return.
Holding Saoirse as if she’s a buffer between us all, Ruairi says, “And this is my sister, Aoife.” Ruairi shifts beside me, nodding toward the man at the table. “Aoife, this is Cian O’Leary.”
Cian stands, extending a hand toward me. “And here I thought I’d never see little Aoife Quigley all grown up,” he says smoothly, his smile polite but assessing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I reply, my tone cool as I take his hand briefly before sitting down.
Over the course of dinner, the conversation remains polite, almost painfully so. Cian asks about my travels, where I’ve been, and what I’ve seen. I keep my answers short but cordial, though my mind churns with fury at Ruairi.
He planned this. Springing this dinner on me without so much as a warning, and now he’s sitting there as if this is the most natural thing in the world.
The heat of anger simmers under my skin.
Ruairi doesn’t just want to control the Syndicate.
He wants to control me . He refuses to acknowledge that I’m not someone who needs his protection or his permission.
“I imagine you’ve had some incredible experiences,” he says, swirling his wine.
“I have,” I reply.
“Do you have a favorite destination?” he asks.
“The Maldives,” I answer quickly.
Ruairi, clearly growing impatient with the small talk, clears his throat. “Cian and I were discussing earlier how nice it would be for the two of you to get to know each other better. Maybe over dinner sometime.”
Without thinking, I blurt out, “Actually, I’m not sure how long I’ll be in town.”
The room goes quiet.
Ruairi sets down his wine with a little more force than necessary. “Excuse me?” I straighten, refusing to look away. “I said I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”
His eyes narrow. “Funny, considering we were under the impression you planned to stay.” His tone has that edge I remember too well. Disbelief wrapped in control.
“You don’t get to make that call for me,” I reply, sharper than I intended, but I don’t take it back.
Bridget’s gaze bounces between us, concern tightening her features. Cian remains silent, but I feel his eyes on me—curious, calculating.
The rest of dinner is awkward, filled with stilted conversation and forced politeness. When Cian finally excuses himself, thanking Ruairi for the invitation, I practically feel the tension in the room ease.
As soon as the door closes behind Cian, Ruairi turns to me. “Care to explain what that was about?”
“What?” I ask, feigning innocence as I start clearing the plates.
“You’ve done nothing but dodge questions about how long you’re staying since you’ve been home. Now you’re brushing off dinner like it’s nothing.” His voice is low but tight with control. “What aren’t you telling me, Aoife?”
The plate hits the table harder than I intend. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
His jaw tightens, and he steps closer. “I’m only trying to protect you. You don’t know the players or how dangerous they can be.”
“So, it’s fine for you to dictate my future, but I can’t make my own choices?” I argue. “Is that it? I should sit quietly and let you marry me off like some business transaction?”
“Cian’s a good man,” Ruairi argues, bristling. “You’d do well to get to know him.”
“Did you bring me here to reconnect with family or to shove me into your version of what my life should look like?”
“I’m trying to look out for you,” he says, voice rising with frustration. “You’re acting like I’m the enemy for wanting you safe.”
“No,” I say, my voice cold. “You’re treating me like I’m a child. But I’m not. And I don’t have to answer to you. You’re my brother, not my father.
Bridget steps forward, placing a calming hand on Ruairi’s arm. “Ri, just let it go,” she says softly.
He shrugs her off, his eyes locked on mine. “I’m not letting it go. She’s hiding something. I know it.”
I cross my arms, matching his stare. “You’re right. I am. Because you don’t get access to every part of me just because we share blood.”
Ruairi’s expression hardens, his tone biting. “You think you can handle this world on your own? You have no idea what you’re walking into, Evie.”
“Enough,” Bridget cuts in, her voice firm but calm as she steps between us. She places a hand on Ruairi’s chest and looks at me, her expression exasperated. “Both of you. Stop arguing in front of Saoirse.”
I glance at the baby, who’s still sitting in her high chair, her big green eyes darting between us with a hint of confusion. Guilt prickles at the edges of my anger, but I refuse to back down completely.
Ruairi rakes a hand through his hair as he steps back. “We’re not done with this,” he mutters, his tone simmering with frustration.
Bridget turns to me, her voice softer now. “Aoife, maybe we can all take a breath and talk about this later. Without an audience.”
Ruairi exhales sharply before storming out of the room. Bridget lingers for a moment, her gaze shifting between me and the baby.
“Do you mind staying with Saoirse for a bit?” she asks, her tone careful, almost apologetic. “I should go check on him.”
I nod, managing a tight smile. “Of course.”
She hesitates, her hand brushing Saoirse’s head gently before she leaves.
Saoirse begins babbling happily. I pick her up, holding her close, her tiny hands clutching at my necklace.
“You’ve got it easy, you know that?” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her soft curls. “No overbearing brothers telling you what to do.”
She gurgles in response, and despite myself, I smile.
But as I hold her, my mind churns. Bridget’s words echo faintly about my brother wanting what’s best for me and about patience.
How much longer am I supposed to wait? How many more dinners like this, where my choices and my future are discussed like I’m not even in the room, am I expected to endure?
As Saoirse rests her head on my shoulder, the soft weight of her trust and innocence settles over me. For her sake, I’ll let it go tonight.
But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.