Irish Princess Read online

  IRISH PRINCESS

  M. JAMES

  CONTENTS

  1. Saoirse

  2. Connor

  3. Saoirse

  4. Saoirse

  5. Connor

  6. Saoirse

  7. Connor

  8. Connor

  9. Saoirse

  10. Saoirse

  11. Connor

  12. Saoirse

  13. Saoirse

  14. Connor

  15. Connor

  16. Saoirse

  17. Connor

  18. Saoirse

  19. Connor

  20. Saoirse

  21. Saoirse

  22. Connor

  1

  SAOIRSE

  The sunlight coming through the airplane window glints off of my ring, reminding me of last night. Of what I’m headed back to. The new life ahead of me.

  Last night had been raucous and fun—for everyone except Connor and I, which is ironic considering the party was meant to celebrate us. For all their hesitance about coming to Boston, his men had seemed ready to embrace the new adventure last night as they’d partied into the wee hours, drinking and singing and telling loud, dirty jokes about what they’d do and who they’d fuck once they were in a new city.

  Connor, on the other hand, had been irritable and quiet, staying at a table near the wall nursing a beer and shoving off anyone who tried to drag him into the festivities, even his friend Jacob. I tried to enjoy the party, talking with Jacob and attempting to have a good time after the argument outside with Connor and Niall. I’d hardly gotten to enjoy my betrothal the first time, I wanted this time to be different. I wanted to soak up the warmth of that English pub and the taste of beer on my tongue and the laughter around me, but it hadn’t taken long for Connor’s black mood to infect me too.

  He’s only using you, to try and save Liam’s place.

  I’d meant it when I said I wouldn’t break my vow to Connor. There’s no chance I’ll back out of this, not for anyone or anything. I’ve made up my mind, and I plan to stay the course.

  But I’m also not going to let him run me over, or change what we agreed to.

  A marriage of duty and convenience. An heir. And after that, the freedom to do as we both please—for me, the freedom to experience all the things I’ve given up in the service of my father’s single-minded goal to bind the O’Sullivans and McGregors more tightly together.

  With the flight well on its way, I slip my phone out to text my best friend back in Boston, Margaret.

  We’d bonded at college over a shared love of history and the fact that my middle name was the same as her first, after being assigned to the same group project. We’d become fast friends, despite her confusion over some of my choices—namely, to go along with my father’s plans to arrange my marriage.

  She’s not from the world I live in, though. Her parents work normal jobs—her father works at the post office and her mother owns a bakery. She went to Harvard on a scholarship, and she’s a high school teacher now. There’s nothing remotely dangerous or conniving or political about her life, and I think that’s probably part of why I attached myself to her so quickly.

  My friendship with Maggie is the only normal part of my life. She’s my only friend that isn’t tied back to the mob in some way. And I cherish that.

  I’m on my way back home, I text her quickly. And then, after that, I’m going to need to make an appointment at a bridal salon as soon as I’m back. I’ll need a dress ASAP.

  Another girl might have texted back in a flurry of all caps and emojis, thrilled to hear the news, but Maggie knows the truth of why I went to London. She doesn’t know everything, I’m careful to keep her in the dark about some things for her own safety, but she knows that the marriage with Connor is a business arrangement, that it has to do with the Kings—and she also knows he was meant to be my fiancé years ago, before he left and abandoned everyone.

  She also knows what Liam did, which means she’s none too thrilled about the fact that I’m now being passed back to his brother.

  I can’t blame her. I’d feel the same if our positions were switched—I think. It’s hard to know for certain. I’ve been raised in this my whole life—it feels natural to me. I can’t imagine living her life. But I think I would feel the same.

  So I take it you’re engaged now? Her message comes in a second later, as curt and to the point as I imagined it would be, but it doesn’t upset me. If anything, it feels like a relief—like one normal thing in the midst of all of this. My best friend responded exactly as I expected her to.

  I am. I take a photo of my ring, sending it back to her with the message, a performative dance between friends. I’m engaged. Look at my ring. I should be excited. Pretend to be excited with me—except for me, Maggie is the one person I can be honest with about all of this.

  I’m relieved the first part is over, and that Connor and I are engaged, and headed back to Boston. I’m glad things worked out as they were meant to. But I’m not excited to marry him.

  In fact, the only part I’m anticipating is the one part that I’m supposed to not care about.

  The wedding night.

  I glance up from my phone to steal a look at Connor, who is two rows down sitting next to my father, the two of them discussing something quietly—almost certainly something to do with their plans for setting up Connor’s future takeover of the Kings. Up until now, my father told me what was going on, but it’s clear that now that my “part” in the plotting is done, I’m on the outs. My input, as far as the men are concerned, isn’t needed any longer.

  I’m not going to have that. I grit my teeth in frustration, watching them. Just like I told Connor, I have my own plans for the money and influence that his takeover will bring. And I intend to make the other mob wives part of that—Caterina, and Sofia too despite her friendship with Ana.

