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“And so what if I am?” I bark back, unable to hide my anger anymore. “He was only a low-ranking lackey, right? One that made a stupid mistake that led to your family being killed. Why am I being punished like this?”
She shakes her head. “Poppy…your father was anything but a low-ranking lackey. He was a pure evil bastard.”
My heart rate accelerates, thumping so loudly, I can hear it in my ears.
Pure evil?
The man formerly known as my father, Marcus Murphy. I always knew he was a bad man, but he wasn’t powerful enough, brave enough—hell,smartenough, to warrant that title.
Orna shakes her head, staring somewhere about my head. “You never knew, did you? You were never meant to know. Donal made sure of that.”
I drop the Chanel gown I’m holding; it sinks to the floor, forming a puddle of tulle and lace. “Tell me,” I choke out, unable to take my eyes off her, “please.”
She chews the inside of her lip, the color draining from her face. “I’ve already said too much.”
“Orna—”
“Stop,” she hisses with a venom that doesn’t match her usual open features and sunny smile. “Please. Like I said, Lorcan’s father swore that you’d never find out who he really was. I can’t,won’t,be the one that betrays him.”
She rises to her feet, unsteady and flustered. “Now,” she says, turning her attention to the rack of clothes. “You’ll accept my apology for ghosting, and we’ll draw a line under the sand. I’ll help you get ready for this dinner—I’ll even bring up a bottle of champagne, if you like—and then we’ll gossip and bitch and catch up on everything we’ve missed over the last month. I understand if you don’t want to accept that apology, Poppy. Tell me to leave and I will. Either way, once Lorcan has told you the truth, then I’ll be happy to answer any questions that you have.” She turns to face me, eyes watery. “Please don’t make my life harder than it already is.”
I swallow her words, feeling numb.
“Champagne would be nice.”
The next two hours are nowhere as awkward as I thought it’d be. It’s easy to slip back into conversation with Orna, and after a few glasses ofMoetand a couple of ice-breaker anecdotes on Orna’s behalf, it feels like we’re back to normal with each other.
Well, as normal as my new normal is.
“I think the silver Oscar de la Renta,” she says as I stand in the middle of the dressing room. Her face beams back at me from several different mirrors.
“And I think this champagne has gone straight to my head.”
She lets out a little laugh and lunges over to grab the half-empty flute from my hand. “Jesus, I better get you some water, Lorcan will kill me if he realizes I’ve got you sloshed.”
A warm feeling floods the pit of my stomach. It’s sudden and unexpected and I’m struggling to wade through the champagne fog to find its source.
Lorcan.
His name burns the back of my throat and makes my heart skip a beat. I’m excited to spend some time with him outside of the Museum. Outside of my bed.
I bite my lip and turn my attention back to my reflection. “Is it too much?”
“You look like a Greek goddess. Lorcan will love it. And I can tell by your cheesy grin that you love it too.”
I do. It’s fashioned almost like a toga, with a sweeping single shoulder and a cutaway bodice. It cascades to the floor like a silk waterfall, a dramatic side slit the only relief.
“I bought you those strappy Gucci stilettos with the silver buckle—they’ll pair perfectly,” Orna gushes, taking a step closer to me, stroking the hair falling messily around my shoulders. “We can leave your hair loose in these gorgeous natural waves you have. Add a big braid running through it.”
We lock eyes in the mirror and I feel a tinge of sadness for her. “Did you enjoy going to galas?”
She offers a small smile. “Of course. At least once a month one of the families we had alliances with would throw these elaborate balls all along the East Coast. We’d spend the entire week leading up to it getting our gowns tailored and our hair done.”
“And now?”
“And now, we don’t get invited to those balls anymore,” she says quietly, fussing with the skirt of my dress.
“How come?”
