Page 24 of Override

I smooth my voice anyway. “I miss them.”

Ronan finally looks up. For a second I think he’s going to say no outright, and something humiliatingly desperate tightens in my chest at the possibility.

Not because I need permission. At least...I don't think I do. The realization lands anyway. I'm becoming increasingly aware...That I'm asking for it.

“I’d rather you stay close to the estate while strangers are inside the house,” he says finally.

There it is again. Reasonable. Protective. The kind of concern that sounds loving enough to make me feel guilty for resisting it.

I force myself to hold his gaze anyway. “Please.” The word leaves softer than I intended.

Ronan studies me for several seconds too long before setting the tablet aside. “Fine. But meet them at Gallagher’s on Seventh.”

One of his family’s restaurants. Public. Controlled. Surrounded by his staff. Not my parents’ estate. Not private. My stomach tightens despite the relief that follows the yes.

“I don’t want you far from me while the system’s being repaired,” he continues calmly. “Especially not today.”

I nod slowly while something quieter moves through my chest beneath the gratitude. Because maybe the reason he prefers public places has less to do with safety and more to do with control.

At a restaurant, I’ll smile. Behave. Play the perfect wife beneath expensive lighting and watchful eyes.

At home with my parents? My father would notice too much. The thought unsettles me enough that I shove it away.

Ronan is trying to protect me. That’s all. I need to stop turning everything into something uglier than it is.

****

By noon, rain taps softly against the restaurant windows while my mother reaches across the table to squeeze my hand.

“You look tired, darling.” The concern in her voice nearly undoes me on impact.

I smile quickly before she can study me too closely. “I was up half the night because the estate security system decided to lose its mind.”

My father grunts from across the table. “Gallagher should’ve hired better people.”

Despite myself, a laugh slips free. God, I missed this. Not the restaurant exactly. Not the brunch. Just…this.

The easy warmth between my parents. The familiar sound of my father complaining about literally everything while my mother pretends not to adore him for it. The way he automatically reaches to refill her coffee before she even notices the cup is empty.

Small things. Normal things. Maybe that’s why they feel so precious lately.

“How’s married life treating you?” my mother asks gently.

I glance down at my mimosa, watching bubbles rise slowly through the glass. “Good.”

The lie comes easier every time I say it. Not because I believe it completely. Because I want to.

Marriage takes adjustment. Patience. Work. Everyone says so.

My mother smiles softly over the rim of her coffee cup, dark curls brushing her shoulders as she reaches for the little glass jar of cream beside her plate. “The first year is always the hardest.”

Across the table, my father snorts into his espresso. “Only because your mother nearly divorced me twice.”

My mother lets out a quiet laugh before nudging his arm with her fingertips. “Cormac.”

“What?” he asks, unapologetic. “You did.”

“You deserved it both times.”