23. Maeve
Maeve
I smile before I realize I'm doing it.
The realization catches me off guard while I fasten an earring and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
For a second, I just sit there. Looking. Trying to remember the last time I smiled this much. Not the polite smiles. Not the ones expected at dinners and fundraisers and charity events. Real smiles. The kind that happen before you think about them.
The answer arrives immediately. A week ago. Before coffee started appearing every morning. Before my favorite songs somehow began following me through the estate. Before a mysterious hacker with questionable social skills became the most interesting person in my life.
Heat immediately creeps into my cheeks.
Because that thought alone feels dangerous.
I reach for my lipstick. Then stop. The memory surfaces anyway. Three mornings.
Three mornings in a row I'd walked into the kitchen to find fresh coffee waiting. And every single morning there had been French vanilla creamer sitting beside it.
The exact brand I liked. The exact flavor.
When I'd finally asked the house manager about it, she'd looked genuinely confused.
Apparently she'd assumed I'd requested it.
The realization had followed me around all day. The same way the music had. Every time I stepped into the library. Every single time. A favorite song. An old playlist. Music I'd forgotten existed. Music that reminded me of who I used to be before every choice in my life became carefully calculated.
The thought settles warmly in my chest. Then guilt follows, fast on its heels, because Ronan is home now. And somehow that warmth has nothing to do with him.
The bedroom door opens behind me. My shoulders stiffen automatically. The reaction annoys me instantly.
Ronan isn't angry. He hasn't been angry since returning from his trip. If anything, he's been unusually attentive.
The realization only makes me feel worse.
His reflection appears in the mirror behind me.
Dark suit. Black tie. Perfect as always. His gaze lands on mine. Then lingers. For a moment, neither of us says anything.
I return my attention to my earrings. Ronan continues watching me.
Finally he smiles. Softly. "You look beautiful."
The compliment catches me off guard. Not because of the words. Because of how normal they sound. How familiar. How much they remind me of the man I thought I married.
"Thank you."
His reflection moves closer. Not touching. Just standing behind me. Studying me. The silence stretches.
"You're smiling."
My fingers pause. Only for a second. "You sound surprised."
"I am." The honesty in his voice pulls my attention back toward the mirror. Ronan's expression looks thoughtful. Curious. Not suspicious. Just curious.
"You seem happier." The words settle heavily in my chest. Because he isn't wrong. And for one terrible moment, I know exactly why.
I think about coffee. About music. About text messages that make me laugh when I least expect it. About a ghost who somehow knows me better than he should.
Guilt twists through my stomach before I can catch it.
"You must have missed me." The words are accompanied by a small smile. A teasing one. The kind husbands are probably supposed to make.
My chest tightens. Because he thinks he's the reason. And part of me desperately wishes he was.
It would make everything simpler. Safer. Easier.
Instead, I force a smile and look away first. "Maybe."
The lie leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Not because I didn't miss him. I did. At least the version of him I keep trying to find again.
The version that existed before schedules and restrictions and guards. The version who used to make me feel chosen instead of managed.
Ronan seems satisfied with the answer. His hand settles briefly against my shoulder. Affectionate. Possessive. I can't decide which.
Then he steps away. "We should leave soon."
I nod.
The bedroom falls quiet again. Ronan disappears into the adjoining office to take a phone call.
The second he's gone, my eyes drift toward my phone sitting on the vanity.
The screen remains dark. Silent. No messages. No notifications. Nothing. And somehow that's when the guilt gets worse.
Because the first thing I feel isn't relief.
It's disappointment.
I stare at the phone for a long moment. Then quietly turn it face down. As if hiding it somehow makes the feeling disappear.
It doesn't.
Not even a little.
****
Ronan has been acting strange all evening. More than usual.
The thought trails me through every conversation, every introduction, every forced smile.
Normally at events like this, he keeps me close. Not because he wants to spend time with me. Because appearances matter.
Tonight, however, he seems distracted. Restless. His attention keeps drifting toward entrances. Toward security. Toward people moving through the crowd.
Like he's waiting for something. Or someone.
The ballroom glitters beneath crystal chandeliers while donors and politicians drift from conversation to conversation. Somewhere behind me a string quartet plays softly.
