Chapter 18 Maeve
MAEVE
Idon't sleep well. Again.
The bed is comfortable—Sean's bed, which feels strange and intimate even though he's not in it—but I can't stop replaying what happened in the kitchen. The way he looked at me. The way his hand felt against my face. The way he said my name so close to my lips that I could taste it.
And then Flynn walked in, and whatever moment we were having shattered like glass.
By the time pale gray light filters through the windows, I'm exhausted and wired all at once. I can hear movement in the apartment—Sean's up too. Of course he is. I doubt he slept any better than I did.
I put on leggings and an oversized sweater, pull my hair back, and try to look like someone who has her life together. I already know I’ve failed before I even catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
When I emerge from the bedroom, Sean is in the kitchen, pouring coffee.
He's already dressed, his dark hair damp from a shower, and he looks like he hasn't slept in days.
The couch behind him has a rumpled blanket and a pillow, and I try not to think what he might have done there after the apartment was quiet, how he might have eased the same tension that ran through me all night like a live wire.
I thought about trying to do the same. But that’s not what I want. I want him.
"Morning," I say quietly.
"Morning."
The word is clipped, distant. The warmth from last night—the cooking together, the almost-kiss—is gone, replaced by the familiar walls he keeps throwing up between us.
I pour myself coffee and wrap my hands around the mug, searching for something to say. The silence is suffocating.
"I have a meeting with the Council this morning," he says without looking at me.
"Okay." I nod, still staring at my coffee.
"You'll stay here with Flynn."
I nod again, even though part of me wants to ask what the meeting is about. If it's about us. About the attacks. About whatever danger is still lurking out there.
"Sean, about last night—"
"Don't." The word cuts through the air like a blade. "Last night was a mistake. It won't happen again."
The words hit me like a slap. A mistake. That's what I am to him. A mistake he keeps almost making. You said that before, I nearly say, but I bite it back.
"Right. Of course," I manage, keeping my voice level even as something inside me crumbles.
He sets down his mug and grabs his jacket, and I can see the tension in every line of his body. "I should go," he says. "Flynn will be here soon."
I swallow hard. "Okay."
He heads for the door, and I should just let him leave. Should let him run from whatever this is between us without saying anything more. But I can't stop myself.
"Sean?"
He turns, and for just a moment, I see something vulnerable in his expression before it shutters closed.
"Be careful," I say softly.
He nods tersely. "Always am."
And then he's gone, and I'm alone in his apartment with cooling coffee and the overwhelming feeling that I'm losing a battle I don't even understand.
—
Flynn arrives twenty minutes later with more pastries and a sympathetic expression that tells me he knows exactly what happened last night. Or rather, what didn't happen.
"Morning, Maeve," he says, setting the pastries on the counter. "You look like you need these."
I grimace, taking a sip of my now-cold coffee. "That bad?"
"Let's just say you and Sean are both terrible at hiding your feelings." He grins. "Which is funny, because you're both convinced you're hiding them brilliantly."
I don't know how to respond to that, so I just take a pastry and bite into it without tasting it.
Flynn settles onto the couch. "He'll have to come around eventually, you know. He's just fighting himself."
"Maybe he shouldn't have to come around," I say quietly. "Maybe this marriage really is just... what it is. An arrangement."
"He's at the Council now," Flynn continues. "Asking for help with this situation. Once that's dealt with, maybe he'll stop being such an idiot."
"And if he doesn't?"
Flynn lets out a breath. “Hell, I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s a hell of a situation to be in. But you’re a smart girl. And Sean’s no pushover, whatever barrel the Council thinks they have him over. You’ll figure it out.”
The words should be comforting, but they just make me feel hollow.
Because the truth is, I want things to be different.
Despite everything—despite Sean's walls and his coldness and his insistence that wanting me is a mistake—I want to find out what could happen if we had something more akin to a real marriage.
Deep down, I want to find out what it might be like to fall for my husband.
But if I did, I’m not sure he’d catch me.
—
An hour passes. Then another. Flynn makes phone calls in Gaelic, his voice low and serious.
I try to read a book I found on Sean's shelf, but I can't focus on the words.
When the door finally opens, I look up expecting to see Sean relaxed, the meeting over.
