17
MAEVE
The apartment is smaller than I expected.
Not in a bad way. It’s clean and certainly big enough for one person, although it’s shockingly without any kind of personality—all beige carpet, hardwood floors, and nothing on the walls. The furniture is minimalistic and sparse. It’s clear that Sean hasn’t put any thought into the space he lives in, that he eats and sleeps here, and feels no need to make it more personal than that.
It makes something in my chest ache, oddly enough. He’s never made himself a home, and I wonder why that is. Because he doesn’t feel that he deserves one? Because he wonders if he’ll live long enough for it to matter? I suppose when your life is all violence, all the time, putting effort into material things probably seems foolish. You could leave it all behind at any time.
The nicest feature is a pair of tall windows in the living room, overlooking the Dublin streets below. After the sprawling Boston house with its endless rooms and staff always hovering nearby, this feels strangely small and close, and quiet.Peaceful, I think, the word surprising me.
There's no housekeeper waiting to take our coats. No cook preparing dinner in the kitchen. Just us, standing in the quiet entryway while Flynn and Sean carry our bags in from the car.
"It's not much," Sean says, and I realize he's watching me, trying to gauge my reaction.
"It's nice," I tell him honestly. "It’s simple. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe?—before he nods and moves deeper into the apartment. "Kitchen's through there. Bedroom down the hall. Bathroom's next to it." He pauses. "There's only one bedroom," he reminds me.
My heart does something complicated in my chest. "You said that.”
He nods, letting out a breath. "I’ll get fresh sheets on the bed, and I’ll take the couch.”
"You don't have to—" Something squirms in my chest as I remember that the last time he was here, he was an unmarried man. What did he do on those sheets? Was there another woman in that bed before he came to claim me? The thought shouldn’t really matter to me—I didn’t want this marriage, and Sean hasn’t consummated our marriage, but it does. I can’t explain why, exactly, but I feel a hot thread of jealousy squirming through me, making me feel twitchy and uncomfortable.
"I do." His voice is firm. Final. And just like that, the distance is back between us, the same distance he's been trying to maintain since that kiss on the balcony. Since the training session this morning, where his hands were on me and I could barely breathe.
Flynn drops the last bag inside and stretches. "Right, I'm off to my own place. You two get settled. I'll be back in the morning to go over security." He winks at me. "Welcome to Dublin, Maeve. Try not to let this grumpy bastard scare you off."
"Flynn," Sean warns.
"What? I'm being friendly." Flynn grins and heads for the door. "See you tomorrow."
And then, with the click of the door closing, we're alone.
In the mansion, there was endless space for us to avoid each other. Here, there’s almost none at all. Sean runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I'm learning means he's uncomfortable. "You should rest. It's been a long day."
It has been. Between the attack last night, the training this morning, and the flight, I'm exhausted. But I'm also wired, too keyed up to sleep.
"I'm okay," I say. "Maybe I'll just... look around?"
He nods. "Make yourself at home."
The words should be welcoming, but they sound stiff. Formal. Like he's talking to a guest, not his wife.
I watch him retreat to the bedroom, and something in me aches.
The apartment doesn't take long to explore. There’s the living room with a couch and TV, a small dining area, and the kitchen. Down the hall, there's a bathroom that's clean and masculine—no frills, just function. And at the end of the hall, the bedroom.
I push the door open slowly. Sean is tossing sheets in a hamper, and that feeling squeezes my chest again.
The room is sparse but comfortable. There’s a large bed with dark sheets, a dresser, and a closet. The windows look out over the city, lights twinkling in the gathering dusk. It smells like Sean—something clean and masculine, his cologne and his shaving soap.
Sean looks at me, clearly on edge. “I’ll let you get comfortable,” he says, nodding to where he set my bag down. “I’ll just go get the couch set up, and…” He pauses, as if thinking of something else to say, and then leaves without another word.
I sit on the edge of the bed and let myself feel everything I've been pushing down since last night. The terror of the explosion.The gunfire. Sean's body covering mine, protecting me without hesitation. The training this morning, his hands on me, the tension so thick I could barely breathe.
That kiss.
