Page 25 of Override

My father leans back in his chair, one hand sliding lazily across the back of hers where it rests near the sugar bowl. “I was young and stupid.”

“You were arrogant,” my mother corrects dryly.

“I’m still arrogant.”

“Yes,” she says with another small smile, “but now you buy me jewelry afterward.”

That earns a deeper laugh from my father, warm and easy and entirely unashamed while he leans sideways to press a kiss against her forehead like he’s done it a thousand times before.

The warmth between them wraps around me painfully. Not because it’s performative. Because it isn’t. Because even after all these years, loving each other still seems effortless for them in ways I don’t fully understand anymore.

Something twists unexpectedly in my chest. Because I’m trying so hard. God, I’m trying. Trying to be patient enough. Understanding enough. Soft enough. Perfect enough that maybe one day Ronan will look at me the way my father looks at my mother.

Maybe this is simply the difficult beginning part people survive before marriage becomes easier. Maybe if I stop resisting every small correction, Ronan will stop feeling disappointed with me. The thought settles, heavy, inside me.

Across the table, my father watches my expression too closely. “Maeve.”

I blink slightly. “Hm?”

His dark eyes narrow just enough that guilt crawls up my spine like I’ve done something wrong without realizing it. “Where the hell have you been lately?”

There it is. Not angry. Concerned. Which somehow feels worse.

I force a small laugh. “Busy.”

“With what?”

“Marriage. Events. Travel.”

“Maeve, are you happy?”

I open my mouth to answer— to ask them if their beginning was just as difficult—“Mrs. Gallagher,” one of my security detail cuts into my thoughts. “Mr. Gallagher asked that we return to the estate.”

Perfect timing. Too perfect.

My father’s expression hardens almost imperceptibly. I stand before the tension can become visible enough for anyone nearby to notice.

“Of course.”

My mother hugs me tightly before I leave, and for one dangerous second I almost ask her if marriage is supposed to feel this exhausting all the time.

But the question dies before it reaches my mouth. Because what exactly would I even say? Ronan likes cameras too much? Ronan redirects conversations? Ronan makes me feel guilty for wanting privacy?

It sounds ridiculous.

By the time I slide into the backseat of the SUV, rain has started again outside. The security detail settles into the front while the city blurs gray beyond the windows.

For one brief irrational second, a thought slips through. What if they were listening to us? What if that’s why they interrupted right then?

The idea is ridiculous enough that I nearly laugh at myself. Paranoid. That’s all this is. Too many cameras. Too little sleep. An overactive imagination spiraling into nonsense.

Still…I find myself glancing toward the driver’s mirror anyway.

Just once.

****

The estate comes into view nearly ten minutes earlier than I expected.