I gave myself a tour around the living room, which looked like it had been staged by a professional before being put on the market for sale. Everything was too neat, too shiny, too modern to look livable. The only hint that people actually lived here was a row of pictures sitting on the mantel by the floor-to-ceiling window. Even before approaching them, I knew they were put there by Sailor, not Hunter.

Hunter never did consider himself to have a true family, and seeing as he’d lived away from the house since age six, I couldn’t exactly blame him.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I walked over to the mantel. The first picture was of the young redheaded woman, which I recognized as Sailor, her face youthful and full of freckles, hugging a middle-aged, dark-haired man and an older replica of herself, whom I recognized as Sparrow.

The second picture was of the redheaded girl at a party with two blonde women her age. They were all laughing, wearing goofy neon sunglasses.

I recognized them as the Penrose sisters. They were on the local news the other day, for shoveling snow outside senior citizens’ houses.

The third …

The third was a picture of Sailor and the Monster.

My monster.

The guy from the carnival.

He stared into the camera, looking grim and serious, while she looked at him like he was the moon. Her spot of light in the endless darkness.

“Yup. That’s her. My ball-busting roommate,” I heard a voice behind me and jumped back with a gasp, slapping a hand over my chest, afraid my heart would accidentally leap out.

I turned around quickly and offered Hunter a polite smile. We were still more acquaintances than siblings.

“She looks beautiful.”

He shrugged, sauntering deeper into the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else, his blond hair dripping water. “She’s okay.”

“I’m guessing those are her parents.” I pointed at the first picture, playing innocent. He nodded.

“And these two?” I moved to the Penrose sisters, playing dumb. My heart pounded in my chest. I didn’t know why, but I had a feeling about these girls. This group. I wanted to be a part of them.

“Persephone and Emmabelle. Her best friends. They’re sisters. Another bucket list dream I can’t fulfill because Sailor is on my case.”

“What do you mean? What do you want to do to them?”

“I want to do them.” He rolled his eyes, looking at me like I was a complete moron.

“And who is this guy?” I asked nonchalantly, pointing at Monster. This was it. My big moment to find out his name. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I found out he was her boyfriend. How could I tell my brother that he was living with a woman who was dating a murderer?

But no. That wasn’t the thing that bothered me the most about the idea of Sailor and Monster being together. It was the fact that he had a girlfriend. That he had moved on. Of course he would. All we shared was a kiss and a theme park ride.

I thought I was going to be sick.

“That’s Sam Brennan.” Hunter ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. “Her brother. Well, adoptive brother, I guess. Her parents adopted him when she was barely a toddler. A real piece of work and the current number one mobster in Boston. All the gangs and mafia families on the East Coast have a bounty on his head. His chances of reaching an old age are below zero.”

The Monster was a mobster.

No surprises there.

But now he had a name, an identity, a context.

Things were about to become very complicated.

Aisling 18, Sam 26.

“For heaven’s sake, Aisling, what are you doing? They’re here. Hurry up!” Mother chided me, her heels clicking on the marble floor behind me. My mother’s delicate fingers wrapped around my wrist, tugging me.

“Come on, you know I don’t do small talk very well. You’ll need to save me from mingling. Especially with the matriarch. She works for a living. You know I don’t do well with the middle class.”

I followed her to the foyer, a boulder the size of Connecticut settling in the pit of my stomach.

Today was the day my parents decided to invite Sailor’s family for dinner. Mother wanted to get to know the Brennans. Well, that was her main excuse. Really, she just wanted to force Hunter to visit her.

Even though Hunter was against the arrangement, I’d met Sailor plenty of times since they moved in together. We became fast friends after a peculiar charity ball we’d both attended, in which she introduced me to Persephone and Emmabelle.

She was funny, quick-witted, and loyal. But no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get her to talk about Sam. She was crazy protective of him, and every time I asked about her family, she changed the subject.

The butlers swung the double doors open. The Brennans stood on the other side. Mrs. Brennan, with tangerine hair and sharp emerald eyes, held a steaming dish in her hand.

Sam’s eagle eyes snapped to mine. The unpleasant curl of his lips warned me not to act like we’d previously met. Seeing each other wasn’t a surprise to either of us. I had no doubt Sam knew his sister lived with my brother.

He never bothered to seek me out.

My father, oblivious to my gigantic internal meltdown, conducted the introductions.

“And this is my daughter, Aisling.” Athair—father in Gaelic—waved his hand in my direction, like I was a decorative ornament. Gerald Fitzpatrick was a plump man with a face the color of a shrimp, beady eyes, and three chins.

Sam offered me half a nod, barely glancing my way.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said steely. Sam ignored me.

My brother Cillian stood tall and imposing yet still looked small in comparison to Sam.

“Don’t even look at her, Mr. Brennan. Aisling is prime rib. Not a hotdog and therefore not on your menu.”

“Cillian, for shame.” Mother clutched her pearls, like she hadn’t shared his opinion. Sam grinned, taking his phone out and checking something, like our presence around him didn’t even register.

Cillian walked over to Troy, Sam’s dad.

“May I offer you and your wife a tour of Avebury Court Manor?”

The man sized him up. My guess was our mansion interested Troy Brennan just a tad less than the state of the weather in Gambia.

“You may, but I’ll pass,” Troy drawled, “on the grounds that you’re a cun—”

“We’d love a tour!” Sparrow elbowed her husband’s side.

Sam tucked his phone back in his pocket, indifferent to the awkwardness. Judging by the introductions alone, tonight was going to be long and painful.

“Aisling, go with them while I check on the cook. See if they need anything,” Mother instructed, and I knew what it meant.

Keep them company so I don’t have to. So I can fix myself a drink and hide in my room a little longer.

I fell into step behind Troy, Sparrow, Cillian, and Sam. His casual jeans and tee were replaced with gray slacks and a black button-down shirt. His hair was cropped closer to his scalp. His shoulders were so broad they blocked half the hallway.

We were the only two people who didn’t engage in small talk, although both Troy and Cillian seemed painfully bored with Sparrow’s sourdough bread recipe, which included letting the dough “rest” in the sun, feeding it, talking to it, and generally treating it like a Tamagotchi.