“Yes. Let’s hear the story,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick drawled, her tone flat.

I glanced at her, found her examining me, her fingers steepled in front of her, her eyes anything but friendly.

“Oh, well….” I cleared my throat and fiddled with the rim of my half-eaten plate of eggs benedict. “We met at my office—”

“No, dear.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick shook her head, her mouth both smiling and frowning. “I want the real story. This must be like hitting the jackpot for you.” Her eyes flickered over me, holding disapproval and contempt. “How long did you plot all this before making your move?”

“Mother!”

“Shut it, Lucy. You don’t get to have an opinion about this. Ronan isn’t your son.”

“He’s my brother, and—”

“Yes.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s glittering eyes slid to her daughter. “And who has put a roof over your head and food in your mouth? I have. Your brother has. And you are a talentless burden to both of us. I know what’s best.”

Lucy winced, seemed to shrink in her seat and fold in on herself. I thought I saw a flicker of regret pass over Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s gaze, but it was quickly stifled, replaced with a diamond-like sharpness as she refocused on me.

“You think you’ve got him? You think you matter to him? You are so wrong. Ronan is like his father—even when trapped, married with children, he wanted his freedom. I understood that. Brona didn’t. That’s why he never married her. They were together for years, and it never once occurred to him to settle down. Ronan won’t settle down, and that’s why she’s gone off her rocker now. He’s a shameless flirt. He’s a philanderer. He uses people. It’s who he is. It’s in his blood. If you think you’re anything but a dalliance, then you’re living in a fantasy.”

I tried, but I couldn’t look away. Her uncanny ability to touch on the heart of my fears held me entranced. Mrs. Fitzpatrick leaned forward slowly, her movements measured and lithe, like a cat. When she spoke next, her voice was soft, gentle, beseeching, like she felt sorry for me and was trying to let me down easy.

“Who are you? Nobody. Nothing. Ronan is a Fitzpatrick. As such, he might enjoy what you offer him for a time, but…dear, you won’t hold his interest for long. I know my son. He isn’t perfect, but I love him. And I am telling you this because you seem like a nice person….”

She stared at me for a beat, holding me in suspense; even so, I wasn’t prepared for her final words, smoothly and elegantly spoken.

“Ronan likes playing with his toys….” Her eyes lowered to the chain around my neck and the Celtic pendant as she added, “But he never notices when they break.”

Nothing, no words, no sentiment could have been more effective. I sucked in a sharp breath. My eyes stung with unshed tears. Dumbly, I stood from the table and stared at it. My heart beat a steady rhythm in my chest, seemed to chant, get out get out get out get out between my ears.

I was so stupid. I knew better. I knew better.

I reached for my coat and bag with shaking hands, muttering, “Thank you for the lovely breakfast. But I have…I need to be someplace.”

Lucy reached for my hand. I flinched away from her and didn’t miss the reproachful glare administered by her mother. “No! Don’t lis—”

“Let her go, Lucy. She has a lot to think about.”

I didn’t waste time pulling on my coat. I tucked it over my arm and made a beeline for the exit, stumbling a little in my haste, the need to escape choking me. Unfortunately, I had the worst timing in the world because Ronan was just leaving the hall leading to the bathrooms, and our gazes tangled as I made it to the hostess stand.

I winced, tore my eyes away, and swiftly bolted through the doors.

“Annie!”

My shoulders bunched at the sound of my name. He was behind me; he was coming after me, and he would catch me. There was no point in trying to outrun him. I stopped, grinding my teeth, my eyes closing as I put my feelings to the side, readied myself for what would come next.

He reached me in about five seconds, tugging on my arm and turning me to face him. I met his gaze briefly then yanked my arm out of his grip, pretended to be absorbed in putting my coat on.

“Where are you going?”

“I have someplace to be.”

“Where?”

I lifted my eyes then and glared at him. “None of your business.”

“None of my business?” I could see he thought I was joking at first. When he realized I was not, his features darkened, and a severe frown pulled his eyebrows into a sharp “V.” “Everything about you is my business.”

“No. It’s not.”

“I thought you understood how things are. We’re together now, and there are rules—”

“We’re not together,” I whispered, my eyes stinging again. I firmed my lips, willing myself not to cry.

“Like hell we’re not.” He reached for me, and I stepped to the side, evading him.

“Don’t touch me.”

He moved like he was going to reach for me again, and I stiffened, adding more force to my voice. “Don’t touch me; I mean it.”

That seemed to do the trick because he reeled back like I’d struck him, and he looked equal parts surprised and hurt.

“What happened?” His eyes searched me as though he were looking for a sign, an injury.