Jesus. James didn’t have to look at Ricky to know there was naked pain in his brother’s eyes. They’d never measured up to Victor’s standards, and in recent years he’d stopped pretending he’d ever done more than tolerate their presence. James stared at the portrait over the mantel, wondering for the millionth time what their mother had seen in this angry, bitter man. She’d loved her boys, and loved them fiercely, right up until the cancer stole her from them fifteen years ago. Maybe it was better that way—better that she’d gone the way of the angels before she’d seen the men they’d become.
Ricky shifted. “Father, we can’t let this insult stand. Brendan’s body isn’t even cold and they’re already pawning that bitch off on someone else.”
James shot him a look that he pointedly ignored. He doubted the dynamics in the Sheridan family were all that much different than theirs—meaning Callista Sheridan had no say in this mess. It was her father to blame. “Don’t be disrespectful.”
“Your brother’s right for once. Sheridan is spitting in the face of our grief, and I won’t stand for it.” Victor turned to them. With the fire framing his body, he looked like a devil who’d crawled his way up from hell. He turned his steely blue eyes on James. “We’re going to war.”
Chapter Three
Everyone was taking their seats as Teague slipped through the doors and made his way to the half of the table that had been designated for the O’Malley family. He met Callista’s gaze, a primal satisfaction he had no right to soaring through him at the glazed look in her eyes and the way her lips were reddened and plumped from kissing him. He stopped in front of her. “We’ll be talking later.”
He could see the exact moment the mask slipped into place, her desire replaced by cold disinterest. “I don’t think so.” That was fine. She could hide behind the mask for as long as she liked—they’d be married and sharing a home shortly, and there would be no more opportunities to dodge him then.
So he gave her a tight smile and took his place on the other side of his parents. Sitting this close to his father was enough to give him indigestion at the best of times, and tonight was hardly that, despite the silver lining of actually being attracted to Callista.
His mother leaned closer and dug her fingers into his forearm. She looked particularly put together tonight, her dress designed to show off the fact that she was still willowy and beautiful despite having brought seven children into this world. “I know you don’t want this, but it’s vital you keep any theatrics to yourself.”
Theatrics. Like he was a spoiled little boy who was in danger of throwing a tantrum when he didn’t get what he wanted. The old anger rose again, but he managed to wrangle it out of his voice. “I’ll be good.”
Her green eyes were sympathetic, even if her grip wasn’t. “This is for the best. You’ll see.” It was always like this with her. In her own way, Aileen O’Malley was just as much of a hard-ass as her husband—possibly even more so.
“Whatever you say.” And then there was no more time for talking, because his father and Sheridan rose. Teague tuned them out as they went through what were no doubt practiced speeches. They were just words—words about putting old arguments to rest and starting fresh with a new generation and a peace and booming business that would benefit all.
If anyone in this room thought for a second that this marriage would put an end to the backbiting and squabbling over territory, they were delusional. It was a patch, and not even a good one at that. No one spoke about the fact that, less than twenty-four hours ago, Callista had been engaged to another man.
He leaned back and watched her out of the corner of his eye. Was she broken up about Brendan’s death? She seemed smart enough to be worried about marrying a man whom she didn’t know, but he might have mistaken nerves for grief. It was hard to say. Teague accepted the beer Aiden handed him and took a long drink. A cigarette and a kiss weren’t enough to get a good read on a person. A part of him would like to chalk the whole thing up to her being overcome with desire, but he knew better. She hadn’t wanted to answer the question about her bruises, so she’d made a move on him.
Was the abuser a boyfriend? He doubted she’d chosen this path any more than he had, so it was entirely possible. Teague took another sip of his beer, waiting for the irrational jealousy to ease. Though he doubted his father had been faithful at any point in his marriage, creating an extramarital arrangement hadn’t been something he’d really considered before he met her. Now? There was no fucking away.