27. A House of Glass #2
Her words settle deep into my chest, wrapping around the ache like a balm. They’re not just words—they’re a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge of despair.
Her voice dips lower, almost reverent. “This love, Triona—it’s unyielding. It’s the kind that anchors souls, that defies even death itself. It’s in the blood, the bone, the very air you breathe. And it is ours to give, so promise not to push it away.”
Her embrace never falters. I cling to her, letting the truth of her words seep into every broken part of me.
I nod again, my fingers brushing absently over the quilt beside me. “I’ll try,” I whisper.
Amelia smiles, the corners of her lips trembling slightly as she presses another kiss to my forehead. “That’s all anyone can ask of you.”
For the first time in what feels like ages, the crushing weight on my chest eases—just slightly, but enough to breathe.
“Now come, love,” she says, her tone lightening just enough to lift the heaviness in the room. “Let us work to get you cleaned up and fed. A beauty such as yerself ought not waste a day crying, aye?”
I give her a weak smile, slowly rising to my feet.
My body feels shaky, legs unsteady, but I let Amelia guide me toward the basin.
As she splashes cool water on my face, I catch my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes are red, cheeks blotchy, but there’s something else there—an echo of resilience, faint but growing.
I follow Aunt Amelia out of my room, her steady presence grounding me. The weight of my earlier emotions still clings to me. We tread quietly through the hall, our steps soft against the worn wooden floor. The house feels heavy, almost suffocating in its stillness.
We halt as a door swings open ahead. My breath catches. From Bran’s room, the woman I saw with him last night emerges. Her gown hangs loose, hair in wild disarray. My cheeks burn as my gaze drifts past her to the open door, revealing Bran sprawled on the bed like some half-drunk Irish god.
Completely naked, cock rising with the dawn .
A sharp shriek escapes me, and I clap my hands over my eyes. “Bran!” I yelp, my voice a mix of outrage and embarrassment.
The commotion draws a low groan from the bed. “Please,” Bran groans, voice thick with sleep. “Heard enough of my name last night between cries of pleasure.”
Amelia mutters something under her breath—likely a prayer for patience—and steps in front of me, blocking my view. “Cover yourself, you daft lad,” she scolds, her tone low and firm.
Bran groans again. Sheets rustle, but I refuse to look to confirm.
Before the moment settles, another door creaks open. I peek between my fingers as Casey emerges, leaning against the frame. One hand rakes through his disheveled hair while the other shields his eyes. He carries the unmistakable air of someone deeply regretting last night’s choices.
“Who in the name of the blasted gods just screamed like that?” he demands, his voice rough with sleep and laced with irritation.
“It was me!” I snap, still flustered from the sight of Bran laid bare. “If you saw what I just did, you would have screamed, too.”
Casey raises an eyebrow, his gaze drifting toward Bran’s open door. A knowing look crosses his face, mingled with something sharper—annoyance, perhaps? Or a hint of disappointment?
“Ah,” he mutters, voice tight. “Try not to wake the dead next time, Triona.”
Casey looks away, and, without a word, slams the door behind him with enough force to make me flinch.
Amelia exhales sharply beside me, crossing her arms. “What’s got him in a tizzy?” she mutters. Then, turning to me, she asks, “What’s all this about?”
I hesitate, stealing a glance at Bran’s door before leaning closer. “He started a fight with Bran last night,” I whisper. “Over her. ” I tilt my head toward the stairs, where the woman had disappeared moments earlier.
Amelia’s eyes widen briefly before narrowing in thought. “A fight? Those two? The fun bunch of the group.”
I nod, still keeping my voice low. “It was completely out of character. Casey caught Bran stealing a kiss with her at the party. Things got… heated. ”
Amelia exhales again, her expression unreadable. “Men and their pride. Nothing like a pretty lass to set it ablaze.” She shakes her head, casting a sideways glance toward Bran’s door. “And that one, lying about as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.”
“A bit early for dramatics, isn’t it?” Bran’s voice cuts through the tension, his grin entirely too self-assured as he props himself up on one elbow.
“Early?” Amelia snaps, rounding on him. “I’ve no quarrel with what you do behind closed doors, but for the love of decency, could you at least pretend to be discreet?
The lass was sneaking out like a thief in the night, and you’re lying here like you’ve just conquered the world. Have some shame, love.”
“Shame?” he repeats, feigning shock. “Why? Not my fault you lot took a morning stroll past my room.”
