When we’re not in the gym or at the range, he still ignores me. He keeps his distance, talks to me only when necessary, and avoids me at what seems like all costs. When we’re training, he’s close to me, touching me… and I can feel, every time, that it affects him.
It’s affecting me, too. But I can’t say anything, because I know what his answer will be.
He’s all wrong for me, he’ll say. Too rough. Too violent. And he’sright.
But I’m also not so sure that I want to be a virgin bride any longer. Or at least… my body is clamoring for that to change, even if my mind and heart are unsure of what I want.
All I know is that I have no idea how we’re going to go on like this forever.
And I’m going to have to spend all of this evening out with him in public.
I grab the beaded clutch that I dug out of a drawer for this and head downstairs. When I’m almost to the landing leading to the entryway, I see Sean standing there waiting for me, talking quietly with Flynn, and my breath catches in my throat.
He's wearing a tuxedo, the black fabric fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders and lean waist. His dark hair is swept back, his jaw clean-shaven, and if I didn't know better, I'd think he was just another wealthy businessman instead of the Wolf of Dublin.
He looks devastating. Dangerous and sophisticated all at once.
Both he and Flynn look up at the same moment, hearing the click of my heels on the marble. Flynn’s face holds the normal appreciation for a woman he finds beautiful—nothing dark or heated, just a casual appraisal that has a clear hint of approval on his chiseled features. But Sean…
Sean looks as if he’s trying, and failing, to keep himself from crossing the space between us and dragging me into his arms.
His jaw tightens, the muscle there twitching. "You look beautiful," he says, his voice rough.
Heat floods my cheeks. "Thank you," I manage. "You look... nice, too."
Nice.What an inadequate word for how he looks. But I don't have the vocabulary to describe how my stomach flips when I see him like this.
Sean's jaw tightens, and he looks away. "The car's waiting. Some of the security have already gone ahead to scout thevenue." He glances at Flynn. “Take the other car, with Jack. Make sure there are no errors tonight.”
Flynn nods and heads out. Sean looks at me for a moment more and I’m suddenly, painfully aware that we’re alone.
“Are you ready?” he asks quietly, and I feel a lurch in my chest.Does he realize how nervous I am? How unprepared for this I feel?Something in his face almost looks as if he cares, and it’s throwing me off-balance. I’ve never known Sean to care about my feelings.
I swallow hard and nod. “All part of the job, right?” I say as breezily as I can manage, forcing brightness into my tone.
Sean’s jaw works, but he nods, too. He opens the door for me, helps me into my coat, and walks out with me into the frigid Boston cold, opening the door of the SUV for me to climb in. All perfectly gentlemanly, as if his hands shouldn’t be stained red with all the blood he’s spilled.
The drive to the gala is silent. Sean sits beside me in the back of the car, his thigh inches from mine, staring out the window. I can feel the tension radiating off him.
"What is this event for?" I finally ask. "You never told me."
"Cancer research fundraiser," Sean says shortly. "The O’Malleys are hosting it. Our absence would be noted." The tone of his voice clearly says that, much like me, he’d rather be absent. We have that in common at least, I think with bitter humor.
We're going in order to maintain appearances. To play the role of the newly married couple, happy and in love, when in reality we're barely speaking to each other outside of training sessions.
When we barely know each other at all.
The venue is at a museum, lit up like something from a fairy tale. Expensive cars line the circular drive in front, depositing women in glittering gowns and men in tuxedos. I feel my anxietyspike as Sean helps me out of the car, his hand warm and steady on my arm.
"Just stay close to me," he murmurs as we approach the entrance. "If you need to leave, tell me."
I nod, grateful for the reassurance even as my heart pounds. I haven't been to anything like this since I was sixteen. The last gala I attended was with my father, Siobhan, and Desmond, all of us dressed up and playing the part of the perfect Irish-American family. That was years ago. A lifetime ago, it feels like.
Inside, the gala is stunning—the interior fitted with crystal chandeliers, the floor gleaming marble, waiters circulating with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Everywhere I look, there are beautiful people in expensive clothes, laughing and talking and belonging in a way I never have.
Sean's hand finds the small of my back, and I'm grateful for the anchor. Without it, I think I might float away, might disappear entirely into the overwhelming crowd.
"Sean!" A man in his fifties approaches, hand extended. "Good to see you. And this must be your bride. Congratulations on the marriage."
