Page 90 of Ruthless Dream

Months. We’ve been together for months now, but the olive branch has only occurred the past couple of weeks.

“I’d say it’s the other way around,” Ciaran replies, and I frown at his tone. It’s. . . gentle. “Adeline is very caring.”

“Empathetic, yes,” Dad agrees. “You’re not the first stray she’s brought home before.”

My mouth drops open.

Ciaran’s reply is measured. “Did those strays always get an invitation to Thanksgiving?”

I’m desperate to hear Dad’s reply, but I jump when someone grabs my arm.

Mom holds on tight, her face blank, as she pulls me backward.

“But,” I argue.

She shakes her head, pulling me away from the men.

“He’s being⁠—”

“He’s your father,” she says lightly.

“Your husband is being rude.”

She shakes her head, grinning. “My darling daughter. You’ve put that man through a lot. Let them at it.”

“But—”

“Adeline.”

I’m stopped by her voice. It’s the one she used to use when we were little. Not when she found us getting into snacks or fighting over who got the TV remote.

When I was seven, one Saturday morning, I’d rushed toward Dad’s office. I’d needed to tell him about a funny cartoon, but he’d been on the phone, a frown on his face. I’d argued, just like this, when Mom dragged me away.

She’s using the voice—the warning—when I’m getting too close to a side of Dad she still wants to shield me from.

This time it’s different, though. Dad is currently talking to a man I sleep beside most nights.

For the first time in our lives, a current runs between me and my mother. We are a mirror. Two women attached to partners whose sole design is to amass wealth and power by any means necessary.

“Come on.” Mom squeezes my hand, pulling me into the kitchen. Away from our men.

CHAPTER 22

Ciaran

When I told Uncle Cormac I’d be spending Thanksgiving with Adeline’s family he threw his head back and laughed. We were in his office, the floor-to-ceiling windows letting in plenty of light, a gold aura radiating from him.

“Fuck me,” he had said, sipping whiskey. “You’ll be wearing matching ties next.”

I think his opinion would be different if he found himself sitting across from Boris in his office.

It’s exactly how I would expect. A stately oak desk. There’s a globe on a side table and maps hung up. A wall of bookshelves and the dark paint give it a moody, academic atmosphere.

There are photos on his desk of his daughters through the years. Adeline’s cheeks are chubby, a toddler version of her staring at us.

I am a stray dog Adeline has adopted. It’s not the worst thing a man has ever said to me, but my insides eat away at me.

Boris and I don’t like one another. It started long before he thought I might take his daughter away from him.