Taryn #2
I sigh. “It’s all so fast. And, in the back of my mind, I remember that I was forced into this.
I mean, what if this is temporary insanity or something?
Like, what if the real Liam isn’t this great guy all the time?
What if he really is like every other guy in the clan?
Maybe once we get to Chicago, he’ll change.
What if he starts ordering me around? He has this weird violent side that pops up occasionally.
It hasn’t bothered me exactly, but I mean, what if I’m being blinded by the great sex? ”
Stephanie tries and fails to suppress a laugh. “Your honor, I plead temporary insanity due to an extremely thorough dicking.”
I smile and shrug. It seems like a reasonable defense.
“Look. In all seriousness, I totally understand not knowing if you should trust someone. But, I believe people show you who they are if you’re paying attention.
Sometimes, it’s easy to overlook things if you really want to.
But, I think the opposite is true here, Tare.
You want to find something wrong, but instead, he’s proving to be more than you could have hoped for.
He’s showing you who he is, and he’s a great guy.
So what if he gets a little rough around the edges when other guys talk shit about you?
So what if he tried to run over your ex with his car?
He could have done nothing. He could have ignored Sam.
He could have left you hanging out to dry when your investment went south.
He could have let your whole family go down. He didn’t, and I’m sure that cost him.”
I stare at her.
“You’re scared,” she continues. “And that makes sense. In a perfect world, you would have had more time to figure out your relationship with Liam. But, from what you’ve told me, you guys have a pretty solid foundation on which to build something real.”
“Did you say he tried to run over Sam with his car?” My voice is high.
Stephanie winces. “Maybe you should ask him about that one. Happened yesterday afternoon. On campus. I thought beating the shit out of him on our front lawn would have sufficed.” She shrugs. “But now that I know about how he funneled your money to the Greeks, the car thing makes more sense.”
Oh my God. I can’t even process that. He tried to run someone over? I was actually referring to him nearly choking a guy to death right before our wedding when I mentioned Liam’s violent streak. Jesus.
Everything is so different now. I’m a wife. A mob wife. I suppose it makes sense that my husband tries to kill people on a regular basis.
“I wish there weren’t all these expectations,” I mutter. I think about Liam’s father and his questions about children.
“Let’s pretend there aren’t,” Stephanie advocates, and I raise my eyebrows.
“I know—but listen. If you hadn’t been forced to marry Liam, and had time to get to know him better—given everything you’ve learned over these last couple weeks—would you want to be with him?
Continue the relationship? Is he someone you would have continued to date? ”
“I—I don’t know. Maybe? Probably?” I can’t separate it like that in my head. “I was pretty set on getting away.” Although I do like Liam. A lot. More than I am comfortable with.
“Yeah, you’re a planner like that. It’s just that sometimes plans change.”
“What do you mean?” I don’t think I’m exceptionally rigid. Am I?
“You’re always leaving these lists lying around, and you have pretty firm ideas about what’s supposed to happen and when. Life doesn’t always work out that way, ya know?”
Given what Steph has been through with Cole, I guess she understands better than anyone that things don’t always work out as planned. I’m about to respond when she pushes her hair over her shoulder and takes a sip of her drink. Holy shit.
“Do you have a hickey?” I squeal the words. Yes. That is definitely a love bite on her neck.
She slaps her hand to cover the incriminating red mark like she’s swatting a mosquito. “No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know.” Her face has turned beet red. “It’s nothing.”
It’s definitely not nothing. “Did you and Cole get back together?” I try to sound nonchalant. I hate him, but I want to be supportive, even if she did invite that two-timing pantywaste back into her bed.
“What? No!” She covers her neck again with her hair. Squirms. “I, um, hooked up with someone else. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I just told you everything!”
She sighs. “I know. I know. I’m just—ugh! I feel like such a slut. I’m the one who needs to plead temporary insanity.”
“From a thorough dicking?” I smirk.
“Very thorough.” She blushes even harder, which I didn’t think was possible. “I dunno—it’s a rebound or something. It didn’t mean anything. I wanted to feel something, I guess. I haven’t been with anybody but Cole in so long. I don’t know what happened.”
“Who was it?” I know pretty much everyone on campus.
“Sorry—no. Uh-uh. I’m taking this one to the grave.” She’s looking at her hands. I don’t like it.
“You know you could tell me, right? I wouldn’t judge you.” I wonder if it’s a professor or something.
“I know, Tare. I appreciate it. If I ever want to talk about it, I promise I’ll come to you.” She looks up at me shyly under her lashes. “I’m still working through it all. I may have liked it a little bit too much.” Now this is a concept I can relate to.
“Also, you’re not a slut. Don’t ever think that.
As long as you’re being safe and smart, you’re allowed to feel good, Stephanie.
Sleep with anyone you want. Everyone you want.
You get to decide.” I hate that she feels bad about having fun.
That she’s holding on to some twentieth century view of promiscuity that isn’t doing her any favors.
She deserves to move on. I walk over to throw my arms around her and she startles before hugging me back.
“Geez. Where is my roommate and what have you done with her?” She giggles. “He must have dicked the warm and fuzzies into you!”
I suppress my laugh and squeeze her again. I think she may be right.
“Let’s get your stuff gathered, then we can walk to class together. Sound good?” Her smile is genuine. I wish I had been closer to her when I lived here.
“Wait. Didn’t you have a class earlier?”
