Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
PRIEST
“ P riest, I’ve been expecting your call,” Aiden greeted me over the line.
“Have you now?” Phone to my ear, my gaze drifted over the estate where Ivy grew up. Lush green grass. Centuries-old castle towers rising up to touch the clouds. It almost looked like a scene from a fairy tale. It made me wonder whether her life so far had indeed been a fairy tale, which would make me… what? The villain? The anti-hero to her white knight? I let out a sigh and continued. “Forgive me if you hoped to hear from me sooner, but I don’t take kindly to demands. Even less when you send not one but four messages in the span of twenty-four hours.”
“I want your assurances that you’ll treat Ivy Murphy well,” Aiden commented tightly.
“Don’t concern yourself with Ivy,” I growled. “In fact, I’d prefer if you never uttered her name again.”
His chuckle grated on my nerves. “Possessive much?”
Two could play this game.
“I don’t believe it would take me long to find a certain raven-haired woman with whom you share a past,” I drawled.
“You go anywhere near her and I swear to God, I’ll murder you,” he rasped, the harshness of his tone vibrating through the phone. It was my turn to laugh.
“Maybe you should consider kidnapping her,” I recommended. “Caging her. But then, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
“You’re a fucking asshole.”
“Ditto,” I deadpanned. “Now, what do you want? I’m busy preparing.”
“I want to make sure this wedding is going ahead,” he spat out. “And soon.”
I huffed. “Why? So you can blame us for not following through with a binding agreement set by two different assholes?”
“You and I both know she doesn’t want me,” he pointed out, and something about his words flickered a light in my darkness. “I want to make sure you won’t pull some boyfriend-girlfriend bullshit. It needs to be official.”
Just like that, the heaviness that had been pooling in my chest for weeks—fuck, months—snuffed out some of the anger and bitterness.
Was it really that simple?
“I’m marrying her tomorrow,” I answered, intent on wrapping up this call. I hadn’t flown all the way back to Ireland so I could shoot the shit with the man who’d almost taken Ivy from me.
I hung up on Aiden without waiting for a reply, then went back to studying the Murphy castle’s ancient-looking blueprints before folding it carefully and tucking it into my back pocket.
Ivy believed Sofia killed her athair and it was the only reason she agreed to this marriage arrangement. She needed my help to get to her. I used that to my advantage, although I knew it was incorrect. But scruples were for better men and I wasn’t one of them. Although I would ensure Ivy got exactly the wedding she always imagined.
Hence the reason I was here, on the Murphy property.
I made my way along the forest edge, my only companion the eerie shadow following right behind me over the soft grass. As I approached the imposing fortress, the image of a mischievous red-haired girl flashed through my mind.
I entered the castle through a small cellar at the base of the east-facing tower, the door probably long forgotten if its rusty hinges and fixtures were any indication. Keeping my feet light against the stone floor, I crept up the steps, using my phone’s flashlight to guide my way.
I finally found my way into Ivy’s bedroom after encountering a few dead ends. Considering the modern wings I’d been forced to navigate around, I imagined parts of the castle had been restored over the years. A trail of silvery moonlight leaked through the open blinds and the corners of my mouth curved up as I soaked in her space. The decor seemed to be stuck in teenage fashion—pink lace pillows and a plush white duvet covering the canopy bed, posters of Justin Timberlake and Justin Bieber decorating the walls. I chuckled imagining a young Ivy twirling around her room, blasting pop music and pissing off her brothers.
I’d just made my way into the walk-in closet when the bedroom door flew open with a thud and three men with the same shade of red hair as Ivy’s appeared, furious as hell.
Somehow I knew they wouldn’t bother with questions, and when the first punch came, my suspicions were confirmed.
“May the best man win,” I muttered, charging into them.