  I’m going to carve out my own part in this dynasty I’m helping to create. My own legacy.

  It’s a gorgeous ring. Did he pick it out?

  Maggie’s message pings on my phone, and I glance at my diamond and sapphire ring again, a small thrill running down my spine at the memory of the afternoon Connor showed it to me the first time. The things we did on that beach—

  In the space of less than two weeks, Connor opened up an entire world of sensuality and sensation that I never imagined existed.

  And then he made me promise we’d forget about it.

  Right before kissing me like he couldn’t breathe without me all over again.

  As far as I know, I text back. He did a good job. I think it suits me.

  I do love the ring. From a certain point of view, I even love what it represents—my own success at what I set out to do when my father and I arrived in London, my victory in getting Connor to marry me, securing my own future after Liam nearly ruined it.

  I glance up at him once more under hooded lashes, taking in the sharp lines of his face, the scruff on his chin, those full kissable lips, his piercing blue eyes. He’s gorgeous in every way, and every time he touches me, he makes me feel the most incredible things. I’m excited to go to bed with him. To be his wife and finally not have to hold anything back. To experience it all with him for the first time.

  But I shouldn’t be. We’d agreed on that beach—no more passion. Only duty and children, our passion saved for others. The more I allow myself to stray from that with Connor, even in my mind, even on our wedding night, the more I’m setting myself up for hurt and heartbreak later—because I have no reason to think he’s not serious about that.

  I can make the appointment for you, Maggie texts back, saving me from my rapidly derailing train of thought. And if you’re open to it, I’m sure my mother would love to do the wedding cake and dessert table for the re
ception. I’ll start planning your bachelorette too! There’s a heart emoji, and then another text after that. I know it’s not the most traditional marriage, but you should get to enjoy the trappings anyway.

  Thank you. You’re the best maid of honor, I text her back with a smiley face, resisting the urge to get defensive and say that my arrangement with Connor is, in fact, the most traditional of marriages. Love matches are a modern invention, after all. Marriages for duty and heirs are as old as civilization.

  Boston will be a fresh start for us, I tell myself, resisting the urge to peek at him again. A new beginning to our relationship. This is first and foremost a business contract, after all, and part of that contract is that I should never, ever, expect or hope for Connor to fall in love with me.

  And I won’t. I’m not Sofia or Anastasia, not some innocent fool to believe that I need love for a successful marriage, or Caterina, to expect my husband to change for me. Connor is who he is, and he’s fairer than most, to tell me I can look for my desires to be satisfied elsewhere just as he will.

  I tuck my phone away, tilting my head back against the seat and closing my eyes. Niall’s face swims into view—that chiseled bone structure, deep blue eyes and swooping black hair, his body lean and muscled and capable, leaning into mine. The way he kissed me with such intense longing, with such need.

  Connor doesn’t have to want me for me to find pleasure and happiness. It doesn’t matter, I tell myself firmly. I don’t need him to love me. I just need him to keep his word.

  After all, look what love has done to Liam and Anastasia.

  Connor will be what he’s expected to be—my dutiful and detached husband, and I will be the same.

  A dutiful and detached wife.

  We will be happy—just like that.

  2

  CONNOR

  Walking off the plane onto the Boston tarmac brought back a flood of emotions and memories that I wasn’t prepared to deal with. And so, staying true to the way I was raised—I simply forced them down.

  I felt my chest tighten with anxiety the moment my foot hit the ground. All of it came rushing back—the expectations and pressures of my childhood, the need to be perfect for my father, the way deciding to leave finally had felt like coming unchained at last, like I could finally fucking breathe.

  Being back in Boston feels like being trapped underwater all over again. Like my own personal circle of hell. The only thing keeping me from turning tail and getting back on that damned plane is a combination of my own determination to keep my word now that I’ve given it and the assurance I keep giving myself that it will be different this time.

  That I will make it different.

  That the Kings won’t rule me. I’ll rule them instead.

  Saoirse is right behind me as we get off the plane, Jacob and her father and then my other men behind us. I don’t look at her, don’t even touch her, but I’m keenly aware of her presence.

  I can see her out of the corner of my eye, standing like a queen, her chin tilted up. And of course, she will be one, the queen to my King, ruling our home as I plan to rule the table of the other Kings. Together, once I take my rightful place, we should be unstoppable.

  I’d been so against the match when she’d first shown up, but now I see the advantages of it. The strength in Saoirse that could make all the difference.

  As long as she holds up her end of the bargain—and as long as I can control my desire for her.

  There’s cars waiting for us, and I finally turn towards Saoirse as we walk towards them, her heels clicking next to me. “I have a meeting,” I tell her flatly, not allowing a hint of any emotion into my tone. “Head back home, and I’ll call you later. I’m sure your father will fill you in as well,” I add a touch acidly, but if she picks up on it she doesn’t let on.

  The unflappable Irish princess.

  Except when I touch her. Then she opens for me like a rose, and comes apart just as easily.