I should be enjoying myself. Instead I feel like an accessory. Something Ronan brought with him and forgot to take home.
His gaze suddenly fixes on something across the room. Immediately his posture changes. Alert. Focused.
A smile appears on his face that doesn't reach his eyes. "Excuse me."
I follow his line of sight. A man stands near the opposite side of the ballroom surrounded by several others. An old colleague, maybe. Business associate. I don't know.
Ronan is already turning toward him.
Then he pauses. Looks back at me. "Stay here."
My brow furrows slightly. "What?"
"The bar." His tone leaves no room for argument. "I'll only be a few minutes."
I glance toward the crowd. Then back at him. "You want me to wait?"
"Yes." The answer comes immediately. Firmly. Then his eyes narrow slightly. "Don't wander off."
Something about the words lands wrong. Not because of what he says. Because of how familiar it sounds. Like instructions. Not a request.
I force a smile anyway. "Okay."
His shoulders relax. Just slightly. Then he's gone. Crossing the ballroom toward the man before I can ask another question.
I watch him disappear into the crowd. Confusion lodges heavy in my chest. The entire night has been like this. Every conversation interrupted. Every interaction shortened. Every attempt I've made to speak with someone redirected.
Twice he's answered questions for me. Three times he's pulled me away from conversations before they'd barely started.
The realization leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I turn toward the bar. Order sparkling water. Then settle onto one of the stools.
Alone. Again.
My phone vibrates. The sound draws my attention.
For reasons I refuse to examine too closely.
I unlock the screen. And freeze.
Taibhse:
Your husband spent a concerning amount of money on this dress.
I stare at the message. Then read it again. A laugh escapes before I can stop it. A second message appears.
Taibhse:
For the record, it appears to have been a worthwhile investment.
That's somehow the closest thing to a compliment Taibhse has ever given me.
My cheeks go warm all over again.
"Oh my God." The words slip out beneath my breath. I glance around instinctively. Like someone might have heard. Like someone might somehow know.
My fingers move before I can stop them.
Me:
Thank you.
Taibhse:
You're welcome.
Three dots appear. Disappear.
Taibhse:
Question.
My smile grows.
Me:
That's never a good sign.
Taibhse:
Why do you look sad?
The warmth immediately falters. My gaze lifts from the phone. Scanning the ballroom. Searching.
I don't know what I'm looking for. A camera. A clue. Something. Anything.
The room remains exactly the same. Crowded. Loud. Beautiful.
Then movement catches my eye. A security camera mounted above one of the side hallways shifts.
Barely. The lens tilting downward. Then upward again.
Once. Like a nod.
A laugh escapes me. Small. Disbelieving.
The smile that follows comes easier.
Me:
These things are boring.
The response takes less than five seconds.
Taibhse:
Walk down the hallway.
My eyes immediately lift. Toward the camera. Toward the corridor beyond it.
A pulse of uncertainty moves through me.
Ronan told me to stay. The thought surfaces automatically. Then another follows it.
Ronan also told me not to leave the house. Not visit my father. Not question him. Not to wander.
Not.
Not.
Not.
I stare at the hallway. Then at the ballroom. Then at my phone. Finally I slide off the stool. My pulse quickens immediately.
Not from fear. From anticipation.
The hallway is quieter than the ballroom.
The music fading with every step.
My phone vibrates again.
Taibhse:
Right.
I stop. Look toward the intersection ahead. Then turn. Voices drift toward me.
Women's voices. Laughter. Conversation. The sound feels strangely familiar.
My phone vibrates one more time.
Taibhse:
Door on the left.
I reach it. Pause. Then push it open.
The room beyond is smaller. Private. One of the event's side lounges.
Several women stand gathered near a refreshment table. Talking. Laughing.
And standing in the middle of them—My mother.
For a second I can't breathe. She looks up and sees me.
And her entire face lights up.
"Maeve." The word leaves her like she's been hoping to see me all evening.
Something inside my chest cracks wide open. Not painfully. Relief. Pure relief.
Because for the first time all night—Someone looks happy simply because I'm here. For one impossible moment...it feels like freedom.