Beatrice was in her element, though. It didn’t seem like she ever met a stranger.
“How about we look for dresses while we’re in the city?” She nodded to a store behind me.
“I have plenty,” I said. When I’d only picked out a few things, Cian started to pile things up on his own. Some of the outfits I would never have picked for myself, but I liked them.
“Not that kind of dress, dear.”
I turned. We were in front of a bridal boutique. “Oh.” I glanced at Cian, then turned to Beatrice. The look in his eyes was too intense to hold. I took a deep breath. “At the castle?”
I thought Beatrice would answer, but Cian nodded.
“A dress fit for a fairy tale then,” I said. “Gold touches, maybe? I’m not much of a shopper, though.”
“Leave it to me!” Beatrice’s body was already turned in the direction of the store.
“I’d like red roses,” I whispered. I’d never imagined my wedding, because it takes two to have one and I’d been solo, but my dad had told me they were my mom’s favorite. “For flowers.”
Beatrice squeezed my arm and rushed toward the store.
Cian and I stood in the middle of the street while people passed us by. They gave him a wide berth as they went around. I was pretty sure, like me, they sensed an untamed wildness in him, even though his haircut had transformed his face. It was like the entire world was seeing him as I did.
As a handsome man.
When men’s eyes would linger in our direction too long, though, a growl would tremble inside of his chest, reminding me that a haircut could transform his appearance, but what lurked underneath his surface hadn’t been touched.
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “Are you marrying me because Dermot wanted to marry me?”
His eyes whipped to mine. He shook his head—no.
“Why then?” I barely got out.
He looked away from me, and I knew that was where his truth stopped. Whether the words were on his lips or not, he wasn’t going to share them.
I sighed. “Do you know of a bookstore around here? I’d love to buy some books.”
He seemed to relax at the change in conversation. He chucked his chin in the opposite direction, and we headed that way.
* * *
After the bookshop,which resulted in Cian carrying out two full bags, he took me to a pub for dinner. It was a quaint place with dim lights and two men playing live music. One played the tin whistle, the other the bodhrán. The music wasn’t loud. The ambience was chill. It seemed like a lot of older men frequented the place.
I wasn’t sure if Cian had ever been before, but the bartender, who might have been in his early thirties, nodded at Cian when he noticed him. His eyes only subtly gave away the shock of seeing Cian with a different haircut. The people inside the castle never allowed shock to show on their faces. It was either a hint of fear at what Cian would do next or fascination as they watched us together. The bartender, though, was on the outs like me, I could tell, but knew better than to openly stare, it seemed.
The bartender came to take my order only. I decided on a veggie pizza and a glass of Chianti.
Sometimes Delaney and I would walk across the street to the tavern and have a late dinner together. She always said a glass of red wine was good for the heart and soul. While we waited for our food, I told Cian that.
“Have you heard of it? The Bell Tavern?”
He nodded.
“Have you ever been to the bookstore across from it? I work—used to work there.”
His eyes were intense on mine, and even when the food was delivered (the bartender had brought him a burger), I talked. I told him about my parents, how my mom died before I was born, how people always wore me out, about my love of reading and woodworking. I wasn’t sure why, but I was giving him my complete life story. Maybe because he seemed so into it. It was like he was hanging onto my every word.
When quiet settled between us, music filled the space, and we both sat back, watching and listening. Every so often Cian would take a drink of his Guinness. The yeasty smell was on his breath and clothes.
All I wanted to do was breathe it in.
