Page 96 of His Forced Irish Mafia Bride

I didn’t trust that answer. It was too smooth and easy to bend later. I stepped away from the window. The room felt tighter.

“Patrick’s not here,” I said.

“I know.” That stopped me. He hadn’t come for Patrick.

Then something else had brought him here. My attention sharpened. He followed my gaze for a moment, toward the stairs.

I felt my body react before I decided to move. He noticed. Of course he did.

Maeve didn’t make noise. She just stopped near the bottom of the stairs and looked at both of us before saying anything.

Father Michael’s face changed when he saw her, more calm and polite. “Maeve,” he said.

She didn’t respond with warmth or a smile. “I saw you,” she said. Her words were direct, like she was placing a fact on the table. A short silence followed.

She walked into the room slowly, keeping her eyes on him. “I saw you at my father’s coast house yesterday,” she added.

Father Michael didn’t answer right away. That delay stood out. He usually answered quickly. Then he nodded once.

“Yes,” he said. “I was in the area.”

Maeve studied him for a moment. “Were you going to see him?” she asked.

“No,” he said quickly.

The answer came faster than the first one. I noticed that, too. The room went quiet again. Maeve didn’t look away from him.

She took another step closer, but still kept space between them. “Why were you there?” she asked.

Father Michael held her gaze. “I was passing through.”

Maeve didn’t react. Neither did I. Because that kind of response didn’t answer any questions.

It only asked more.

“I had another visit nearby,” he added after a while.

I watched him closely while he spoke. The words sounded smooth, but they didn’t sit right. The timing was off, like he had to build them instead of simply saying them. Maeve noticed it, too. Her eyes stayed on him longer than normal, like she was testing how the sentence felt.

“You don’t usually pass through that area, Father. What might have sent you there?” she asked.

Her voice stayed calm, but it was firmer now. Father Michael breathed out through his nose, small and controlled, like he was choosing his next words carefully.

“I was meeting someone,” he said. “Church work. God has blessed his church this season.”

Maeve let the silence sit until it started to press down on him. Then she nodded once. It looked like acceptance, but it didn’t feel like it. “Church work,” she repeated.

He met her gaze. “I can’t go into details,” he added.

Maeve stepped a little closer, still calm, still steady. “You were there for someone else, huh?” The sentence landed like an accusation, not a question. Father Michael’s hands pressed together for a moment before loosening again.

“I understand why it sounds strange,” he said. “But it isn’t what you think. And why is this an interrogation? You weren’t hurt by Anton’s antics, and that is what should matter right now.”

When Maeve looked back at him, and her expression had changed. The curiosity was gone. What was left was sharper, more certain.

I could see it building in her mind. She was no longer listening to his words as they came. She was breaking them apart as they arrived.

Father Michael kept speaking, but it was clear that she was no longer following the surface of his story. She was listening for what sat underneath. That was when I understood that she was no longer treating him like a visitor. She was treating him like a problem.