Chapter 10
Margot
"I’m seriously starting to regret letting you talk me into this," I mutter, smoothing my palms over the fabric as I study my reflection in the full-length bedroom mirror.
The dress is a long, flowy thing in dusty rose, scattered all over with tiny flowers, floaty and a little bohemian. It would almost be sweet if it weren't for the neckline, which plunges in a deep V practically to my sternum.
Sabrina is cross-legged on the end of my bed, watching me with a glass of the rosé she pulled from my fridge ten minutes ago. "You look incredible. That dress is divine on you."
I sigh and turn to the side, attempting to gauge exactly how much is being put on display by that plunging V, which ruled out every normal bra I own.
"It's technically a professional obligation," I say, my voice sounding a bit thin. "I don't think it's appropriate to be displaying this much skin."
"It's a date, Margot. A work date, sure, but still." She crosses to the dresser and starts pillaging my jewelry box, lifting out a long gold chain with a bright emerald pendant. "You want to look good for the social media coverage, don't you? And maybe for Cillian too?"
The truth is I have not stopped thinking about Cillian since the moment I lost all dignity to my own vibrator two nights ago, before that really, and the closer the clock crawls to seven, the worse the situation in my chest is becoming.
I swallow hard. "I honestly have no idea what I want."
She holds the chain up against my neck and considers, then nods to herself, steps behind me, and fastens it at my nape.
The pendant falls low between my breasts, the green of the stone catching the light against the soft pink, drawing the eye exactly where Sabrina wants it drawn.
I have to admit, even to myself, that the entire effect is alluring.
"Well, I do." She steps back, hands on her hips, surveying me. "You're totally into him, so I'm going to assist the universe by making you look absolutely irresistible. Now, spin for me."
I do a reluctant half-twirl, the long skirt flaring out around my legs before settling back against them, and she leans back, shaking her head slowly with an approving smile.
"Wow," she breathes. "I am just so damn talented at styling. You look absolutely smoking."
I take a final breath to steady my nerves, smoothing the dress over my hips as I take one last look in the mirror.
The doorbell rings.
Sabrina and I both freeze and lock eyes in the mirror, my pulse hammering against my throat.
"Why do I want to hide under the bed right now?" I hiss frantically.
Sabrina, now looking exactly as panicked as I feel, throws her hands up. "I don't know, maybe because that is our default response to unexpected doorbells. But you have to answer it. You actually have to answer it right now before he thinks no one is home or that we are freaks!"
I let out a shaky breath, grab my bag off the dresser, and head for the door on legs that suddenly do not feel like my own, with Sabrina scurrying after me in her pjs and socks like a tiny moral support animal.
"I think I am actually breaking out in hives," she whispers behind my left shoulder. "I hope you appreciate this level of devotion. I am having sympathy nerves on your behalf."
I choke out a nervous laugh and reach for the handle.
Cillian is there, and he is annoyingly, unfairly handsome in a sage green button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms, the collar open at his throat.
The green does something unfair against his tan skin, and a strand of dark hair has fallen loose across his forehead, right above those blue eyes that are currently fixed on me.
Fucking hell.
His eyes widen as they sweep over me, and for a fleeting moment, the cocky, self-assured athlete is nowhere to be found. I scramble to find my voice but my brain has seemingly short-circuited, and he appears just as lost for words.
“Hi, I’m Sabrina!” Sab says from behind me as she darts into the light and shoves her hand out with a bright grin. “I’m Margot’s significantly cooler little sister.”
Cillian blinks, giving his head a slight, disoriented shake. “Oh, right. I’m sorry. It’s nice to meet you, Sabrina.”
"You too, hockey star." Sabrina shakes his hand and steps back.
The spell is broken and I manage a smile.
"Well, I guess we'd better get going,” I say. “I know Carol wants lots of photos for social media, and she’ll probably want me to text her those throughout the night. Oh, thanks for picking me up, by the way."
He smiles. "Of course. I'd be a poor excuse for a gentleman if I let you drive yourself to our first official date."
I laugh, feeling my face goes traitorously warm. "Well, shall we?"
Sabrina crosses her arms, looking him up and down. "Now, you take good care of her, alright? I have very high standards for who I trust with my sister, and I'm keeping a close eye on you."
