“Yet you stood by and let it happen. I’m not marrying Theodora, mom. No matter how much you want me to.”
She frowns. “Theodora has never been my choice.”
“So you didn’t have her call me yesterday for drinks . . . leading me away so you could kidnap Kennedy?”
“Certainly not. I—” She stops. Pauses, as if thinking it through. Then she says, crisply, “If it was a setup, I was unaware of it.”
“Dad then.”
“All I know is that Theodora is his choice. I’d hardly try to match you up with a girl who is sleeping with the hired help.”
“Sleeping with . . .?” Connolly says, frowning.
“Leon, right?” I say as I walk over. “You all knew he was the O’Toole’s spy. You didn’t kick him out because it’s better to know who the spy is and keep him from overhearing anything critical. When he ‘rescued’ me, he said he was doing it for someone else, someone who means a lot to him. Theodora.”
Marion rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure the boy is quite enamored. Just as I’m sure Theodora is doing nothing more than enjoying the adoration of an attractive young man.”
“Wait,” I say. “So if Leon is hooking up with Theodora, he’s smitten and she’s just having fun. But if I were with Aiden, I’d be a gold-digger and he’d be my hapless victim?”
Her lips tighten, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. She knows I’m right. As Cullan said, Marion Connolly has woven the version of this story that suit her needs.
“May I have my phone, please, Aiden? I need to let my sisters know I’m okay. And you two need to talk without an outsider jumping in.”
He passes over my phone.
I turn to walk away. Then I sigh and turn back. “Nope, can’t do it. I’m physically incapable of walking away without saying my piece. I’ll just keep it short.”
I look at Marion. “I think your son is awesome. That’s why I’m hanging out with him, in spite of all his family complications. I defy you to find a shred of evidence that suggests I’m after his money. If that’s not the problem, then . . .” I meet her gaze. “Your husband may be a world-class asshole, but at least he’s honest enough to admit he wants me gone because I’m not good enough for his son.”
“It isn’t about me,” Connolly murmurs. “It’s about protecting his dynasty.”
I hadn’t said that earlier, but I’m sure Connolly has heard the sentiment often enough.
I only shrug. “If it’s not about you, then it should be.”
I meet Marion’s eyes again. “I hope that your real concern is Aiden. Not some family dynasty or any bullshit like that. If you don’t think I’m good enough for Aiden, say so. I’d hope to prove otherwise, but at least then we know where we stand. I only know where I don’t want to stand. Between you and him. I’d give anything to have my mom here, telling me a guy isn’t good enough for me.”
I exhale. “Okay, that’s enough. You guys talk. I have sisters to assure I’m alive and well.”
I don’t look at Marion. I don’t dare check her expression. Instead I pass a wan smile to Connolly and continue across the park to make my call.
* * *
I tell Ani what happened last night. Well, kind of. She already knew I’d been heading to Boston chasing a painting with Connolly. I wouldn’t have left Unstable without telling her. I’d also let her know we were fine afterward and staying in the city for a bit. Now I tell her I was caught in a storm with Connolly, and we ran out of gas and in our distraction, left our phones in the car as we went for help. We ended up at a motel, where we spent the night, and she can read whatever she wants into that. Of course, she “reads in” the truth, and she is delighted enough that she forgives me for dropping off the face of the earth.
When I finish that call, I glance over to see Marion and Connolly still talking, so I phone Mercy. It rings through to a generic voice mail. When I go to leave a message, it cuts me off after a few words.
I call again and spit a quick and unintentionally cryptic message. “It’s Kennedy. Plan is distraction. Met your daddy dearest. Call ASAP.”
As I hang up, Connolly is walking back to me. Marion waits beside the car.
“No luck messaging the god of messages,” I say. “I had to leave one. A very, very short one.”
He shakes his head. “My mother is offering us a lift to my car. We could summon a driver instead, but . . .” He looks along the very quiet road. “Of course, it’s up to you.”
“That motel room is looking pretty good right now. It was clean. Running water and electricity.”
He smiles. “I think a day of rest is an excellent idea. However, I should hope I could do slightly better than that motel. The Four Seasons, perhaps? Or the Mandarin?”
“Ooh, how about the Liberty?”
His brows rise. “The former jail?”
“Turned luxury hotel.”
He laughs softly. “All right, the Liberty it is. Their best room. We’ll hide out there until Mercy calls . . . and then we’ll give her the information she requires, while we spend the day in bed ordering room service.”
I sigh dreamily. “I knew there was a reason I wanted a rich boyfriend. I get to sleep in a jail and pay handsomely for the privilege.”
I glance at his mother. “Speaking of which, at some point, we’re going to need to tell her things have changed between us. While I’m not exactly in a rush to do that, I don’t want to give her additional ammunition against me.”
He squares his shoulders. “Let me do that now.”
“You don’t have to. I promise no public displays of affection.”
“Well, in that case, I absolutely want to do it now.” He passes me a half-smile. “I’d rather get it over with. Also, the fact that we got together after last night can be laid directly at their doorstep.”
“Their attempts to keep us apart actually brought us together. Romantic and ironic. I like it.”
Before he goes, I catch his arm and whisper, “You might want to cast a bit of luck for this one.”
He smiles. “I think I will.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Thirty-five
Connolly tells his mother about us, and I expect an explosion aimed my way. Or, possibly, his way for being “foolish” enough to fall for my gold-digging ways. Neither happens. I stay back, but I can’t help following the drama, which is very undramatic. She listens as he explains. Then she moves farther away, and they speak intensely for a few minutes.
When they return, Connolly is calm and Marion is . . . Again, I’m not sure. She isn’t angry. She certainly isn’t happy. She’s just quiet. Very quiet.
I could imagine danger in that calm, but I don’t sense a storm. I look at her and I see Connolly, when he withdraws into his thoughts, working things through. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Whatever was said, Connolly is confident enough to suggest we take Marion up on her offer of a lift. I insist on the back seat while also insisting he sit up front with his mother. I’m trying to reiterate my message there. I’m not getting between them—not unless she forces me into that position.