Wealth. Power. Strength. That’s what this alliance is meant to represent to everyone who works with and for us. My desire for Annie can only undermine that.
Marrying Gia would be a step in the right direction.
Ronan had mentioned that there would be other women there tonight who might be of interest, prospective brides whoI’d be free to mingle and dance with, talk to. The idea of doing that, where Annie can see me, doesn’t bring the satisfaction of potentially making her jealous; it just makes me feel heavy, exhausted at the thought of how far removed this is from what I want.
No one gets everything in life, I tell myself as I head down to my waiting car. But the truth is… all I ever really wanted was her. And instead, I’ve gotten everything else.
My first stop is to pick up Gia from her father’s mansion just outside the city. She comes out wearing a shimmering gold evening gown with a fur stole wrapped around her shoulders, her glossy black hair done in thick, heavy curls, and red lipstick emphasizing the perfect shape of her mouth. She looks like an old Hollywood siren, and she smiles at me as I open the passenger’s side door for her, sliding in with a look of satisfaction on her face.
“I haven’t been to the O’Malley mansion in years,” she says as we drive. “Not since we were kids. Ronan had a few dinners over here when my father was courting him as a potential husband for me. But Padraigh never invited me over. I’m looking forward to seeing what it’s like these days.”
It’s clear what this potential union is to Gia—a door into a life that she’s wanted, been groomed for, all her life. Right now, she’s just looking through the window, wanting more, wanting what she’s always been promised she was meant to have. I can’t fault her for that—for desiring what she’s been forced to work toward since the very beginning.
There’s a long line of cars in the courtyard at the O’Malley mansion. I park, handing the keys over to one of the uniformed valets, and then come around to take Gia’s hand to help her out. She glides out easily, elegant and poised, as I lead her up the stairs to the entrance of the mansion.
Inside, it’s a bustle of activity. Catering staff are everywhere, guests filtering in as they hand over coats and head toward the grand ballroom at the back of the mansion. The interior has been transformed—sprays of flowers and candles decorating the entryway and halls, the chandeliers all glowing as I lead Gia back to the ballroom, which is filled with more floral displays and drapery, candles, and crystal light everywhere, glinting off silk and jewels.
“It’s beautiful,” Gia breathes, and I feel something in my stomach tense. This is the moment where I should tell her that it’s not all as beautiful as she is, or something to that effect, but I feel as if my tongue is dead in my mouth. I can’t speak, can’t find the words that Ishouldsay to this woman, because they all feel as if they’re being saved for someone else.
Ronan moves through the crowd toward me, wearing a tux, his smile easy as he approaches. I see the approval in his expression as he notices Gia at my side.
He holds out a hand, and I shake it. "Elio. You clean up well."
"Thanks. Everything looks incredible."
“Leila did all of this.” A look of obvious pride crosses his face. “She’s with Annie, I think, helping her finish getting ready. But she hired a planner, gave them all the suggestions, the whole nine yards. She’s really come into her own with all of this.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her,” I say carefully, ignoring the stab of jealousy in my chest. Ronan married who he wanted—a girl he rescued from Rocco’s human trafficking schemes. A girl not from our world, who has no bloodline to help him, no inheritance, no inherited connections.But, I remind myself,he did that once.He did his duty, married the woman he was told to, and suffered a marriage that made no one happy. And he lost that wife, and the child she carried.
He killed Rocco for it. Killed his own father in front of the Irish Council. He earned his happiness, and I can’t argue with that.
Not to mention, what I want is something altogether different. Something that goes beyond just choosing a woman who is, technically, unsuitable.
For most men, Annie couldn’t bemoresuitable. Ronan’s sister, an Irish mafia princess in her own right. But not for me.
“Don’t worry,” Ronan says with a chuckle, taking my expression to mean something altogether different. “We’ll get you married soon enough, and you’ll have someone to plan your dinner parties.” He glances at Gia, who smiles politely. “It’s been years. It’s good to see you again.”
“And you as well, Mr. O’Malley.”
Ronan waves a hand. “Ronan is fine. We know each other well enough for that.”
I wait to feel a spark of jealousy that, years ago, Ronan was nearly paired with the woman on my arm. But I feel nothing. I don’t care that she’s smiling at him or that he might have tried to kiss her once upon a time. I don’t think I’d feel anything if he swept her into his arms and kissed her right now, in front of me.
Not like…
I banish the thought from my mind, the memory of seeing Desmond and Annie kissing. And then, a moment later—as if to punish me further—I hear the sound of her laugh coming through the doorway.
I turn to look, and feel my world tilt on its axis.
Annie and Leila walk in together, but I barely notice Ronan’s wife, gorgeous as she is with her auburn hair swept up and wearing a cream-colored gown with lace insets that makes her skin glow. She’s beautiful, and I see her go straight for Ronan, her face lit up like candlelight as she looks at him. My gaze stays on Annie, who looks like something out of a dream.
Looking at her, I feel as if I’ve forgotten how to breathe. She’s wearing a midnight blue gown that hugs her every slender curve, the straps off-the-shoulder and fitted to that slim upper curve of her arms, the neckline a straight slash over her chest below her collarbones that’s modest but somehow still devastating. It shows just enough skin to make a man's imagination run wild, the rest of the dress dragging the eye down over the slight swell of her small breasts, the indentation of her waist, the slender sweep of her hips, the line of her thighs until the skirt flares out at her calves. Her copper hair is swept up in an intricate style that leaves her neck bare, and diamonds glitter at her throat and ears.
She's absolutely breathtaking.
"Jesus Christ," I breathe before I can stop myself, and I feel Gia stiffen next to me.Fuck. As if it’s not bad enough that Gia already let on during dinner that she’s aware of the crush I had on Annie as a teenager, now—unless she’s fucking blind—she knows that it hasn’t dimmed at all.
If anything, eleven years of separation have made me want her with an intensity that feels as if it could fucking kill me.
