Jesus Christ. Teague looked at the alcohol cabinet on the far wall. Surely it wasn’t too early to start drinking? Even as the thought crossed his mind, he pushed to his feet. It might be too early, but this wasn’t a conversation he was willing to have stone-cold sober. “No.”
“Don’t say no. You haven’t even heard us out.”
He didn’t have to. He knew what they would say. It’s your duty to your family. Father has given you excessive freedom to mess around with your interests. It’s time to repay all those favors you tallied up. He poured himself a splash of whiskey and then kept pouring until the glass was full. “Didn’t arranged marriages go the way of the dinosaurs a couple decades ago?”
“Maybe for other families. Not for ours.”
He knew that. Fuck, he wished he didn’t know it so well. The rules of polite society were different for his family than they were for your average Joe. He’d learned a long time ago that the money and connections came with more strings than a spider’s web. And walking away wasn’t an option, because that same money and those connections would be ruthlessly deployed to bring any prodigal sons or daughters back into the fold—whether they wanted to come or not.
Teague took a healthy swallow of the whiskey. “You can’t seriously be asking me to marry some woman I’ve never met from a family we were raised to hate.”
“I’m not.” Aiden paused, and it was like the whole room held its breath. “Father is.”
Just like that, the fight went out of him. He could argue his brother and sister to a standstill and even, occasionally, come out on top. Their father? His word was law, and he had no problem ruthlessly playing upon his children’s weak spots to get what he wanted. Teague had learned that the hard way when he was still young enough to believe that there was another life—another option—out there for him. “I need some time to think.”
“You don’t have much.”
Teague didn’t turn at the sound of the library door opening and closing, because he knew both siblings hadn’t left. “This is bullshit and you know it.”
“I know.” Carrigan plucked the glass out of his hand and took a sip. It was only then that he saw her hand was shaking. “You know Father made an offhand comment last night at the dinner you conveniently missed? He thinks it’s time for me to shit or get off the pot.” She laughed softly at the look on his face. “He didn’t say it in so many words, but the meaning was the same. My goddamn biological clock is ticking away in his ear, and the man wants heirs.”
He watched her finish the whiskey. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” She set the glass down with the care of someone who wanted to throw it across the room. “I’m as much in a cage as you are—as we all are—but I can’t talk to anyone about it.”
He knew the feeling. It all came down to the bottom line—family. It didn’t matter what was good for the individual as long as the family’s interests as a whole were served. “You can talk to me.”
Her smile was so sad, it would have broken his heart if he had anything left to break. “No, Teague, I really can’t.” With that, she turned and floated out of the room, leaving him alone in his misery.
He refilled his glass and went back to his seat on the couch. It was tempting to shoot the whole thing back and chase oblivion, but he needed his wits about him if he was going to get through this in the best position possible. The idea was absurd. The best position possible? He was a drowning man with no land in sight and the sharks were circling. There was nothing to do but pick the best way to die.
Each sip, carefully controlled, gave him some much-needed distance. He mentally stepped to the side and forced himself to look at the situation without the tangled mess of emotions in his chest. There might be no way out, but he could make the best of it regardless. The Sheridans had been a thorn in the family’s side for as long as there had been both Sheridans and O’Malleys in Boston. They might be looking to bolster their strength, but it wouldn’t take much to weaken their position.