Oona sighs like I’m a child asking too many questions. “Today’s movin’ day, love. You’re movin’ into Callahan House.”
“That’s a mistake,” I say quickly. “I still have my things toget?—”
“The Callahans sent a small movin’ truck over already,” she interrupts. “Packed up much of your things from your parents’ estate. They’ve already been delivered to the house in Bay Ridge.”
My brows jump. “Bay Ridge?As in Brooklyn?”
“That’s where Callahan House is located, yes.”
I pull out my iPhone. “I need to speak to Ronan.”
“Not possible. He’s very busy.”
“Busy?! He’s my husband!”
“Aye, and a husband with responsibilities. You’ll see him when he comes home.”
I stare at her, fury bubbling in my chest. But there’s nothing I can do. The car is already speeding across the bridge, leaving Manhattan behind.
We arrive at Callahan House in Bay Ridge in no time.
Unlike my family’s estate in Scarsdale, Callahan House is still immersed in the city’s urban terrain, simply cordoned off with tall gates and lush trees. It’s a large three-floor home made of red brick and gray stone, ivy crawling up the walls. There’s a cracked marble statue in the garden that no one’s bothered to fix.
It looks old and lived in.
Rough around the edges.
Very fitting for Irish mobsters the more I think about it.
The interior has the same gritty, ancient vibe.
Dark woods, leather furnishings, green and blue tartan everywhere. The sweet and spicy scent of Irish whiskey permeates every corner.
It’s the exact opposite of the Langston estate, which is bright, polished, and sleek. Where my family’s home looks like it belongs on the cover of a lifestyle magazine, Callahan House looks like the set of some gritty TV drama.
Oona takes me by the arm and leads me up two flights of stairs, her grip firm for her age.
“Welcome home, love,” she says as we climb. “Your bits’ve been unpacked. The staff’ll do whatever else you need. Your schedule’s already been sorted?—”
“What schedule?” I interrupt.
“The schedule Ronan’s set for you. He’s keepin’ you quite busy, love.”
“I set my own days.”
“Not anymore.” Oona stops at a door on the third floor and pushes it open. “You’re a Callahan’s wife now. Comes with a very particular role, dear. Don’t worry, all that’s really asked of you is to look pretty and work on poppin’ out some wee ones. That’ll be expected soon enough. The Callahans like to keep the family big.”
I stare at her, my stomach churning.
If she notices, she doesn’t care. She merely carries on, a brisk air about her. She shows me into the room.
It’sRonan’sroom.
A large bedroom, clearly masculine, with dark wood furniture and bedding in the same shades as the family tartan. My clothes have already been hung up in the closet alongside his.
I stand in the doorway, speechless.
This isn’t a fake marriage. Not in the way I’d hoped, where I’d get to keep my distance from Ronan and the Callahans.