The Monster (Boston Belles 3)

He didn’t need a written note to read the fuck you in what I did.

He knew.

The Fitzpatrick clan had always been huge on Thanksgiving.

I suspected it was because we had so much to be thankful for.

Not only were we one of the richest families in the country, but we were also blessed with nieces and nephews, all rosy-cheeked, healthy, and barely into their toddlerhood.

The day of Thanksgiving butlers fretted about the long table in our dining room, rearranging maple leaf bowls made out of gold, pumpkins, champagne glasses, and ornaments. The centerpieces were bursting with fall and winter fruit, and everything was laced with gold and silver. Warm and inviting candlelight illuminated the room, and the scent of cinnamon and sugared dough traveled from the kitchen, tickling my nostrils.

Pacing back and forth in my off-the-shoulder orange Givenchy dress—I knew wearing it would please Mother, who had recently been quite the pain to serve and dote on—I stopped by the window, watching my brother Cillian unload his family from his car, an imperial frown on his face.

He opened the door for Persephone—Persy, that was what we called her—scooping little Astor into a BabyBjorn he strapped over his shoulders. My breath caught, and my heart squeezed at the sight of my brother doing something so fatherly, so caring, in such a natural manner despite his usual cold and aloof demeanor.

The minute Astor was secured close to his chest, Cillian leaned down and pressed a kiss on his son’s head.

I realized I was jealous. Jealous of my good friend Persy, who deserved this life more than anyone else I knew—and still, I wanted what she had for myself.

Not who she had it with, obviously—I was crazy, but not the shade of crazy who was okay with incest—but I wanted it with someone I couldn’t have. Sam.

Turning away from the window, I pretended to busy myself by rearranging perfectly arranged ornaments at the center of the table.

Sam was going to arrive soon, and I needed to gather every dollop of strength to face him with my head held high and my back straight.

“Ash?” I heard a voice wonder behind me and turned around to find Persy tucking a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear. She was wearing a romantic evening dress with a beautiful floral print, holding a wide-awake baby Astor in her arms. His marble-blue eyes glittered at me with delight, a shock of chocolate hair covering his tender head. He threw his chubby arms in my direction, and I scooped him up with a thrilled squeak, pressing him to my chest and inhaling his intoxicating baby scent.

“Hey, Pers…” I rubbed my cheek against Astor’s silky strands, marveling yet again at how much he looked like his father “…how are you?”

“I’m great. You looked thoughtful through the window. Which was why I bypassed the usual hugs and kisses routine to see how you were doing. Your mother looks … preoccupied.” She took a seat at the table, eyeing me curiously.

Preoccupied was a very nice way of putting it. My mother was working me to the bone these days, asking me to help with her bath, read her books, and drive her around because she didn’t want to converse with her usual driver. But I wasn’t in the mood to talk about that.

“Where’s Cillian?” I walked around the room with Astor, who wanted to reach and touch everything.

“With Gerald in his office. I can’t believe he did that to your mom.” Persy bit the inside of her cheek. She had always been nice and gentle, and I knew she spared me the more blunt words I was bound to hear from Sailor and Belle.

“I can.” I put Astor down on the carpet, allowing him to explore his surroundings.

“Sailor told me Sam asked for your number,” Persephone continued, scanning me with eager eyes, as if looking at me would inspire me to spill more information. Merde. I knew my friends were invested in my quest to make Sam Brennan notice my existence, but at the same time, I hated how they treated me. Like I was a silly, naïve girl incapable of bagging the man of her dreams.

I felt especially pathetic, considering Persephone was happily married to my brother, the catch of the century according to People Magazine, and Sailor was married to my other brother, who treated her like a queen. Emmabelle (who was Persephone’s sister) might not have been married—but it was by choice.

I was the odd one out. The doomed girl mourning her unrequited love.

And I definitely didn’t want them to know about my current relationship with Sam, which put me in a less than a favorable position.

“It was nothing.” I waved a hand around, following Astor to make sure he didn’t bump into anything or decided to stick his fingers in outlets. “He just needed some help. Something work-related.”