“Anxiety,” he says, and the admission seems to cost him. “Didn’t used to be like this before.” He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Christ, Cavin. We’re supposed to be married, remember? You’re supposed to be able to tell me these things. Before what?”
He looks at me for a long moment, something dark and haunted crossing his features. “Before I went to prison.”
The words hang between us.
He exhales roughly. “Didn’t mind the crowds before. I could, you know, play along with it all. But now? I can’t fuckin’ stand it. I don’t like that people disrespect personal space at events like this, you know? And I get why we have to do it—it’s part of the game, right? But I hate it. Don’t like being around people I can’t trust. Don’t like not knowing who’s planning something.”
“You think someone’s planning something?” I ask carefully.
His eyes meet mine, and there’s no humor in them now. Only cold, hard certainty. “Someone’s always planning something, Erin. That’s how this world works.”
A chill runs down my spine—because he’s not wrong. And because I’m realizing that whatever happened to him in prison, whatever he saw or did or had done to him—it’s changed him. Made him harder. More paranoid.
More dangerous.
“Well, it’s one thing we have in common,” I say softly.
He lets out a breath and laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “Aye. I think it’s two, actually.”
“What would be the first?”
“I don’t know,” he says, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “I think we need to go back to The Craic to find that out. But I have my suspicions.”
Heat floods through me. “Oh dear god. Don’t tell me we’re going now, are we?”
“No,” he says with a laugh, and some of the darkness lifts from his expression. “No. You think I don’t have enough self-respect for that? I may not be a good man, Erin, but my parents raised me right. I’m a gentleman, and I’ll not take advantage of you before—” He shrugs. “Before I need to.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
My heart is thundering, and why do I feel this crazy need to tell him that it’s okay, that Iwanthim to, that maybe I don’t want to have to dread our wedding night? Maybe I want this to be natural and notforced. Maybe I don’t want to feel like every choice in my life is being made for me.
But I don’t. I don’t tell him any of that.
Instead, I just nod, and he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture is surprisingly tender.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get back out there before they send a search party. But stay close to me, yeah? Don’t let anyone pull you aside.”
“Why not?”
His jaw tightens. “Because I don’t trust any of these fuckers, and I’ll not have you alone with them.” He blows out a breath. “And to think we have to do this all over again in a matter ofweeks.”
It should bother me, the way he’s being so controlling. But instead, all I feel is… safe. Protected. Like maybe, just maybe, I can trust him.
Even if I’m not entirely sure he trusts himself.
And something he said… makes a lightbulb go off in my head.
My mind spins and circles and puts pieces of the puzzle into place. The final one clicks.
“Cavin,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. “The absolutelastthing I want to do is go home tonight, with my mother breathing down my neck planning this damn wedding. What if… what if wedon’thave to wait for the wedding?”
Chapter Twenty
Cavin
I stare at her.The woman’s brilliant and reckless, and I think I might… I think I might love her.
