He was obviously waiting for a response, so she forced a small smile. “Of course, Father.” She kept her voice perfectly bland, giving no indication to the panic rising inside her with each tortured inhale. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to get married, let alone to someone her father approved of. It had worked out for Teague, but that was a one-in-a-million chance. She wouldn’t be so lucky.
“I’m glad you’re being reasonable about this.” He lifted a paper and motioned for her to take it.
Meaning he was glad she was doing exactly what was expected of her. Carrigan took the paper with shaking hands. It was far harder than it should have been to smile at her father as if she didn’t want to be as far from him as the earth would allow.
“Here are the candidates who are left. Choose wisely.”
She managed to push to her feet and leave the study without breaking down or showing the slightest flicker of emotion, but as soon as her bedroom door closed behind her, she slumped to the ground and dropped her head into her hands.
All the fighting and scheming, and for what? It was over. Tears threatened, but she pushed them back. Crying wasn’t going to do a damn thing for her. It was what weak women did in the hopes of manipulating the men around them. Tears didn’t work on her father. They never had.
She raised her head, resolve settling in her, loosening the band around her lungs. She had to pack an entire life’s worth of living into a month. There was no other option. And it had to be good.
Those memories were going to have to sustain her for the rest of her life.
Chapter Three
Carrigan sat in the library, trying to recapture the feeling of peace she’d once been able to have here. It was no use. Everywhere she looked, she saw evidence of her father and a reminder of her deadline ticking down. He’d given her a list of eligible men—a list that was apparently smaller than it had been a year ago. Like it was a shopping list that she just had to go down and choose one to spend the rest of her life with—to put her safety and future in the hands of. It made her sick.
She ran her hand over the soft fabric of the couch. Once upon a time, this place was her sanctuary. She used to lie here and stare at the ceiling and dream about what she wanted to do when she grew up. Back then, it had ranged from a lawyer to a fashion designer to—she snorted to think about it—a marine biologist. And now? What would she do if she hadn’t been born a daughter in the O’Malley family?
She traced the pattern with a single finger. It was tempting—far too tempting—to indulge in the fantasy. Here, in this room, she could almost believe being a publicist was actually an option. It was a career that she could have used to the benefit of her family, if only her father would see her as something more than a set of ovaries.
With a bachelor’s degree in communications and journalism, she easily could have let the O’Malleys slip into the spotlight a little—just enough to entice the media and everyone who watched it. They could manipulate public opinion and gain more power and influence as a result.
But her father wouldn’t even discuss it with her. As far as he was concerned, she had her place, and it was her duty as a daughter to stay in it.
The door opened and she tensed, ready to smile and make some excuse to leave. Company wasn’t high on her list of things she wanted at the moment—hell, it wasn’t on the list at all. But when Teague appeared in the doorway, she had to bite her lip to keep from throwing herself at him. She held herself perfectly still, but sheer relief at the sight of him made her giddy. Even though she knew he couldn’t actually do anything to help her, his presence was a comfort she didn’t know she needed until he was here in the room with her. “Teague.”
“Hey.” He closed the door behind him and crossed to sit next to her. “How was Connecticut?”
“It’s good to be back.” Even if it meant that she didn’t have a choice anymore about the direction her life was going.
His dark eyes, so similar to their father’s, searched her face. “Is it?”
Words and worries and fears welled up inside her, desperate to be put to voice. She couldn’t, though. If she started talking, it would be too slippery a slope into something as dangerous as tears. Carrigan refused to cry. Refused. “You know how this goes. Choice doesn’t come into it.”
His mouth tightened. “Carrigan—”
If she let him, he’d offer her a shoulder to lean on…and she’d never be able to stand on her own. Teague had always been too willing to act as shield to her and their sisters. It was a crying shame that he couldn’t shield her from her inevitable future. “How was the honeymoon?” As soon as her brother had been released from the hospital, he and Callie disappeared for a few weeks to somewhere in the Caribbean.