Instead, he looks tense and angry, his jaw tight.
"What happened?" I ask, standing abruptly, the book dropping from my hand onto the floor with a thunk that makes me flinch.
"They want to see you." His voice is carefully controlled, but I can hear the fury underneath. "I'm sorry. I tried to argue, but they insisted."
My stomach drops. "The Council wants to see me?"
Sean nods tersely. "Yes."
"Why?"
"To assess the situation." He moves closer, and his hand comes up like he wants to touch me but doesn't. "I won't let them hurt you, Maeve. But they asked, and I can't refuse them."
Fear crawls up my spine, but I force it down.
I've survived losing my entire family. I've survived multiple attempts on my life. I can survive a meeting with some old men in suits. It’s not like I haven’t met them before…
but I think of their presence in my house, commanding me to marry without ever asking my opinion.
I think of Brendan and Connor’s comments on the consummation of my marriage, at the wedding. And now I’ll be on their turf.
But I’m well aware that there are no choices here.
"Okay," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds. "When?"
Sean draws in a breath. "Now."
Of course. No time to prepare, to gather my courage. Just straight into the fire.
"Let me get my coat."
I change quickly into a simple black sweater dress and tights—something respectful and conservative, that won’t draw attention. Then I find my coat and take a deep breath.
You can do this, Maeve. You're stronger than you think.
Sean's words from our training sessions echo in my mind, and I hold onto them like a lifeline.
When I emerge, Sean is waiting by the door, and the look on his face is almost... protective. Worried.
"They're going to ask you questions," he says as we leave the apartment. "About your family, about the estate. Just answer honestly. Don't elaborate unless they ask."
I nod, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. He's warm and solid beside me, and having him there makes this slightly less terrifying.
"And Maeve?" He stops walking, turning to face me. Rain is falling lightly, misting the air around us. "No matter what they say, remember I won't let them hurt you. Understand?"
I look up at him, at this man who keeps insisting he doesn't want me, who keeps pushing me away, but who right now looks like he'd fight an army to keep me safe.
"I trust you," I tell him.
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or pain—and his hand tightens on my arm. For a moment, I think he's going to say something, but then he just nods and we keep walking.
The Council headquarters is an old mansion that looks like it's been here for centuries. It's imposing and cold, and as we climb the stairs once the guard waves us up, my heart starts racing.
Sean must feel my trembling, because he stops outside a heavy oak door.
"Stay calm. Stay quiet unless spoken to. And stay close to me."
I nod, and then he's pushing open the door, and we enter a room that feels like stepping back in time.
Connor McBride, Brendan Kearney, Liam Fitzgerald, and two others are sitting at the table. There’s no warmth or recognition in Connor’s eyes. They’re all regarding me with the kind of cold assessment that makes me feel like a specimen under glass.
“Maeve. As you asked,” Sean says, his voice neutral and professional. Different from how he sounds when we're alone.
Connor looks at me, his sharp eyes revealing nothing. "Mrs. Flannery.” His use of my married name feels pointed, a reminder that I’m no longer who I used to be. That I belong to someone else now. “Thank you for joining us. Please, sit."
Sean guides me to a chair and stands behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder. The contact grounds me, reminds me I'm not alone in this. He’s my only lifeline in this, and the irony of it makes me feel faintly sick.
"Sean said you wanted to see me," I manage, keeping my voice surprisingly steady.
“We wanted to assess how this match is going for ourselves,” Connor says flatly. “Are you happy with the arrangement, Mrs. Flannery?”
I know very well that the truth wouldn’t be good for me or for Sean.
And truthfully… I don’t think I could honestly say yes, but at the same time…
haven’t some things been better? I’ve been learning to defend myself.
Learning that I’m not as incapable as my family always made me feel.
Sean doesn’t love me, and he won’t touch me, but he’s given me something all the same.
“Yes,” I say finally, and I can feel Sean tense at my shoulder.
Connor’s expression doesn’t change. “And you’ve turned over all your assets to him, without complaint.”
“No one asked me how I felt about it,” I say, a little too pointedly. “But yes, Sean has taken over the estate.”
“But there have been attempts on your life.” Connor pauses. “How much do you know about why your family was killed, and how?”