Chapter 12

Twelve

P addy

Low and behold, another Sunday was upon me. Haven't missed a Sunday since órfhlaith brought them back. After Cillian and Queenie got settled in their house, they started hosting, which to be honest, reminded me the most of when my one mum used to do it.

No one had anything on órfhlaith, but that wife of Cillian's knew what the hell she was doing in the kitchen. Best addition to the family, if you ask me.

Only thing different about it was they were happy times for once. The food had always been good, but I could remember a time or two where Pa would get so drunk he'd whip one of us for the whole family to see, just to show how much of an arse he can be. Why even lie? It was usually me.

There were some Sundays where I just completely lose my appetite waiting for the beating. When it didn't come, I'd just be hungry with the inability to eat for no reason. Things were noisy at Cillian's, but I'm glad his kids and órfhlaith's get to inherit good memories.

Not wanting Mrs. Washington or Elijah to anticipate me in my absence, I headed up the stairs just to let them know that I was leaving. Elijah's room door was closed, but it hadn't mattered, because he'd been in his game room.

Popping my head in, I gave him a heads up. "Elijah, I'm heading out. Need anything?" I asked, as he shook his head for no, leading me to head for the primary bedroom. Despite the bed not being made, there had been no sign someone had been there recently, and after confirming she was neither in Vernon's study or her practice space, I went to the only other room I could imagine her being in—the kitchen.

Not that I expected her to be dressed down, but she was dangerously overdressed for a Sunday night in. Sitting at the table, her face in her hands, she appeared as if she were reaching a breaking point. Silenced sobs let me know she was crying, as I knocked on the threshold of the door so she'd know someone was there.

"Oh my." She dotted her eyes with a handkerchief, trying not to smidge her makeup. "I thought that you had already left."

It was probably my curse talking, but there was something about seeing a woman's tears fall down her face that made my cock hard as fuck, especially when I caused them. Not in a way where I hurt her subconsciously, like cheating or beating on her, but when I channeled my darkness overwhelming her with the wicked mix of pleasure and pain.

Lord have mercy on the sick shit my degenerate mind got off to. Can't believe I couldn't even separate my thoughts from my married client. "I was about to head out, but just thought I'd check in on you, but I can see you're not all right."

"It's nothing. Or at least nothing you should bother burdening yourself with."

"It's not a burden for me to know what's wrong with you. And I'm not leaving you until you tell me what's wrong, so I can see if there's something I can do about it. You're a mess. I'm not letting you face your son like this."

Tears welled as she was forced to share her troubles. She was a beautiful mess that I couldn't help but want to clean up.

"Vernon, he promised. The one day he promised not to abandon me. It's our anniversary, and I made this huge dinner. I even cooked things I don't even like because they're his favorites. Only for him to call me, telling me he won't be home. It's like he doesn't even care. I expect him to show up for me for one day. But the only thing consistent about Vernon is that he has time for everything but me. It's like he hurts me on purpose. Sometimes I wonder if he actually just hates me and disappoints me to punish me."

Walking further in the room, I sat at the table, her chair facing mine. "Don't waste your tears on disappointment. No one that disappoints you is worth your tears."

"I just feel like I'm in this marriage by myself. Like, if it weren't for me always compromising, there would be no marriage at all."

I had spent the last few years resenting my mother. Her infidelity had caused me a lifetime of pain that I wasn't sure I'd ever forgive her for. But the loneliness Pretty felt. Could this had been a reason my mum strayed?

Mum had never been a free woman, like Pretty. She behaved like the good Irish wife every mobster seemed entitled to. Quiet, with her legs spread to constantly have children. I didn't delude myself into assuming Pa and Mum had been a love match, but I always assumed they'd been good for each other until Pa told me what she did.

It definitely explained her treatment of me. Could it have been that she'd been in love with Pa's friend? Did she feel responsible for his putting down? Did looking at me remind her of what she'd lost? Strangely, it was the first time in a long time I had sympathy for the woman.

"Pretty. I can call you Pretty, right?" I asked and continued with her nod of approval. "You're too amazing a woman and too full of life to be half loved by someone. Clearly, you're not happy. Why haven't you walked away?"

"He's the father of my son," she admitted, defeated. Divorce was one of those things I was mostly against as a man who grew up Catholic, but this woman was so busy choosing others, she was never choosing herself.

"Come on, dry eyes," I smiled, hoping she found some comfort in it.

"You might as well take some of this food. Ain't like me and Elijah can eat it all. There's no need for all this food to go to waste on account of Vernon canceling," she offered, graciously.

"Honestly, I wish I could. Since I was on my way to my brother's, I saved my appetite for Sunday dinner."

