Chapter 29 #3
But I’m also following because the house is in a state of disrepair and the last thing we need is a catfight damaging what’s already being renovated.
I find them in the hallway outside the dining room, where Chantal has hung a collection of framed photographs.
Some are from the estate’s original days—Grandma Darcy and Grandpa Finn in their prime, faded black-and-white shots of family gatherings long past. Others are newer, photos Chantal brought from her apartment and insisted on displaying. Even a few from when Eddie was a boy.
Simone’s standing in front of one of them, her attention set on one framed photo in particular.
It’s a picture of her and Chantal from their NYU days. They’re young and carefree, arms thrown around each other, beaming at the camera like they own the world. Simone’s hair is chin-length, and Chantal’s wearing a Black girl magic sweatshirt, and they both look so damn happy it’s almost sickening.
“I remember this day,” Simone says quietly. “It was right after finals. We were so relieved to be done we went out and got drunk on cheap wine.”
“Two-buck Chuck from Trader Joe’s,” Chantal confirms. “We thought we were sooo sophisticated.”
“Then we got in our feelings over the future.”
“Wine drunk really is a different kind of drunk. We cried promising to invite each other to our weddings.”
“And always keep in touch, even when we were old as hell.”
A nostalgic smile comes to Chantal’s face. “We said we’d be like the Black Golden Girls.”
“You made sure to claim Blanche.”
“I mean, let’s be real, Sim. I do give Blanche energy. Now you? You’re Bea all day every day.”
Simone falls silent for a few seconds, still staring up at the framed photo. One second she’s composed, then the next that composure cracks. She turns to Chantal and blurts out an apology.
“Look, I’m sorry, Chani!” she exclaims, voice thickening with emotion. “It’s been petty of me to hold a grudge when you didn’t do that to me. When I told you about how my feelings for Ronan changed, you didn’t judge me. I shouldn’t have judged you.”
“No, but I should’ve been more understanding about why you were upset,” Chantal erupts in the same frantic apologetic fashion. “I mean, you almost died that night, and it’s not like Lochlan hadn’t been putting the Callahan’s through hell for months.”
“But you were right about Ronan and me. We did start just as messy as Lochlan and you. I had no right to act like I knew your relationship. I just missed you so much, Chani. I was sick with worry while you were kidnapped, not even sure if I’d ever see you again.”
“Ugh, Sim!” Chantal cries out. She rushes toward her best friend with arms wide open and engulfs her in a hug.
Simone eagerly returns it, wrapping her arms around Chantal more like sisters.
“No more fighting,” Simone says. “Our friendship goes back way further than any man.”
“Agreed. No male on God’s green earth is worth it.”
“You do know we’re both here within earshot, right?” I ask with a shake of my head.
“I said what I said, Callahan.” Chantal sticks her tongue out at me from over Simone’s shoulder.
The two women finally separate and then immediately pivot into catching up on what they’ve missed in each other’s lives. As if by magic, Monique damn near materializes out of thin air. Together the three women disappear down the hall, thick as thieves.
You’d never even know where was a problem in the first place.
It seems me and Ronan weren’t the only two on standby watching their reconciliation.
“Not sure how I feel about them patching things up,” Ronan says bluntly. “Means they’ll be spending a lot more time around each other.”
“Which probably means so will we,” I add.
My baby brother gives a haphazard shrug. “You don’t try to kill me, I don’t try to kill you.”
“Sounds about right.”
We both exchange a stiff nod and then go our separate ways. From the outside looking in, it still isn’t much, but it’s our fucked-up form of a peace offering.
Eventually the night wears on and our guests trickle out minutes before midnight.
I’m standing in the foyer saying bye to Aleksei when I spot Robby and Sorcha leaving together. She’s got a coy smile on her face, and he’s carrying the remains of his Polish beer, and they’re walking close enough their shoulders keep bumping.
“Unsurprised,” Aleksei grunts in his thick Russian baritone. “He was always staring at her.”
The enforcer disappears into the night, the only guest to leave solo other than Akio who left about an hour ago. Monique and David follow only minutes later, with Chantal’s cousin claiming the evening was “enjoyably unhinged” and demanding we do it again soon.
The last to go are Ronan and Simone, who hover at the door for another hug between the best friends.
I close the front door and turn to find Chantal sliding off her heels with a tired but satisfied smile on her face.
“Success!” she declares. “We hosted our first real dinner party and nobody got shot.”
