Claiming Genevieve

10. Genevieve

10

GENEVIEVE

F or a moment, I’m sure I haven’t heard him right. “What?” I gasp, staring at him as if he’s grown another head. “This isn’t funny, Rowan?—”

“I’m not joking.”

From his expression, he’s telling the truth. All traces of his joking humor, all of the banter and charming playfulness are gone, and his face is deadly serious. I blink twice, and then again, feeling as if I’m in some alternate reality where nothing makes sense. Alice, fallen down the rabbit hole.

“You’re insane.”

“No, I’m up against a wall.” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at it before sinking down onto the couch next to me. “I’ve been living in Ireland for the last fourteen years, Genevieve. I’ve been moving around the family estates there, the ones in Dublin, Galway, and in the countryside from time to time. My father called me back because—” He runs his hand through his hair again. “He’s dying.”

I stare at him for a moment, startled. “I’m so sorry,” I manage, and Rowan gives me a lopsided smile.

“Well, my mother always did tell him the cigars would kill him, before she took off. Seems she was right about a couple of things—one being the cigars, the other being that this life in the mafia is pure shite, except for the money, and I suppose she decided she could do without it.” He waves a hand. “The point is, taibhseach , I’ve come back home to take over the family business. Take over for my father, once he passes. There’s been a lot of lectures from him I’ve been hearing, a lot of crash courses in what the family has going on, but his latest edict came down to me just this morning.” Rowan rubs a hand over his mouth. “He wants me to be married before he dies, so that the family line is secure. And seeing as how the doctors all agree that there’s not much more than five or six months remaining to him, that’s not all that long for me to find a bride.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in. “So all this time—you’ve been pursuing me because you wanted to marry me? Why didn’t you say that when I brought up you having to be married when we talked yesterday?—”

Rowan laughs drily. “Would it have changed anything?”

“No, but?—”

“I thought as much.” He leans his elbows on his knees, drawing in a slow breath. “Anyway, like I said, lass, this was something my father said to me this morning. A request over breakfast—perfectly normal.” Sarcasm drips from his voice. “I didn’t come to your place thinking to propose, either, before you ask,” he adds. “I was worried about you, milseán . That’s all. But now?—”

“So, before—” I blink rapidly. “Before, you just wanted to?—”

“I wanted to take you to bed,” he says bluntly. “No point in beating around it now, I suppose, since I’ve made the proposal. I’d have done all I said to you yesterday too, lass. A place of your own, whatever you liked. I’d have set you up however you pleased, played the part of the patron—whatever it was that you wanted. But it’s clear that’s not enough for you. And we both have something the other needs.”

“What do I need from you?” I snap, instantly defensive again, and Rowan chuckles mirthlessly.

“I don’t like to point it out, Genevieve. I can’t imagine how much you’re hurting right now, how it feels to have lost what you have. But you said it yourself, you have no idea what you’re going to do now.”

“So I should just marry you?” I stare at him in disbelief. “Do you have any idea how insane you sound right now? And besides that, I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who would be easier to convince…”

“I don’t want them,” Rowan says simply. “I want you.”

I stare at him. “Why?”

“Bloody Christ help me, I don’t know,” he says roughly, his voice thick, and I feel the air snap taut between us, a sudden awareness throbbing in that space that sends heat flooding through me. I can hear the need in his voice, the ache , and my body responds to it in an instant. I’ve never heard a man speak to me that way before, with such raw want , and I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.

“I’ve been to a thousand parties like the one where I met you, taibhseach ,” he says softly. “I’ve met so many women I’ve lost track. But there hasn’t been a single one who has ever drawn me in the way you did, who has ever made me feel the way you do.” He leans forward, gently touching the uninjured side of my jaw.

“Surely your father won’t be thrilled with you marrying a ballerina ?—”

“To hell with that,” Rowan snaps. “I know the sort of woman he’d like to set me up with, and I want no part of it. I’ve done all he’s asked so far, and I’ll do this, but I’ll marry a woman I choose. And I’d choose you, Genevieve, if you’d be willing to?—”

“You’re asking me for forever, and I hardly know you! This is insane?—”

“Not forever.” Rowan cuts me off. “Like I said. I have something I want from you, taibhseach. We both have something we need that we can give each other. You marry me—a real marriage,” he adds, “one where you come to my bed and we enjoy each other—and I’ll give you what you need.”

“And what’s that?” I fire back.

He smiles, his eyes still dark with that same need. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you, Genevieve. If you marry me, I’ll provide for you until my father passes. Once that happens, I’ll give you a divorce and a hefty settlement, so long as everything in the contract is fulfilled. You can start over with everything you need to choose how you want your life to go forward, after what’s happened. You’ll be cared for. You’ll want for nothing. And eventually, you can go your own way, and I’ll go mine.”

I bite my lip. His expression is earnest, sincere, and so full of desire that it shakes me to my core. He’s offering me, as he said, something I need. A solution to my problems. And if it comes with a need to consummate the marriage—a shiver runs through me as I think of going to bed with Rowan Gallagher. I want him, too, but the way he makes me feel scares me. My life has always been about precision, control, discipline; he makes me feel something different, and it’s frightening.

“A real marriage?” I clarify, and he chuckles.

“I did say I wanted you, lass.”

I swallow hard. “Once,” I manage. “The wedding night. That’s all. And then?—”

Rowan’s gaze darkens. “That might require some negotiating, lass,” he says, his voice thick. “I’m not sure one night with you would be enough.”