She waves away the question. “Pfffft. And miss this? When you texted saying you were coming by, there was no way I was leaving. My next class isn’t for another hour. It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry you have to live with Rowan.” She hasn’t mentioned it, but my actions had consequences for her too.
She flushes again. “It’s fine. I’m sure we’ll manage.”
Given the color of her cheeks, I’d guess it’s not fine. She’s obviously trying to be nice to me. Damn it. I hate that I’ve done this to her.
“I can see if he can find somewhere else to stay.” In fact, Liam has an open bedroom now. He’s packing his stuff as we speak. Doesn’t that make more sense?
Again, Steph waves me away. “I don’t care what Rowan does. It’s only for a few months. It’s…whatever.”
Although, as I wander around my old place, I can see the head of the Irish mob has already moved in.
My old bed has new bedding, although it’s still in its packaging on the mattress.
His clothes are half unpacked into my closet.
A gun sits on my desk. I sigh as I walk past it to the TV room, where some notebooks lie where I left them.
It doesn’t take long to gather my overlooked things and put them in a box next to the door. I shrug back into my coat as Steph slips on her boots. She links her arm through mine as we head off toward our classes. To say I was unprepared for what I’d find there is an understatement.
The campus feels noticeably different. The gothic spires and shadowed arches seem to amplify the stares that follow me. I’m not just Taryn Walsh anymore. I’m now Mrs. McGuiness; apparently that’s the headline of the week, and everyone is in on the story.
Whispers trail behind us as Stephanie and I cross the courtyard, the crunch of gravel under our boots drowned out by snickers, gasps, and the view of phone cameras being raised to capture the moment.
“Here comes the bride!” someone calls out from the steps of Harding Hall, their tone somewhere between a cheer and a jeer.
Stephanie doesn’t even pause. “Grow up,” she snaps, her arm wrapping firmly around my shoulders.
Her glare is enough to scatter the braver gawkers as she steers me toward the entrance.
I keep my head down, wishing I could melt into the gray stone and disappear. It’s all a reminder that this is happening so fast—too fast. I never expected my life to feel like public property.
Before I know it, Elizabeth is at my other side, arm looping through mine. She says nothing, just gives me a nod, a silent show of support. My heart squeezes.
The reality I was avoiding has set in. Theo Nicopolis is leaning against the iron railing outside Harding Hall, his dark wool coat tailored to perfection, the collar turned up against the January wind.
He looks like he’s stepped straight out of some glossy magazine.
Too polished. Too calm. It makes my blood boil.
“You have some nerve,” I say, walking straight to him. Elizabeth hangs on for dear life, not willing to let me go. Steph steps back to give me some space.
Theo’s hazel eyes flicker with something—surprise, maybe, or guilt—before he straightens. “Taryn.”
“You touched my fund,” I snap. “You knew it wasn’t yours, and you still used it. What the hell were you thinking?”
He exhales, slow and controlled, like he knew this was coming. “You’re right. I did. And I’m sorry.”
Wait. Did he just apologize?
“Sorry?” I laugh without humor. “That’s it? You hijacked my life because—what? Because it was easy money?”
“Because I didn’t have a choice,” he says firmly.
“You mentioned your investments, and I saw a way out of a situation I was in. I knew your name, your family—it was an easy solution. And I was desperate.” His gaze darkens, and for the first time, I see cracks in his composure.
“You don’t know what it’s like to have someone like my father breathing down your neck.
He doesn’t punish mistakes—he carves them into you so you never forget them. ”
Jesus Christ.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I bite out, my chest tight.
“I know,” Theo says, his tone softer. “But, I’m not asking for forgiveness. I made the call. I saw an answer to my problem and I took it. I’d likely do it again under the same circumstances. You got caught in the crossfire, and I’m genuinely sorry you got hurt as a result.”
“Crossfire?” I spit, stepping closer, lowering my voice just for him. “Do you mean the trafficking? That’s what my money was tied to, wasn’t it?” My voice shakes with rage. “Women, Theo. Young girls. Human beings. You let me fund that.”
His face shutters, and for a heartbeat, there’s something vacant and hollow in his eyes, like a door slamming shut. He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t defend it.
His silence says enough.
Disgust burns through me, hot and acidic. “You really are just like him,” I say, my voice trembling. “Your father.”
Theo’s jaw tightens, but his voice is flat when he finally speaks. “No one here is clean, Taryn. Not me. Not you. Not your new husband.”
His mention of Liam twists something in my gut, but I hold his gaze.
“Stay out of my life, Theo,” I say, my voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it.
The words are building before I can stop them.
“And if you touch anything with my name on it again”—I hesitate, but something dark and certain pushes me forward—“you’ll answer to Liam.
To the whole fucking clan. And trust me, you don’t want that. ”
The threat hangs there between us, thick and heavy. I can feel it vibrating in my bones. Did I really just say that? Did I use Liam—and the mob I swore I hated—as my weapon?
Theo’s eyebrows lift slightly, but there’s no humor in his expression. Only understanding.
“Looks like you’re learning,” he says quietly, and I hate that part of me likes how it sounds.
A flicker of unease twists in my chest. Is this what claiming power feels like?
Trading my rational voice for sharp edges and threats?
Because, for the first time, I don’t sound like the stellar student with dreams of California—I sound like I belong in this world. I can’t decide how I feel about that.