“Low bar, but we’ll call it a win.”
“For this group? That’s a very high bar actually.”
I can’t refute her point because she’s not entirely wrong.
I step toward her, pulling her into my arms and breathing in her familiar scent. Light and powdery and feminine. She melts against me, her head resting on my chest as if she could fall asleep standing up so long as I’m holding her.
“You don’t regret moving out of the city?” I ask out of curiosity.
She shakes her head against my chest. “Are you kidding? I love the distance! Now I get to really separate work life from home life. None of that girl boss nonsense for me. That’s for the birds.
I’m all about slow living. Plus, it’s not like we don’t have a private driver to take us into the city when we need to. ”
“You make a convincing argument.”
“What about you? Do you miss Callahan House? The gritty streets of Brooklyn? Mob life at all?”
I shrug, raking a hand absentmindedly down her back. “I’m thinking Grandpa Finn was onto something when he moved all the way out here.”
“You think you’ll ever go back, though?” she presses.
“To what—working for the family?” I ask and she nods. I shrug again. “Who knows? I spent my entire life wrapped up in my identity as my father’s heir. Then I was wrapped up in my revenge scheme. It’s been nice not being caught up in any of it.”
“I could see that.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’ll leave the underworld for good. Just that I might come and go on my own terms.”
She smirks. “You are such a psychopath.”
“Brat, we’re home alone now. You don’t want to go mouthing off.”
“Or else what?” she challenges, arching a brow. Then she squeals as soon as I’m running my fingers up and down her sides and she realizes her mistake. “Wait, don’t answer that! Lochlan!”
She’s crying out in laughter as she slips free from my grasp and dashes for the wide, sprawling staircase. I’m quick after her, bounding up the steps and closing the lead she’s built.
Our cat-and-mouse chase takes us all the way up to our bedroom.
Chantal bursts through the door breathless from laughter. I’m only a step behind, finally catching her once we’re past the threshold. My arms wrap around her waist and I spin her to face me, her long braids whipping through the air.
“Thought you could outrun me, brat?”
Her brown eyes are bright, sparkle with mischief as more breathless laughter falls from her lips. She grabs fistfuls of my shirt and yanks me closer. “Ever think maybe I just wanted you to chase me?”
“I’d say mission accomplished. You got your wish.”
My mouth crashes into hers, swallowing whatever smart reply she was about to give. Right away I taste the wine she had for dinner, the warm sweetness enough in itself to drive me up the wall.
I can’t get enough of my brat, and she knows it.
I spent the whole evening watching her play hostess, charming our guests, and modeling the little cocktail dress that hugs her fat ass and thick thighs just right.
Now all I want to do is strip it off her and let her know how irresistible I find her.
Chantal matches my energy. Her fervor comes through in how eagerly she kisses me back, her fingers working at my shirt buttons, slightly clumsy with urgency. At the halfway point, I help her along by yanking the damn thing over my head and casting it aside somewhere.
I’m much more concerned with getting this slinky little dress off her, and I let her know as I whip her around again. This time so that she’s facing away and that I have access to the zipper.
I drag it down in a smooth motion, placing kisses down her spine as I go.
In the blink of an eye, the fabric’s pooling at her feet and I’ve got the strapless bra joining it.
My hands have a mind of their own as far as Chantal’s body’s concerned—they fill with the soft weight of her large tits and I grope and squeeze them.
It feels amazing just to hold her. Feel her naked curves pressed up against me that the semi hard-on I’ve got in my pants twitches the rest of the way awake.
Chantal shudders against me. Her laughter has faded only to be replaced by small intakes of air. She reaches her arm up behind her, hand gripping at the back of my neck to bring my head down. I’m so caught up in fondling her tits that it takes me a second to realize what she’s doing.
My head bows to meet her halfway, capturing her lips in another heated kiss. It’s fireworks every time our lips touch. Fucking sparklers and rockets going off as soon as her full lips are brushing against mine and I’m letting my tongue roam.
It was never like this before—twenty years with Cara and not once did I feel so much as a spark. A single fucking tingle.
Chantal turns more into me without breaking our kiss. My hands go from cupping her breasts to gripping at her hips and waist and then pushing down her panties.
“Lochlan,” she whines against my mouth.
I shut her up with a lash of my tongue and nudge backward toward the bed. I’ve got her naked, which is right where I want her.
My erection’s pulsing inside my pants, already demanding her slick warmth.