"That's right, I forgot. Just forget I even said anything. You're off the clock. Sorry to even have bothered you. I just need to get myself together before Elijah comes down." Pretty folded up her handkerchief and smoothed it out along the surface of the table.

"That's it," I declared. I came to a stand and began searching for containers to wrap the food up with.

"What are you doing?" She questioned, curiously.

"Well, I can tell what you're not about to do. And that's sit here and let yourself mope around like a broken, heartbroken guppy. Gather yourself. You and Elijah are coming with me."

"Oh, I couldn't impose?—"

"My word's final. If you need to change, I'll do this. But ain't none of this is going to go to waste when I got three brothers and five nieces and nephews."

"Are you serious?"

"We ain't fancy or nothing. Won't be no chandeliers or lavish dining rooms. But my family will make you feel at home, so long as you're open to it."

Pretty looked down at her clothes, suddenly insecure. "If I were going out, I definitely would have to change."

"Then change," I asserted, as she excused herself to do just that. Not going to lie, I'd become accustomed to Queenie's cooking, so a lot of Pretty's dishes looked foreign to me. I wasn't that familiar with the country her mom was from, but it was much different than southern Black cooking, that I grabbed a fork full just to ensure my family would eat it.

Going to what looked the most familiar, the pie prepared gave me a feeling it'd be similar to shepherd's pie. Even though it wasn't, it was surprisingly tasty. Once everything was stored and ready for transport, I contracted Elijah to help with putting it in the car.

"Change of plans, kid. You and your mom are coming with me."

"How come?" Elijah asked with skepticism.

"What do you mean how come ? You're hungry, ain't you? It beats sitting around the house, don't it? Plus, you'll get to meet my brothers and sister, and their kids too."

"Do you think your family will like me?" He asked with a warranted sense of pessimism.

"Elijah, ain't a thing about you not to like. Plus, I got a nephew about your age. More if you don't mind a few that are younger than you. I just need a little help moving what your mum made to the car. Think you can handle that while I check on your mum?"

"Okay."

Taking the keys out of my pocket, I dangled them in front of him. "I'm trusting you with my baby. Think you can handle moving the food in one piece?"

Elijah's toothy grin spread into a smile accompanied with a nod, as I faked him out by keeping the keys. "You do a good job and I'll let you drive home."

"Really?"

" Only if you do a good job," I said, catching the keys that I threw at him this time and hightailing towards the kitchen. "Hopefully you're a better driver than your mother," I yelled out before heading to the primary bedroom to check up on Pretty.

She was mostly ready, side for a pair of shoes. I couldn't get it out my head how attractive this woman was. I'm sure she'd be gorgeous at any size, but I fancy meeting her curvier. Made me realize I was missing out all these years going after only what felt familiar.

Knocking on the threshold, she turned to me. "Is this too much?" she asked with a smooth down of her dress.

I wasn't good at cuts or types, but it was one of them dresses where the shoulders were out and was often complimented with a small belt at the waist to accentuate the figure. A man could really lose his words watching a woman like Pretty walk away.

Meanwhile, I just had to take all of her in while fighting the beast she woke inside me. "Mrs. Washington, you are never too much."

She played with her fingers, all of a sudden insecure and unsure herself. "So, we're back to Mrs. Washington now."

"I was just trying to get through to you earlier. Hard to do that when I'm formally calling you Mrs. Washington."

"With you, I just prefer Pretty."

"Then it would do me the honor if you called me Paddy. Especially around my family. They'll think it's strange you're calling me Mr. Sullivan when I'm inviting you to dinner."

"Paddy, then." Her smile delicate but warm. "Paddy, would you mind zipping me up?" she said with a point to her back. Eating the distance between us, I prayed I could keep my hormones at bay, given how good she looked tonight, in addition to seeing her cry. Her sepia-hued shoulders appeared as smooth as they did soft, and I couldn't imagine what it'd do to me given I ever got the opportunity to run my hands along her skin.

Placing a hand on her hip, I used the other hand to zip the dress up slowly so I could savor being this close to her when I should have stayed far away.

"While you're there, mind helping me with this too?" She brought a necklace to her throat, torturing me with having to run my calloused hands over her skin. It didn't disappoint. She was exactly as soft as she looked. Stretching the necklace out, her skin goosebumped, and I couldn't help letting it go to my ego that I was putting them there.

"Thank you." She finally turned to me and sauntered past me to reach in her closet.

"Anytime," I said, excusing myself to follow up with Elijah. Pretty—she gave me a bad case of it.

I couldn't get her out of my fantasies. Most of all, I couldn't get her out of my head when it came to benign things, either. What was wrong with me? She was married. She was too out of reach to me. So why couldn't I convince my cock that? Why couldn't I convince my brain that? Most of all, why couldn't I convince my heart?