The Wren: A Dark Mafia Arranged Marriage (Las Vegas Book 1) by Penelope Black

Author:Penelope Black [Black, Penelope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-27T16:00:00+00:00

24

MAEVE

I collapse onto an unfamiliar mattress in a semi-familiar apartment three hours away from home. It’s an open floor plan with two bedrooms, a decently-sized kitchen, and wraparound windows taking up two walls.

It’s a place my sisters and I own, somewhere to crash when we can’t make it home.

Or in my case, when we don’t want to.

I haven’t spent a ton of time here, preferring to unwind in our penthouse in New York City, but there are touches of my sisters everywhere.

The mattress is softer than I like, but the blankets are that cozy sherpa material Ava loves. A vanilla pumpkin cupcake oil diffuser in the corner makes the whole room smell like a bakery.

It reminds me of the times Fiona and I would spend in the kitchen together, whipping up cinnamon bread and pumpkin muffins.

I close my eyes and let the memories wash over me.

My mum used to say that a woman had to be well-rounded in her skills. If we were going to be independent women who could sneak around undetected and handle weapons with respect, then we should know how to feed ourselves.

It’s odd how the brain works. I can vividly remember things she taught us, but in my memories, her face is fuzzy. Time has chipped away at my recollection of her, blurring her edges.

But the feelings are still there. The way my heart felt two sizes two big when Mum dragged chairs over to the island for me and Fi to stand on. She stood behind us and guided our movements as we whisked and stirred in the big metal mixing bowls she loved to use.

And then after she was gone, it was me standing behind my younger sisters, passing her knowledge on.

A tear slides down my cheek, disappearing into my hair.

I’ll never bake in Mum’s kitchen with my sisters again.

I open my eyes, and tears slip free. I look at the crisp white ceiling above me, so pristine and perfect, not a watermark or brushstroke in sight.

One more minute. One more minute of dipping my toes into my grief.

I’m trying to figure out when the switch happened. When my da turned into this cold, harsh version of himself. Or maybe he was always this way but I didn’t realize it.

Or I didn’t want to realize it.

Was this always my path? What would my life look like had Mum not died?

Exhausted and despondent, I’m feeling low. Too low to ponder such things that could send me into an existential crisis spiral.

I can’t allow myself to wallow any further, or I fear I won’t be able to pull myself out in time.

I swipe my fingers underneath my eyes, wiping away the moisture and mascara smudges.

I need a long, hot shower, food, and sleep. In that order.

And when I wake up, everything will look better.

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