“I’m sure he did here and there. He’d have loved you!” Kathleen tries desperately. “Da loved everyone, didn’t he, Mal? Even that stook, Jared, who sold knockoff Burberry on the street corner every Sunday.”

Mal gives her a weird look I can’t decipher, then stares at me in a way that makes me feel naked of clothes, skin, and bones. Like he’s looking into my soul, dissecting it with a knife and a fork.

He snaps out of it, stretching in his seat. “Excuse me, ladies. Nature’s calling, and it has a three-gallon piss for me to depart in the jacks.”

He stands up and saunters to the bathroom. I realize he knows this house by heart—been here probably dozens of times. He and Kath share history, chemistry. I should feel happy that Kathleen might end up with a guy like Mal, if she ever manages to tame him. Funny and charming and handsome.

But for some reason, I don’t.

As soon as Mal is out of earshot, I shake my head and smile. “He’s a wild card, huh?”

Kathleen’s sweet smile drops. She plucks a tube of lip gloss from her handbag on the table and squeezes a generous amount onto her pinched lips.

“What he is and what he’s not shouldn’t matter to you. He’s mine.” Her warm voice is now a cold, pointy blade running along my neck.

“Excuse me?” I slant my head back.

She smacks her lips, lifts her teacup—pinky in the air—and takes a slow sip. “The problem with Malachy is he has a weakness for strays. No matter how dirty, no matter how rabid.” She narrows her eyes at me. “No matter how dangerous.”

I study the way her face twists in revulsion, my mouth parting in shock.

Fake.

It was all fake.

My sister is not nice or timid or disoriented. She is the devil.

She hates me. She’s always hated me. That’s why Father Doherty wanted me to stay away. That’s why he directed me to his sweet grandson. Kath just puts on a mask for Mal.

“You know, Da said he’d made a terrible mistake when he came from Paris and it became known he’d impregnated the American slag. But personally, I’ve always wanted to meet my wee half-sister. Until he died and it became clear you’d go after his money. I didn’t want to believe it. I truly didn’t. I even wanted to write to you.”

“Yet you didn’t.” I grit my teeth, holding her gaze now. “How convenient of you to say you wanted to reach out, but never did.”

I feel cold again. I want Mal to come back, to soak the room with his warmth.

She flashes a mocking smile.

“Fancy seeing you here a second after he drops dead.”

My nostrils flare, and my heart kicks up. Whatever she’s insinuating is complete BS and far removed from the truth.

“I’m not here for his money,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes and hoping to God I look as menacing as I feel. “I’m here to see his grave, where he lived and grew up. To take some pictures, so I can look back at them and tell myself I came here and connected to my roots. There’s half of me I don’t even know. I’m carrying a stranger’s genes in my body, for crying out loud.”