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No wonder Orla keeps sighing heavily, tossing back her gray-auburn bob as she checks her watch.
“Father Naughton.” Estelle sidles up to our group.
She acknowledges me, her fellow youth group instructor, with the curtest nod. If I didn’t know that she too struggles with her passion, I might’ve been offended. But all I can do is watch with pity as she fixes her adoring gaze on Father Naughton.
“May I please have a word?” she asks, her tone more professional than her expression.
As the two of them depart, Orla lets out a breath that puffs up her cheeks. She’s so aware of the goings-on of the South Side, she must know about Estelle and Father Naughton.
“He’s upset about Father Ryan,” Orla says. At her elbow, Kieran perks up at the gossip, the most interested he’s looked all morning.
“Oh,” I say. “I thought he was talking about Liam.”
Orla cocks her head at me, and again I feel like she’s seeing through us. As well as our arrangement.
“Liam’s your first concern.” The way she says it, there’s a deeper meaning behind it that I’m not grasping. Her words hang in the air between us until Kieran starts shifting uncomfortably.
“Why doesn’t Father Naughton like Father Ryan?” he asks, clearing his throat after his voice breaks.
“He’s threatened by the new,” Orla says. She does a quick sweep of the pews surrounding us, her head barely moving as she confirms there’s no one around. “The younger priest is too popular for Father Naughton’s liking. If the congregation starts preferring Father Ryan too openly, there’s a chance Father Naughton will be asked to step down before Easter.”
Kieran’s pale eyebrows shoot up, and Orla nods solemnly.
“It’d be better if the old man was less concerned about maintaining power, and more focused on ensuring a smooth transition.” She says it to both of us, but her words are for me.
With Declan’s current troubles, I’ll be the one closest to Liam throughout this transition of power. Our marriage will smooth some of it, but what Liam really needs is a mafia woman who understands that power.
Chapter 30
Brioni
When even Mass fails to clear my head, I decide it’s time for a run.
As soon as we get back to our penthouse, I change into my running gear. Lacing up my shoes feels like a time warp, transporting me back to before. Before shame, before fear, before Harrison. I’ve been feeling that prickling in my scalp almost constantly now. But it could just mean he’s on my mind. It’s a sensation I experience whenever I think about him—it doesn’t have to mean he’s watching me at any given moment.
It doesn’t have to mean anything if I don’t let it.
I slip my phone into the side pocket of my leggings and find Liam in his office.
“I’m going for a run.” I say it casually, already dreading his reaction.
His nostrils flare as he surges to his feet, and I step back reflexively. He’s going to forbid me. He’s going to make me use the treadmill, when he knows how much I dislike that hamster wheel. The whole point of a run is to run.
“I’m coming with you.” He strides past me, and my heart does a cartwheel.
When I see him in his running clothes, it’s my stomach that flips. His thermals hug every contour of his muscles. From his toned arms to his long, lean legs, every inch of him makes me want to press my body to his.
“Thank you,” I breathe. The wicked grin on his face means he’s caught me staring. I feel my cheeks heat, and I rush to explain myself. “I just… I appreciate it, I haven’t been able to run in forever because of…”
Liam’s expression turns murderous. He takes a step toward me, his face inches above mine and his voice a low growl.
“I will kill that bastard with my bare hands if I ever see him again.”
“Don’t,” I say automatically.
I can tell that Liam’s serious, and I won’t be the cause of any blood on my fiancé’s hands.
“Please don’t,” I beg. “Liam, please, swear to me that you won’t.”