Cillian throws his head back and laughs. "I like you, Sabrina. You remind me of my little sister Ellie. Very direct, very fierce."
Sabrina raises a brow. "I'm not going to give you brownie points just yet, but I do appreciate a man who understands the importance of a little sister."
Cillian flashes a grin at her, then gestures toward the door. I call a quick goodbye over my shoulder to Sabrina and follow him out into the evening.
The restaurant is one of those high-end, farm-to-table gems in Solstice Ridge.
It’s undeniably charming, and since I know the owners personally, I feel a strange sense of being on display—even though the whole town is likely aware this is a work obligation.
It doesn’t exactly feel like a professional outing, however.
Sitting across from Cillian at a tiny, intimate table is making the world feel uncomfortably small. The drive over was a polite, getting-the-pleasantries-out-of-the-way affair, but now that we are settled, the air at this table has a tension to it.
It doesn't help that my group chat with Sabrina, Isabelle, and Celeste, who has recently been added, has been a non-stop stream of speculation about how the evening is going, what is happening at any given moment, and whether I have been ravished in a coat closet yet.
This whole thing feels so fucking strange.
He looks up, his eyes catching mine. "This is a bit strange, isn't it?"
Mind reader, apparently.
"Yeah, a little," I say. "But it's all for the sake of the project. And the social media photos we took so far are great."
"Aye, I'm sure they're marketing gold," he chuckles.
"What, the famous Cillian O'Rourke doesn't enjoy the camera? Talking about yourself to fans?" I lean in. "I assumed you were born to eat it up."
"I won't deny I've enjoyed the perks of fame," he grins, leaning closer.
"But I could do without the constant scrutiny.
People have this idea of the Irish being constantly outgoing, and while we're a friendly bunch, I don't think we naturally enjoy talking ourselves up all that much. Feels a bit unnatural."
I rest my chin on my hand. "Speaking of, do you get back to Ireland often?"
"Aye, as much as the schedule allows. I love it here too, so I'm happy to split my time. But I always get a bit restless if I'm away too long. My family is tight-knit, so I miss them. Though it's absolute chaos when we're all under the same roof."
"That sounds lovely, actually." I smile, thinking of my own quiet household. "My family is a bit more… formal. Except for Sabrina, obviously. My parents are the buttoned-up, middle-class Catholic types. We had a loving childhood, but they definitely subscribe to the quiet is better philosophy."
"I can picture that," he says. "Catholic, though? All that guilt must be quite the burden."
"Yeah, well, I'm not practicing anymore, but the constant sense that everything is somehow my fault has definitely made a lasting impression."
He nods. "I'm not especially religious these days either, but a Catholic childhood stays with you. I used to go to bed after seeing something tragic on the news and convince myself it was a direct consequence of something I'd done."
"Right?” I laugh, having done the same thing myself. “My parents have never quite forgiven me for the lapse in attendance."
He leans back. "Are you close with them?"
"Um, sort of? I was actually just talking to Sabrina about this, but they can be a bit… much. In the last month and a half alone, I've helped them downsize, organized their entire insurance portfolio, and handled several other administrative disasters."
He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Given the crazy hours you work, that seems like a lot. Is there a reason they need so much help?"
"I do, and not really. Sabrina thinks they just enjoy leaning on me as a default. They had me young and I ended up helping a lot growing up. So I think they just never stopped expecting me to handle things. Sabrina is always reminding me about boundaries."
"Do you set them?" He tilts his head.
"It's a work in progress," I say with a soft laugh.
"They actually nearly split up last year, and I somehow became the one-woman crisis hotline for both of them. Let me tell you, playing mediator while your mother vents about your father’s emotional unavailability is a special kind of eldest-daughter hell. "
"That sounds hard," he says, his voice softening.
I take a cautious sip of my wine, wondering why on earth I'm volunteering all of this. He's just so easy to talk to, drawing confessions out of me like he's some sort of emotional siphon.
"It can be. But that's family, right?" I trace the rim of my glass. "You want to be there for them, and you also want a single weekend where no one needs anything from you. I'm either helping, or feeling guilty for saying no."