“Because trusting people is how you get destroyed.” She toys with the edge of the sheet. “And I know there’s no love lost between you guys and my da. You have no loyalty to my family beyond this arrangement. So I have to trust you because I have no choice. But I trust you because…” she pauses. “Because you’re different than I thought.”
Jesus Christ. I’m exactly who you think, Tierney. I’m just a really fucking convincing actor.
The words get caught in my throat until I can choke them out. “I won't destroy you.”
“You say that now.”
“I mean it.”
She searches my face. “Really?”
And I want to tell her yes so fucking badly. I want to promise that I'll never hurt her, never betray her trust.
But I can't. Because I'm already betraying it every second I don't tell her about my actual mission to protect my family.
I brush my lips against the top of her head.
“Get some sleep,” I say because I can’t bring myself to lie to her again. Not tonight.
She curls against my side, and within minutes her breathing slows.
But I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, her words echoing in my head.
I trust you.
She trusts me to keep her safe, to protect Connor, to be the man she thinks I am.
And I'm lying to her about everything.
The mission. The real reason for our marriage. The factthat I'm supposed to be using her feelings to manipulate her family.
When she finds out…and she will find out eventually…that trust in her voice is going to turn to hatred so fast it'll give me whiplash.
She'll look at me the exact same way she did that first day. Like I'm the enemy.
Except this time, she'll be right.
But if I don't get that intelligence from Declan, if I fail Kingston...
I look down at her sleeping face, peaceful and trusting, and know I'm fucked either way.
Because I'm falling for a woman I'm supposed to betray.
And there's no way this ends without someone getting destroyed, no matter what lies I feed her.
23
TIERNEY
When I roll over, Bronx’s side of the bed is already empty.
I scrub my eyes, scoot off the mattress and throw on my silk robe before heading to the bathroom. I check my reflection in the mirror, fix my hair, and brush my teeth. Things I never used to bother with before living with Bronx.
Now I do them automatically.
When I pad barefoot to the kitchen, Bronx is on the phone, and the second he sees me, he mutters something under his breath and ends the call.
“I’ll be in my office,” he says, knocking back the last of his coffee. “By the way, I’m cooking tonight. Invite Connor.”
