For her part, Carrigan was just happy the wedding planning kept her mother’s attention elsewhere. The last thing she needed was her other parent meddling alongside her father’s determination to match her up with someone on his list.
This time Teague’s sigh was less agitated. “For all her protests, Callie’s taken the whole thing well in hand. She’s gone head-to-head with our mother a few times, from what I understand, and come out on top at least half the time.”
“Half? Impressive.” She was surprised their mother had conceded anything let alone multiple anythings. But then, she already knew Callie was something else. The woman had held herself together in the face of certain death and managed to work with Carrigan to get them both to safety. If there was going to be someone to put Aileen O’Malley in her place, it would be Callie Sheridan.
She smiled at the thought. “I like her.”
“I like her, too.” Teague grinned, some of his worry melting away. Love did shit like that.
Carrigan stamped down on the envy threatening to take root. Teague was lucky, and she didn’t begrudge him that, though part of her wished she’d be able to find the same connection with someone. She knew better. If she agreed to marry one of the men on her father’s list, it wouldn’t be a love match.
“Do you think…” He hesitated. “Do you know which way you’re going?”
She didn’t need him to clarify. “I don’t really have a choice.” The convent hadn’t really been an option for her. It was a bargaining chip she’d used to keep her father’s ambitions at bay. That was it. Her life would have been a lot simpler if she had a higher religious calling. Or if I’d been born with a penis. Maybe then her opinions and plans would actually have had merit in their father’s eyes. “All that’s left is to pick the groom.”
“Don’t make any hasty decisions.”
She laughed. “Teague, I have a month. The only thing left to me is hasty decisions.”
“Just remember—all you need to do is say the word and I’ll get you out.”
She hugged him. “I know.” Just like she knew she’d never say the word. Teague had stood as protector between her and problems in the past. Or tried to. It never quite worked out like either of them wanted it to, and she wasn’t about to place bets that this time would be the exception to the rule.
All that was left to her was to go on the expected dates and pick the least horrible one of the bunch. Then it was a matter of hoping for the best. She could stack the deck in her favor to make up for the lack of choices, but in the end it all came down to whoever she chose to hitch her wagon to. There was no reason to expect that she’d enjoy spending time with any of the men, since she fully expected her father to pick men similar to the caliber of man he was.
God, she hated this.
Carrigan patted her brother’s hand and rose. The longer she procrastinated, the less time she’d ultimately have. It was better to bite the bullet now and get this shit started. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure.”
She felt his worried gaze on her all the way out of the library and into the hallway. It was only when she shut the door behind her that she breathed a temporary sigh of relief.
Now, to deal with her father.
She found him in the formal living room, looking bored as her mother pored over some kind of photo album—something to do with the upcoming wedding, no doubt. It would be held in just under two weeks, so most of the details had already been taken care of. It stood to reason, though, that little last-minute things were bound to pop up.
She stood in the doorway, waiting for them to acknowledge her. Her father looked up first, almost comically pleased for the distraction. “Carrigan.”
It was far too tempting to make small talk—about anything other than the real reason she was here. That was the coward’s way out, though. “I’m going to meet the men you have on this list.”
Her mother finally looked up, green eyes narrowing. “What list? I haven’t seen any list, Seamus.”
“It’s none of your concern.” He spared one of his rare smiles for Carrigan. “I’m glad you’ve decided to be reasonable.”
“Anything for the family, Father.”
Besides, if the man she married turned out to be a monster, she could always take a page from Callie’s book and shoot the bastard dead.
Sloan floated through the hallways of her childhood, feeling more like a ghost than a woman. The feeling had been there in their giant home in Connecticut, and she’d wandered the house at all hours of the night, driven from her bed by the treacherous thoughts of what could have been. If she’d made different choices the night Carrigan was taken. If her brothers hadn’t drank themselves stupid and walked home. If her father hadn’t been so willing to risk all of them in a grab for power.