“That if the night made us brave, we wouldn’t tell the morning.” His expression is calm and determined. “So we kissedright there with the sea over our ankles, and for once I didn’t think about my father’s name or anybody’s grudges. I only thought:don’t forget this. Don’t you dare forget this.”
The road narrows, but I barely notice. For a few breaths I can see it, the ribbon lights, his ridiculous grin, and the taste of sugar and salt.
He clears his throat, smile tilting. “End of itinerary: I walked you back. You stood at the door and said, ‘Thank you for the granita, not for the thievery.’ Then I said, ‘I’ll return the lemon in my will.’ You said, ‘You’re impossible.’ And I?—”
“—said, ‘You’ll learn to like impossible,’” I finish, because I was there too. And I still remember every second of it. Despite trying to forget for so long.
We don’t speak for a while. The car hums, and the sea keeps pace alongside us. Something unclenches in my chest I didn’t know I’d knotted.
Finally he whispers, soft as rain, “It was a good date, Kitty Cat.Even if you pretended it wasn’t.”
I turn my face to the window, so he won’t see what’s in my eyes. “It was,” I admit in a whisper.
We crest a rise, and the ferry terminal comes into view. Matteo’s hand slides back to the wheel, jaw setting for the next fight, but the warmth from the story lingers like sun on skin long after dusk.
“Rule five,” he adds, almost to himself.
I glance over. “There was a rule five?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, a private thing. “If there’s a chance, take it.”
“Dangerous rule.”
“The only kind that ever mattered.”
Cairnryan’s ferry terminal rises out of scrub and spray like a promise we don’t deserve. We park in the queue between lorries wearing different countries. Rain needles the windscreen.
Matteo glances at me. “You ready?”
“No.”
He nods like that’s the correct password. “Me neither.”
The gates open, and engines growl forward. When our turn comes, he rolls down the window and hands over the tickets in a name that isn’t ours. The attendant barely looks at us.
“Welcome aboard,” she says.
We follow the line up the ramp into the mouth of the ferry. The rain swallows the world behind us. Ahead is wind and a strip of sea, and Ireland beyond that, and a man who thinks he can decide the shape of my life.
Let him try.
CHAPTER 38
LIKE WE’RE TEENAGERS
Caitríona
We leave the car in the steel belly of the boat, the sea breeze misting across my face. An attendant appears in a navy blazer, staring up at Matteo from beneath his cap. “Last name?”
“Livia.” The name easily slips from his tongue while I swallow hard again and pretend hearing our daughter’s name from his lips doesn’t ruin me. “Mr. and Mrs.,” he adds with a grin in my direction.
The attendant checks a list and ushers us into a private lift I didn’t know ferries had. My hat stays low, and my hand stays in Matteo’s. It’s not romance, it’s self-preservation.
“This way to the VIP Deck,” the attendant says, keying in a code. “Suite Seven. The balcony’s weather-side unfortunately, so you’ll have to mind the wind. But you should enjoy the trip either way.”
A balcony on a ferry? Of course, Matteo would find the one ferry with a VIP suite in a mad scramble to escape Quinlan.
The man opens the door and tips his hat before disappearing down the narrow corridor we just walked through. Matteo holdsit open for me, a grin playing on his lips. “Shall I carry you across the threshold?”
