Maeve Binchy Books Novels & Stories

Maeve’s POV The ride back home was not even interesting and I just looked at my phone. I thought of calling Gibson, because she would be coming in tomorrow. Brian had promised me that he would make sure that she would be safe so that she can focus on her work and not on anything else. But I wouldn’t think of her now. The cab let me off at the gates of Brian’s mansion and I walked in. I had nothing more than an overnight bag and I still was having some trouble walking because of the way that I had been fucked a few hours back.

She winked at Maeve who just rolled her eyes. “Stay out of the bedrooms too. Take your shenanigans somewhere else,” Maeve told her as she leaned down to select from the shoes that were placed in front of her. She stared at them critically, then, went for the stilettos. Maeve loved a good high heel. They accentuated her already long legs and made her feel sexier than she already felt.

Maeve had been holding an umbrella and wearing a white dress the first time Gabriel met her. She was like an angel who'd walked into his life unannounced. She'd only been 18 then, and Gabriel had done everything he could to keep her by his side. She was like his only saving grace, the one good thing in his world full of bloodshed and darkness. She was different from the others, and it was only when Gabriel was with her that he felt any sense of peace.

For a few precious moments, they allowed themselves to step away from the dark shadow of strategy to speak of the beautiful romances blossoming within the fortress walls. "I saw the way Riheirk held you out there, Brynn," Maeve said with a knowing, teasing smile, her hand unconsciously brushing against her own apron where the lingering scent of Nalvath still clung. "For a man who looks like he could wrestle a mountain, he turns into absolute putty the second you walk into the room."

I simply adjusted the stack of linen napkins in my hands with a slow, smooth, and perfectly precise rhythm, a motion that felt deeply native to the marrow of my bones. "Maeve, for the love of God, shut your mouth," Declan hissed, stepping into the pass and trying to intercept her before the customers noticed. "She’s working off her keep, just like mom and dad said. Don't do this here." "Oh, I'll do it right here!" Maeve barked back, her heavy combat boots thudding against the linoleum as she took a step out onto the main floor. She grabbed a tray of dirty glasses, deliberately slamming it down inches from my hands. "Earth to the Empress of Amnesia! You’re a low-level scullery maid, Jane Doe.

Maeve broke the silence first. "So..." Nobody answered. She looked around the fire. "...Are we really going to spend three days together without knowing each other's names?" "We know the names," Selene muttered. "I meant the people." "I think she's right." Cassian smiled faintly. Maeve clapped once. "I'll go first." She tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "I'm Maeve Hollow…My family runs a healing lodge in the Eastern Valleys." She smiled at the flames. "When I was little...I used to cry every time someone got hurt."

They lived in this huge bubble, not knowing – or caring – about people like us. My own life felt like two separate books. One was Maeve Briggs, high school senior, trying to keep up her grades and pretend everything was normal. The other was "Eve," the girl with the dark wig and fake ID, dancing on a small stage downtown. That was the book I kept hidden, guarded with my life. It was a secret I'd die before anyone found out. Especially Mom. And Jasper. And Nova, my best friend, who thought my nights were spent studying or binge watching shows.

At this point, I could feel her tears welling to the surface, and at once, I had pulled my hands to her shoulders, stroking her gently. “You knew it never would work, Evelyn. I don’t know what you expected” Aunt Bertha let out. “I’ll take my leave now” She called at once, reaching for something behind her. “But just before I go— She had pulled out an object, hands bearing it onto me. It was a glossy chinaware. The daylight beaming on its polished coating. “Congratulations on your engagement, Sweetie” she followed in a low voice, soon placing the item right on the porch, and then turning around to leave. Not after sending one last glance my way, one that had me swallowing hard.

Maeve never liked silence because silence meant thinking. And thinking usually led to ugly things she spent years trying not to feel. Regret. Jealousy. Humiliation. The luxury apartment overlooking the city should have felt calming. Expensive marble floors. Soft music drifting through hidden speakers. Rain tapping lightly against the windows. Instead, Maeve stood near the balcony with a cigarette between her fingers watching dawn slowly bleed across the skyline while her stomach twisted harder with every passing hour. Max was dead.

The music swirled around me, but my thoughts were far from the laughter and chatter at the tables. Mama GreenLee’s words echoed in my chest, stirring memories I had buried deep. Maeve. My mother. Strong, kind, radiant — and gone far too soon. I thought of the whispers I’d overheard as a child, the fragments of conversations that never quite added up. Sometimes I wondered if there was more to her death than sickness, if something darker had stolen her from me. But this was not the time. Not here, surrounded by family and celebration. Perhaps in Italy, away from the O’Connell walls, I could finally ask the questions that haunted me.