Page 48 of Ruthless Claim

I stop. “Emma talked to you about my family?”

“Her family too,” Valentina reminds me, shooting me a glare. “And yes, Emma talks to me about everything, Cillian. She’s my sister-in-law and my best friend.” She swirls her wine. “She told me about Brigid. Sharp and difficult. She makes you think she hates you because she’ll insult the shit out of you, but you always want Brigid in your corner.”

I stare at her. “That’s—accurate.”

“I know.” She takes a sip. “Who else?”

“Declan. He’s⁠—”

“Teresa’s nephew. He doesn’t talk much at family things, fine once you get him on something he actually cares about.” She looks at me. “Emma told me. I already know your family, Brennan. I’ve been getting briefed on them for about a year now.”

“By Emma,” I say flatly. How could my cousin have told the Santoros all about our family? Does she not realize that knowledge is power?

“Yes, by Emma.” She sets down her wine. “So you don’t need to prepare me. I’m prepared.” This I have no doubt. She fixes me with a piercing look. “What you could do, since we’re apparently doing this, is tell me what Connor actually wants out of this dinner. Not the optics thing. The real thing.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “He wants the key people—the ones whose loyalty has been questioned since the alliance—to see us together and believe it.”

A dark brow quirks. “And believe it means what, exactly.”

“That you chose this. That you’re not here under duress.”

She makes a sound that isn’t quite a laugh. “I am here under duress.”

“I know that,” I tell her through gritted teeth. I am too, after all.

“And you want me to convince a room full of dangerous people otherwise.”

“Yes.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then she looks at me with an unreadable expression. “How good do you need it to be?”

I scoff and give her a disbelieving look. “As good as you can make it.”

“You make it sound like it’ll be hard,” she scoffs. “As if I’m not a fabulous actress.” She picks up her wine. “But you should know that I’m going to need something from you too.”

I look at her warily. “What?”

“Behave like you actually like me.” She meets my eyes. “Not the performance version. You do this thing when we’re in public where you’re stiff around me. I need it to look real.”

I don’t know what she’s talking about. “It’ll look real,” I insist.

“Cillian.” She gives me a look. “I’ve watched you sit in a room with people and be completely present and unreachable at the same time. That’s not what I need.” A pause. “I need you to look at me like you actually like me.”

The kitchen is very quiet for a moment and my mouth grows dry.

The physical part has never been the problem.

I want her constantly.

That’s been true since the night we first had sex and hasn’t gotten any quieter since.

If anything, it’s gotten louder.

I’m aware of her in every room and I think about her when she’s not in them.

That part is simple.

That part I understand.