Cian parked the car, and Keenan stepped out. He met a plump woman who wore a comfortable house dress with an apron over it. Her hair was pulled back and time was starting to fade the red in it.
She waved and I waved back. She turned and headed back inside.
She was the first person in Cian’s crew who didn’t seem to fit. She seemed too…friendly, like a sweet grandmother.
I felt the weight of Cian’s stare on the side of my face. When I turned, I met his visible eye in the mirror. The entire drive, he kept stealing glances at me.
Maybe he thought I was going to be a flight risk and try to jump out of the car.
I held his stare until he stepped out and shut the door. Then I wilted in my seat some. I forced myself to grab Fiona’s arm before she left me in the car.
“Why did he take me to Ireland if he’s going to kill me?” I whispered.
She looked at my arm, and I moved my hand.
“What are you goin’ on about? Kill you?”
“That was the deal. The payment. A life for a life.”
“For your father. Not for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s there not to understand? He’s not going to kill you. He’s going to marry you.”
“Ma—” Before I could repeat her words, she was out of the car and I was left alone.
Marry me.
Marry me!
The thought sent me into a panic. One much worse than when Dermot told me he was going to marry me. I wasn’t sure why, but Fiona’s news hit me harder for some reason.
Cian Cillian O'Callaghan was going to become my entire future.
The fear the thought caused went straight to my bones. Because even though I’d never been in love, I understood attraction. It was there between us, and it was strong. And the way Cian looked at me didn’t feel normal. Maybe he was worried I’d run, but I couldn’t shake the feeling it was because he didn’t want me too far away.
When I was afraid on the plane, and he’d turned my ring, his touch had been nice.
No, more than nice.
It had soothed my soul.
Such an odd thing to feel, but I couldn’t describe it any other way. He’d stolen all my panic and made me feel like I was going to be okay, but only if he was next to me.
He was strong.
Capable.
He’d take care of me.
Looking at him was like opening the first page to a love story written just for me. I could smell the scent of new pages, but the words were spelled out in ancient ink. He was thrilling, a grand new adventure, with all the romance a romantic like me could dream of.
Those butterflies with wings inked with my favorite quotes seemed to flutter the old excerpts off, showcasing their cream, pristine patterns, ready for me to start new canvases with my favorite lines from my own love story.
No.
Noo.
