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He catches on quickly, signing back, “It goes.”

When he said he’d learn ASL in days, I thought him arrogant. But he’s proven me wrong, throwing himself into understanding. He still makes mistakes, but he tries; and that’s what melts my insides. He cares enough to learn.

“Can I help?”

“No.” He rubs his jaw, a dusting of shadow there. “Come here.”

He yanks me onto his lap. My nightgown, a small shift of emerald and black, rises high, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He splays his hands, holding my legs, clinging to me as if I’m his tether in this world. He is mine.

“You’re worried,” I sign. “About what’s to happen.”

“You might not know this, dear wife,” he signs, smiling, “but I always worry. I’m just fantastic at hiding it.”

It’s true. Before we left the O’Brien mansion, he checked Collins wasn’t overworking, and that Sloane had everything she needed for her sons. He made Maeve a plate of leftovers, with a stern warning. Little acts that proved he cared.

“Then this won’t help you,” I sign sheepishly. “But I need to return to the Bruno mansion.”

“Like, fuck you do.” His eyes darken, lips pressed tight. “That’s suicide to go back there.”

I shake my head. “Ello is there. He can’t keep lying to Roman.”

“What’s he said so far?”

“That I was at a safe house while I healed. My brother is under the impression that I’m delicate.” I roll my eyes, annoyed. He’s an idoita. “But he won’t let it go for long. I’ll need to return.”

He’ll come searching for me. Who knows the destruction that will come, and it’ll be my fault. The O’Briens have made me feel more involved than Bruno ever has, and I have Hayes back. I won’t risk them.

“You really don’t,” he stresses. “This is home. We can buy⁠—”

“I need my things,” I interrupt, sighing. “It is nice to be bought nice things after years of nothing, but there are items you can’t replace.”

“Like what?” he dares. “I have great connections. I could locate anything.”

I smirk. “My mother’s love letters, for one.”

Briar grunts. “I don’t know why you want them. Your father was a dick. No offense.”

“It wasn’t to Papa,” I confess, twisting my hands. “I think Mama had a lover whom she adored. Those letters are parts of her I want back.”

I thought her letters could offer insight into what to do about my relationship with Briar. I thought she might have done the impossible—escaped and found love. Unfortunately, the answer wasn’t in my mother’s cautionary tale; I had to choose for myself.

Maybe one day I’ll find out who truly held my mother’s heart before her death. I hope it was someone good.

“I don’t think it’s a great idea, Sunshine,” he mutters, shifting so I’m against his chest. He does it when he feels the need to protect me.

“I want them back,” I demand, brow raised. “Isn’t there something you have to remind you of someone you’ve lost?”

He snorts. “Anything of my father has been burned. And my mother?” Briar exhales, weighing his words carefully. “When I think of the woman who raised me, I never see my mother’s face. I see Maeve’s.”

My heart warms at the man. All the rumors I’ve heard—terrorized with—were nothing. The O’Briens are ruthless; I’ve seen it, but they love in deeply dark ways.

His hand digs into his desk, under folders and spare paper. He pulls out a small sparkling sun, something a child might have in their room.

“This was on my bassinet as a baby,” he explains. “Maeve has one. I kept the other one. It’s stupid⁠—”

“It is not,” I exclaim, signing. “It’s a special connection. She raised you. Of course, you’d keep something that reminded you of your bond.”

He smirks slowly. “In that case, I won’t tell you what I kept from Killian. It’s not as sentimental.”