The Wedding Pact (The O'Malleys #2)(28)

Satisfied, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand and confirmed that she was almost late. There was nothing left to do that she could pretend wasn’t stalling. Damn it. She slipped on her heels and headed downstairs. As expected, her father waited at the front door. He took her appearance in with a single sweep of his gaze. “Excellent.” He gifted her with one of his rare smiles.

That smile used to be something she strove for. When she was a kid, she’d lived for her father’s approval. She’d bent over backward with piano lessons and good grades and anything that she thought would impress him to get that smile. Now? Now she saw it for what it was—his approval of having a possession polished up to show off for a peer. He didn’t see her as a real person. He never had. If she’d been a son…

Well, she’d stopped wishing for that right around the time she accepted that she’d never be enough for Seamus O’Malley, no matter how good she was. It didn’t matter how good her grades were in college or how worthy her ideas for the family were. All that mattered was her value as a trading piece with his allies—and her ability to give them heirs.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, feeling like a prize cow he was about to put on the market. The comparison made her stomach turn over, because it wasn’t too far from reality. Her father finally nodded. “The car’s waiting outside.”

Carrigan waited a half second before she realized he wasn’t going to say anything else. Disappointment soured her stomach, made worse because she knew better than to expect anything else. Twenty-eight years, and hope still got the better of her on occasion. Determined not to let anything show on her face, she walked out of the house and down the steps to the waiting car. Liam held the door for her, and she pretended she didn’t see the pity in his eyes.

The ride was far too short for her peace of mind, and her nerves were still raw when they pulled up in front of La Coupole. It was a French restaurant that got its kicks from mimicking its famous cousin in Paris. She’d never been there before, mostly because the whole thing gave off a stink of new money, and Carrigan had better things to do with her limited free time than have men and women parading around like peacocks, each determined to prove that he really deserved to be in Boston’s upper crust. Chauncy obviously numbered himself among them, which wasn’t giving her high hopes for the meal.

One meal. You can do one meal.

She let Liam help her out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. A deep breath did nothing to shore up her failing courage. The whole thing was suddenly so much more real. The truth that she’d been fighting off since her father handed her a list of names hit her in the face. He was really selling her off in marriage, even though he’d have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to see the value she could bring to their family and its various businesses. He didn’t care that being forced into this would kill a part of her she’d barely let off the leash, didn’t care about anything but the bottom line. Carrigan had thought herself beyond the point of being able to be hurt by her father and his ambitions.

She was wrong.

“Miss O’Malley?” She did her best to wipe any expression off her face, but something had to show through because Liam looked distinctly more uncomfortable when she faced him. He cleared his throat. “If you want to go somewhere after this, I’ll fudge the times for you.”

There it was again. Even her father’s muscle pitied her. She wanted to throw his pity back in his face, to insist that she was fine, that she was totally in control of her life. Lies. So many lies. Worst of all, she couldn’t afford to do that—not when Liam was offering her an unexpected escape.

Just get through the dinner.

She managed a smile. “Thank you.”

He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, and then reconsidered and strode around the car to climb behind the driver’s seat. With nothing left to keep her from the restaurant, she walked inside. The heat slapped her in the face as soon as she made it through the door, just this side of sweltering. She shrugged out of her coat and handed it to the hostess hovering just out of reach. “I’m meeting—”

“Mr. Chauncer. Yes, we know. Please, follow me.” She turned without another word and marched deeper into the building, leaving Carrigan to follow her or be left behind. She was forced to hurry to keep up, nearly tripping over her stupidly long dress in the process. The hostess wove through tables, finally stopping in front of one in the middle of the room. Carrigan would have preferred something a little more private. As it was, the place was packed even for a Saturday night and her skin twitched at the feel of people’s eyes on her, real or imagined.