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At least I know this house’s basement contains only an expansive den and a laundry room.

I’m so confused by it all: the violence and the peace, the safety and the danger. It’s become too real. I’m in way over my head, so overwhelmed that I can’t take it anymore, and there’s really only one move for me to make.

I have to back away. I have to end this fake arrangement now, before it’s too late.

Over the rim of her mug, Orla gives me the same look that she did after Mass, the one that makes me feel like she’s seeing too much of the truth inside me.

But whether or not she knows what I’m thinking, I have to say it out loud. I take a deep breath.

“Your engagement to Liam isn’t real,” she says, catching me with my mouth hanging open. “It was a confidential agreement between the two of you, that much is clear to me. I presume, for his sake, you wanted to spare him from an arranged marriage. And for your sake…” She cocks her head at me. “Something to do with your horrible ex?”

I swallow, forcing myself to nod. Liam’s mam saw right through the both of us.

“So if your engagement isn’t real, what’s your plan for your marriage, then?”

The heat of shame creeps over my cheeks, and I drop my gaze to the table.

“Were you planning to go through with the wedding next week?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say quickly.

She’s already put so much effort into coordinating the wedding that another round of guilt crushes me.

“We’ll be married in the eyes of the law,” I add, my face burning.

“But not in the eyes of the church?” She sets down her mug to lace her fingers together, her mannerisms so similar to her husband’s.

“Yes,” I say quietly.

Neither of us says the word consummate, but it hangs in the air above our steaming mugs. Once we’re married, Liam and I can’t have sex again. Before the night of our engagement party, I didn’t think that would be a problem. But now… We’re past temptation. I’ve already indulged in that sin, and having felt its power course through my body, I’m beginning to grasp how hard it’ll be to resist after we say our vows.

“So your marriage won’t be legitimized,” Orla says tactfully. “Which means you’ll be able to get an annulment.”

My throat is suddenly too dry to speak, and so I merely nod.

“Do you still want an annulment?” she asks.

I give a pathetic shrug. As much as I need to back away from Liam, he’s still my best friend. I wrap my hands around my mug for something to do, focusing on the burning heat beneath my palms. Tonight, Liam reminded me why we can’t legitimize our marriage—because I’m not strong enough to handle mafia life. When I think about all the incongruities of who he is, and who I’ll have to be at his side, my mind feels like it’s fracturing.

“I’m not cut out to be a mafia wife,” I whisper.

Orla waits for me to look up from the table, then raises her eyebrows at me. It’s the same expression she gives her boys when she expects them to explain themselves.

“I can’t handle that side of him.” My voice comes out in a squeak. “And he needs someone who can. He’ll have enough difficulties as it is.”

“That, he will.” Orla leans back in her chair, her face as solemn as I’ve ever seen it. “But it’s through no fault of Liam’s.”

“Of course not,” I say, horrified she thought that’s what I was implying. Liam didn’t choose the weighty responsibilities of his life, any more than I chose the painful abandonments of mine.

“The sins of the father shall dwell with the children,” she says. “The weight on Liam’s shoulders has been borne by his da, and his da’s da before him, all the way back to the old country. It’s the O’Sullivan way of life. What Liam bears now is only a fraction of what he’ll be responsible for next year.”

“I know.” I sink lower in my chair. “And that’s why I’m not capable of being his real wife. I can’t share those burdens with him, not in the way he needs.”

Orla takes a deep breath, tilting her head as she evaluates me. This sharp, savvy woman watched me grow up. She knows who I am and what I’m not capable of. It’s the whole reason she’s kept me away from that side of their family dealings.

“Maybe not share the burdens,” she says. “At least not yet. But you do bolster his ability to bear them.”

I frown, ready to protest, but Orla holds up her hand.