  “That’s fine.” She tilts her chin up a little as she says it, as if she expects me to be surprised at how quickly she’s given in, but I’m not. Saoirse is nothing if not accustomed to the way things are done, and even she wouldn’t expect to be present at a meeting like the one I’m about to have.

  She might have been present at certain meetings of the Kings in the past, but those were ones where the matters raised affected her. They no longer do. She’s my fiancée, for better or for worse, and her responsibilities lie elsewhere now, in preparing to be my wife.

  Saoirse turns away without a word, and I feel mildly irritated, as if I’d almost hoped she’d argue—which is ridiculous, of course. The more compliant Saoirse is, the easier my life here will be—and it isn’t likely to be easy overall by any means.

  I slip into my own car, watching her walk away through the tinted glass, my pulse speeding up slightly at the sway of her hips, the toss of her hair.

  I’d be a fool to think life will ever be entirely simple with her. Both of our personalities are too strong—and that thought excites me more than it should.

  As the car pulls out into Boston traffic, I push her out of my mind. I have other things to focus on, like the meeting I’m about to have, my first on the soil of my new future kingdom. There’s a great deal that rides on the meeting today, and I’m not about to let wandering thoughts of Saoirse get in the way of it.

  Graham, Jacob and I worked together on securing a temporary headquarters while in Dublin, in an old warehouse being rented for cheap—Boston cheap, anyway. Only those within our circle—my men from London, Graham, Luca and his right hand Alessio, and Viktor and his right hand Levin Volkov know about it, so it’s as secure as we can manage while we set our plans in motion.

  It would be easier if Liam would simply leave. But so far, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

  Even that thought makes something deep within my soul ache, something that I can’t look at too closely and keep my resolve to move forward. Liam’s only choices now are death or exile—he can’t stay here in Boston with Ana and their future child and hope to live in peace. And as we drive towards the warehouse, Jacob to my left in the car, I feel the prick of guilt at my part in all of this.

  If I hadn’t left all of those years ago, Liam would never have been in the position to make a vow to Saoirse that he would eventually break in the first place. He never would have sat at the head of the table. That distinction, and Saoirse’s hand, would have passed to me—something I tried to escape, only to end up right back here anyway.

  It seems like a cruel cosmic joke that my attempts at freedom only led me back here, with my brother’s future in danger, when I spent so much of our childhood trying to shield him from this life, from our father’s anger with him, from everything that could have harmed him.

  I’ve failed him in a number of ways. I’m not going to fail him this last time.

  I won’t let my little brother be killed—no matter what it costs me or what I have to do. I owe him that much.

  That much is my fucking responsibility, as his older brother, if nothing else.

  I should never have left. I should have stopped our father myself somehow. I should have—

  I stop my thoughts in their tracks as the car pulls around to the back of the warehouse, gritting my teeth. Looking back does no good, and neither do regrets. I can change none of it now—the only difference I can make is to the future. That, I know I can do.

  I’m going to make sure everything regarding the Kings is done differently, and no one—especially not Graham O’Sullivan, is going to stop me.

  There’s other cars pulled up as well, both the ones with my men and others that I don’t recognize—vehicles that likely belong to my new allies. Jacob slides out first, his eyes narrowed and wary and his hand twitching towards the gun at his back, careful to look for any danger as Quint joins him.

  “Coast’s clear,” Quint says gruffly, and Jacob nods to me, letting me know it’s safe to slip out of the car.

  I never
needed this much security in London, and we never looked over our shoulders this much. But back in London, I wasn’t the prodigal son looking to take back the kingdom he threw away with both hands. I ruled our corner of London, and while we encountered our share of violence, it was never this close or present.

  This is supposed to be a homecoming—but it feels like anything but.

  The warehouse smells of must and heated metal, but we’ll clean it up soon enough. It’s in an old brick building with three stories, empty except from some old furnishings and rolls of plastic that the men will get around to throwing out at some point—except for the plastic sheeting, which might come in handy. I’d rather not think about that, though.

  I’ve never been against getting my hands a little dirty and bloody, but torture isn’t something I enjoy. I leave that to Quint and Charlie—especially Quint, who has quite the knack for it.

  “The others’re coming up,” Jacob says gruffly, coming up the stairs two at a time behind us to the second floor of the building. It’s set up industrial loft-style, a good open space for meetings, though there’s nowhere to sit just yet. “Couple’ve Russians and an Italian who looks like he thinks his shit doesn’t stink.”

  That’s likely Luca Romano. Along with Viktor Andreyev and his right hand. I haven’t seen or spoken to the other mob bosses who have shifted their alliances from Liam to me since I left years ago, but today will be the day.

  It’ll also be the day they all realize I plan to do things my way. Not Graham’s.

  We assemble upstairs—me, Graham, my men from London and the handful of Dublin men who came along to represent the support of our home chapter. None of the actual Dublin Kings are here of course, just their lackeys, but it’s enough to have the show of support.