The Devil’s Keepsake by Somme Sketcher
Poppy
I’m curled up in the living room in the main estate, taking good use of this new ‘no locked door’ policy. Feet curled up underneath me, a magazine on my lap and hot cocoa in my hand. For a moment, I can pretend life is almost normal.
Orna breezes in with a vacuum, then stop in surprise when she sees me. “Did you escape the museum only to come and chill in the reception room?” She catches me mid-slurp, and I spray a few chocolatey droplets over the seat cushion. “Oh my god I’m so sorry,” I groan, slamming the mug down on the coffee table and giving the plush fabric a hard scrub.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says breezily, crossing the room, picking up the whole sofa seat and flipping it over. “There, good as new. Just don’t do it again. I’m running out of sides to flip over.”
I laugh. “Jesus, how much are you being paid to be a housekeeper?”
She flashes me a grin. “Not enough in this household.” With a dramatic sigh, she flops onto the seat next to me and tugs the magazine off my lap and starts flicking through it. “So, what are you doing out here, then? Lorcan’s loosened your leash?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, enjoy the peace and quiet, I certainly am. It’s been manic here for the last few weeks with all the different families coming and going. I’ve worn a path into the carpet from the drawing-room to the kitchen, going back and forth so much.”
I seize my opportunity to be nosy. “Where are they now, then?”
Orna doesn’t look up from the agony aunt pages of the magazine. “The Tunnels, I’m guessing. Woah, check out this question: Dear Dierdry, my partner insists that I only wear white panties, but I enjoy wearing bright neon thongs—”
“The Tunnels?” I interject. “What’s that?”
She shrugs. “A whole network of tunnels under the city. It’s where they interrogate.”
The way she says it so casually makes me feel a little ill. When I’m curled up in Lorcan’s arms, it’s so easy to forget what a violent man he is. Even though I’ve seen it firsthand.
I sink back into the sofa. “Uh, I don’t know if you were meant to tell me that.”
Another shrug as she turns her attention back to the thong issue. “You’re Lorcan’s girlfriend. You’ll find out eventually.”
My ears go hot and there’s a strange ringing in them. “I’m not his girlfriend!” I reply acidly. It’s not lost on me that I sound like a school girl denying a crush on her teacher.
Orna does nothing but let out an easy laugh. “Please. You’re in love with each other, and even if it’s a bit weird, because well, you know, he drugged and kidnapped you to get you here, I’m still behind it.” She cocks her head and chews her cheek. “Pooran. Loppy. Hmm, no, a celebrity couple name won’t work for you guys, I’m afraid.”
I’m pinned to the sofa, stunned. When I don’t reply, she pats my thigh. “Look, I grew up a Quinn, okay? I’ve seen enough crazy in my time, believe me. There are stranger ways to fall in love. I’m here for it. Especially because you seem to be cracking his cold, dead heart.” She pretends to shiver. “Hell, if you stick around he might even let me go back to school. Or at least give me a raise. I’ll settle for a raise. Oh, shoot,” she slaps her hand against her head. “I forgot to tell you something important.”
Despite the embarrassment flushing my cheeks, my ears prick up. “What?”
“I was meant to tell you Lorcan’s taking you for dinner at Gatsby’s.”
“Huh? When?”
She grimaces. “Tonight, seven p.m. Sorry, it completely slipped my mind—”
“Tonight?” I yelp, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Like, in an hour?”
“Yeah, yeah” she gathers up the magazine and gets to her feet, pulling me up with her. “Come on, I’ll help you get ready.”
“I haven’t even washed my hair!”
“See,” she grins, stabbing an accusatory finger at me as we stride through the halls, “I told you that you loved him. Remember when you first got here? You wouldn’t even eat in the hope it’d piss him off. Now you’re dining on caviar and throwing on Oscar De La Renta dresses while you’re at it.”
I throw back my head and laugh. Actually, I feel a little delirious at the thought of going on a date. He said, didn’t he? That when this all blows over, he’ll take me on a proper date. Well, maybe that’s why he was acting so strange the other night. The war is over. That date is finally happening.
We stand shoulder to shoulder, staring at the contents of my closet. Orna tugs out something gold and shimmery. “How about this?”
I run my hand over the Naeem Khan dress and sigh. The silk fabric is covered with a layer of swishy beads and crystals, just like a 1920‘s flapper girl dress. “Very apt for Gatsby’s. Is it a little over the top though?”
We settle on teaming it with a black boyfriend blazer and chunky boots so I don’t feel too overdressed. Orna helps me slick my waves into a low ponytail, and I add hoops and a lick of bold red lipstick to round off the look.
“Stunning,” Orna says, twirling me around in front of the mirror. We lock eyes in the reflection, and a sudden pang of guilt stabs my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She frowns. “For what?”
“What my father did to your mom. I didn’t know. Lorcan only told me a few days ago—”
“Don’t,” she says, shaking the memory out of her head. “You shouldn’t ever feel like you have to apologize for your father. You weren’t even born. I’m the one who should apologize for ignoring you for so long over it.”
“You already did.”
“I know but I never really addressed it. Just kinda skirted around the issue and brushed it under the carpet. But I guess now you know who your father truly was, I can apologize properly.”
I throw my arms around her, breathing in the scent of laundry and floral perfume. “Thanks, Orna.”
“No, thank you,” she says into the shoulder of my blazer. “I’ve really enjoyed having you here. You won’t believe how boring it gets only having your sisters for company.”
When she pulls away, she lightly punches my arm. “Hope you stick around, whether you actually want to or not.”
As I laugh, it briefly crosses my mind that my world is so twisted, I’m literally brushing off my own kidnapping like a crappy joke. I now know what Orna means by seeing enough crazy.
She checks her watch and swears. “Jesus, time flies when you’re having a heart-to-heart. Chop, chop, the car will be waiting for you outside.”
We walk to the car together, chatting excitedly, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like I’m being escorted from one ivory tower to another. I’m actually thankful for the henchman that falls in step with us as we round the front of the manor, and for the bulletproof SUV he guides me in to. I feel safe. Protected. A feeling I never had growing up, I guess.
“Let me know how it goes!”
Orna waves from the driveway until I can’t see her in the rearview window anymore.
I’m nervous.
A good kind of nervous. First date, butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your teeth chattering kind of nervous.
I realize I never had it with Sam, and the thought makes me smile at my reflection in the window. Lorcan Quinn is really taking all my firsts.
The sun is setting over Boston and the rush-hour traffic is heavy, but it seems like every car moves to let us pass. Within twenty minutes, we pull up outside Gatsby’s.
And when we do, my heart sinks.
Armed guards litter the entrance to the restaurant. At least ten in the signature all-black-everything, bulletproof uniforms that the Quinn henchmen wear. Then there’s a handful of others, dressed in Camo and sporting different guns across their chest.
It’s clear that this war isn’t over. But then a little niggle of hope tugs at my chest. He went to all this trouble, with all this security, all to have dinner with me?
One of the Quinn guards opens the door and helps me out. Three others form a human shield around me as he guides me into the restaurant, their backs to me and their guns pointing outwards. Jesus, this is all a little excessive, isn’t it?
I can’t wait to go inside and laugh about it. Tease Lorcan about how paranoid he is.
But when I pass through the doorway, I stop in my tracks.
Immediately, I know there’ll be no laughing or teasing tonight.
Because Lorcan isn’t alone.