She says nothing, just gives him the look . “You’re right,” he says, scrambling to sit straighter and brushes a hand through his unruly hair. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Amelia. This is your house, and I should’ve been more careful. Will not happen again.”
The sincerity in his tone takes me by surprise, and judging by the slight softening of Amelia’s expression, it catches her off guard, too. She tilts her head, studying him for a moment, before letting out a small chuckle.
“You’re lucky to be so handsome, Bran Mumford.” She waves a hand at him. “But mark my words—next time, there will be hell to pay.”
I glance at Bran one last time, his grin as infuriating as ever, and let out a huff. “You’re insufferable. Not even going to take the threat with the seriousness it deserves?”
He winks. “And yet you both adore me.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I mutter, linking my arm with Amelia’s as she nudges me gently down the hall.
As we move away, she exhales under her breath, so softly I almost don’t catch it. “Not my thing, mind you,” she murmurs, “but I can see the appeal.”
My steps falter, and I glance at her, frowning in confusion. “How do you mean?” I ask hesitantly.
She tilts her head toward Bran’s room with a small, mischievous smirk. “The lad’s well-built, is he not? A hard sight to miss.”
I take a moment to process her meaning, and when I do, my face flames. “Auntie!” I hiss, horrified, my hands flying up as if to block out the thought. “Stop. Just—stop. ”
She bursts into laughter, the sound rich and unrestrained as it echoes down the hall. “Oh, come now, love,” she teases, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m only saying what anyone with eyes could see.”
“Well, I don’t want to hear it,” I snap, mortified, quickening my pace to escape the conversation.
She chuckles behind me. “You’re too easy to rile, Triona,” she says fondly, catching up to me. “But I’ll spare you. For now.”
“How kind of you,” I grumble, though her laughter lingers, and despite myself, I feel a smile tugging at my lips. Leave it to her to find humour in the most mortifying situations.
Just like Deidre. Which reminds me…
Amelia leads me into the dining room, her arm still linked with mine as my mind churns with thoughts of payback.
The room is warm and inviting, sunlight streaming through the tall windows, casting a golden glow over the table set with an impressive spread of pastries and breakfast treats.
My stomach rumbles faintly at the sight.
“There you are, love,” Amelia says, gesturing toward the table. “Help yourself. And don’t miss the leite creme—it’s Deidre’s absolute favorite.”
I’m busy preparing a plate when Deidre walks into the room. “Good morning,” Deidre says brightly, her tone light and warm as she approaches. Her gaze sweeps over us, lingering briefly on Amelia before settling into her usual poised demeanour.
“Morning, love,” Amelia replies, her tone easy, though there’s a glimmer of something playful in her eyes. Deidre’s gaze flicks to mine.
“Deidre,” she begins, her tone casual. “She knows.”
With quiet grace, Deidre leans over and presses a gentle kiss on Amelia’s cheek, her hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Amelia’s expression softens, and she tilts her head slightly toward Deidre, her fingers brushing against her wrist in a gesture so natural it feels like second nature.
The sight tugs at something deep in my chest. There’s no hesitation in the way Deidre’s eyes linger on Amelia’s, no awkwardness in the tender exchange. Just love—quiet, steady, and unshakable.
A warmth spreads through me, and I find myself smiling softly. The chaos of the morning fades away in the face of this moment, simple and profound.
I seat myself while the two of them share a private moment.
They sit down, and we chat about nothing in particular.
Deidre goes to take a bite of her leite creme. The second it hits her tongue, she freezes, her eyes widening. She moves swiftly to grab for the nearest cloth, and spits everything into it. Slowly, her gaze lifts to meet mine, her lips pursing in suspicion.
“How’s that taste? Auntie said it was your favourite .”
“What did you do?”
I shrug, feigning innocence. “Whatever do you mean? Does something not agree with you?”
Amelia glances between us, her eyes narrowing. “Triona…” she begins, but there’s no mistaking the flicker of amusement behind her words.
“She looked like she needed something savoury and sweet to start the day.”
Amelia sips her tea, oblivious to my quiet amusement. “What am I missing?”
“Your lovely niece salted the leite creme.”
Deidre dabs at her lips with a napkin, her composure quickly returning. “You’ll regret this,” she mutters, though the faintest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“Will I?” I ask, unable to hide my grin.
“Oh, you will,” she says, pointing her spoon at me like a weapon.
Amelia shakes her head, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “You’re as bad as each other,” she mutters, sipping her tea.