27. A House of Glass #3
As Deidre’s gaze lingers on me with playful menace, I feel a minor victory warm my chest. Harmless payback.
The soft clinking of plates and cups fills the air, our conversation light and unhurried. Then, the door to the dining room creaks open, and everything changes.
Finn steps inside, and it feels as if all the air has been sucked from the room. My breath catches, and a quiet tension ripples through me .
Amelia glances up first, her greeting poised and warm. “Good morning, Finn,” she says, breaking the spell just enough to remind me to breathe.
Deidre follows, her smile just as warm and inviting as Amelia’s.
I hear his steps, slow and deliberate, as he moves toward them. My pulse thrums loudly in my ears when he leans down to kiss Amelia’s cheek. Her soft laugh follows, a sound as natural as breathing.
Deidre greets him with her usual composed charm, tilting her face slightly as he places a kiss on her cheek as well. They exchange a few pleasantries, their voices low, but I can’t make out the words. I don’t need to. Every movement, every sound coils tighter in my chest as he finishes with them.
The air shifts again, the weight of his presence circling around the table as his footsteps grow louder. I feel him approach before I see him, his shadow casting long across the table as he comes to a stop beside me.
For a moment, nothing happens. My gaze remains fixed on my plate, my knuckles white as I clutch my fork. Then, slowly, I lift my eyes, drawn to him as though by some invisible tether.
His face is calm, unreadable, but his eyes—they burn with something unspoken, something raw and overwhelming. It’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Good mornin’,” he says, his voice low and rich, each word laced with quiet intensity.
Before I can muster a response, he leans in, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His lips brush against my cheek, soft and warm, a fleeting touch that chills me.
My heart is near to bursting, and my eyes sting with the threat of tears. The emotion in his gaze, the tenderness in his touch—it’s overwhelming. He lingers, his warmth so close it’s almost unbearable, before pulling away.
He straightens, turning to the table where the pastries and fruit are laid out, and begins assembling a plate with the same calm precision he always carries.
Amelia clears her throat, her voice cutting through the lingering tension like a lifeline. “We were just saying how lovely a trip to town would be,” she says, her tone light and casual.
Deidre hums in agreement, pouring herself another cup of tea. “It’s high time we visited the market. I’m sure we’ll find something delightful.”
“Is this leite creme?” Finn asks, with so much excitement that the guilt momentarily distracts me from the mix of emotions in me .
“Don’t bother,” Deidre says as she eyes me. “Triona went and salted it all to get back at me.”
Finn chuckles. When I dare to glance up, his eyes meet mine for the briefest second, and it’s enough to undo me all over again.
“I’m sure she had good reason. Triona does nothin’ without purpose.”
Amelia arches a brow, setting her cup down with a soft clink. “And what, pray tell, did Deidre do to deserve such culinary vengeance?”
Deidre doesn’t hesitate. “I encouraged a brisk trot through the house.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands.
“She chased me,” I mutter through my fingers, “out of the room in nothing but a sheer slip. Practically see-through, Amelia. I flashed my brothers .”
Amelia sputters and chokes on her tea.
Deidre lifts her chin, completely unapologetic. “Wouldn’t have chased you if you hadn’t called me the Abhartach .”
Amelia gapes. “You called her the Irish vampire?”
“She was practically hissing at me!” I argue, flailing a hand. “Bloodthirsty eyes, waking me out of a dead sleep, just to yell.”
Deidre lifts her cup with an amused smile. “You’ve a flare for the dramatics, just like your dear Auntie.”
Finn picks up the tray of leite creme, inspecting it with a small, amused smile. “Still,” he adds, setting the cream down with a mock sigh, “it’s a shame. It’s my second favourite sweet treat.”
His gaze flicks briefly—pointedly—to where I sit before returning to his cup, the curve of his mouth deepening into something dangerously close to a smirk.
Deidre laughs lightly, a sound as warm as the morning sun. “Next time, I’ll make sure it’s unsalted. You have my word.”
Their conversation flows easily, laughter and light banter filling the room, but I can’t focus. The air feels thick, every glance and word a weight pressing down on me.
Finn is still at the table, handpicking pastries and fruit, but I can feel his presence like a beacon, drawing my attention no matter how hard I try to look elsewhere. It is all too much .
I push my chair back, the sound loud enough to draw a glance from Amelia and Deidre. “Excuse me,” I say quickly, my voice tight, though I try to force a polite smile. “I need some air.”
Amelia’s brow furrows slightly, her concern clear, but she nods. “Take your time, love,” she whispers, her tone as gentle as always.
Deidre’s gaze lingers on me a moment longer, her expression unreadable, but she says nothing.
I don’t dare look at Finn as I rise. My heart hammers in my chest as I make my way to the door, my steps quick but measured, trying to appear composed.
The moment I step into the hallway, the cool air hits me, and I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I press them to my sides. My mind races, torn between the pull of what just happened and the need to steady myself.
I lean against the wall, closing my eyes and letting the quiet of the house envelop me. It doesn’t dull the memory of his eyes or the warmth of his kiss, but it gives me space to breathe, to gather the pieces of myself that feel scattered in his presence.
Behind me, the faint hum of conversation continues in the dining room, but I push forward to my room, determined to stay in it for the rest of the day while I sit with these confusing feelings.