Heat blooms through me at that, at the look in his eyes, and that same raw need in his voice. I’ve never known what it feels like to have someone want me so much that they seem desperate to have me, and something tells me that it could become intoxicating. That it could consume me, if I’m not careful.

“We could… negotiate that,” I manage, my voice trembling slightly. “But?—”

“So you’re saying yes?” Rowan’s gaze holds mine, and another shiver runs through me. I shake my head sharply.

“I need to think,” I manage to say. “I need some time to think. This is—I don’t know what to say.” I swallow hard, looking out at the view of the city as I try to wrap my head around it. But to my confusion and a little bit of alarm, a part of me feels like I should consider his offer. How different is it, really, from what Chris offered me, I can’t help but think. Marriage is different, of course—but Rowan is saying there will be an end date. A point at which the business deal between us is concluded, and we can both go our separate ways.

“Just… give me time,” I repeat, and I see a flicker of what I think is disappointment on his face, but it clears quickly. He nods.

“Of course, milseán ,” he says quietly. “I’m happy to give you time. You can stay here, if you like?—”

I shake my head immediately. “Absolutely not.” I know to the very depth of my bones that that’s a bad idea. A single night alone with him, here in his home… and I’d be tempted beyond words to allow things that I shouldn’t begin to let myself think about.

“I’m going to call Dahlia,” I say quickly, before realizing that I don’t have my phone. “ Shit ,” I mutter with real feeling. “I don’t have my phone. I don’t have any of my things.”

“I’ll have Rory watch the penthouse. When Chris leaves next, I’ll have him go and get your things. Until then, just rest, aye?” Rowan runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll give you some space.”

He does exactly that, bringing me water and some Tylenol before retreating to somewhere else in the quiet penthouse. I sit on the couch, still half-stunned, feeling as if it’s been days since I woke up this morning.

Rowan Gallagher wants me to marry him. It feels insane, and yet?—

There’s the possibility that it could, like he said, give me what I need.

—

“He said what ?”

Dahlia is staring at me from her perch on the green velvet chaise in her living room, her eyes wide. Evelyn is sitting across from us, her brow drawn down in a crease as she looks between the two of us.

“He asked me to marry him.” I bite my lip. “His father is dying, he said, and he wants Rowan to marry?—”

“That part I can verify is true,” Evelyn chimes in. “Not the part about marrying. I don’t know anything about what Rowan’s father wants regarding that,” she says with a small laugh, seeing the expression on my face. “But the part about his father. Dimitri has talked about it, about the shift of power that’s coming, when Padraigh dies.” She frowns. “The heads of the families, from what I know, aren’t pleased with Rowan taking over.”

“Why?” I blurt out curiously. Evelyn’s frown deepens.

“He’s young,” she says slowly. “Of course, Dimitri doesn’t have a leg to stand on there—he’s younger than the other heads of the families as well. But Rowan is—” she takes a slow breath. “From what Dimitri says, he’s reckless. A playboy who doesn’t understand responsibility.” She looks at me. “Not necessarily a good husband.”

“He’s offering a business arrangement.” I twist my fingers together in my lap. “From what he said, anyway.” I look at Evelyn, and it hits me then that I can’t tell her everything. I can’t tell her that Rowan is offering me more than just a business arrangement—he’s offering me a solution to our problems via a temporary marriage. I don’t know much about how the mafia families do things, but I suspect that knowing that our marriage would have an expiration date wouldn’t do much to endear Rowan to the other bosses. And if I tell Evelyn, she’ll be put in the awkward situation of either keeping my secrets or keeping secrets from her husband that might affect his business.

A playboy husband. Keeping secrets from my friends. There are red flags waving right in front of me—but I can’t stop thinking about what Rowan offered me, either. A fresh start, afterwards. The ability to rewrite my life into whatever I want it to be, even if I don’t know what that is yet.

Nothing can salve the wound of having lost everything I’ve worked for all of my life. But the ability to start anew once I’m healed, without the stress and worry of a dwindling bank account, would certainly make it easier.

Dahlia and Evelyn glance at each other, and I try to organize my thoughts into something that makes sense. It’s been twenty-four hours since Rowan ‘proposed’ to me, and I still feel like I’m reeling from everything that’s happened.

After our conversation yesterday, Rowan almost immediately sent Rory, his driver, to ‘stake out’ Chris’s apartment. I gave Rory my key, and he went to wait for Chris to leave the penthouse.

It was evening before I got my things back—or some of them, at least. I gave Rory a list of what I needed most, and Rowan promised me that we’d figure out how to get everything else—although I’m still not sure that Chris might not throw out the rest of my things once he realizes that I’m not coming back. Once I had my cell phone, it was, as expected, blowing up with texts and calls from Chris.

Chris: What the hell, Genevieve? That Irish asshole knocks me out and you just fucking leave???

Chris: What a fucking ungrateful bitch.

Chris: I’ve given you every fucking thing you wanted. It’s a good thing you left before I kicked you out.

Chris: I wanted you because you were something special. All you are now is the same thing that I can get anywhere in New York. Fuck off.

And then, after a string of missed calls:

Chris: Look, I overreacted. We can talk this out.

Chris: I was upset because I got fucking punched , Genevieve. Just answer my calls.

Chris: We can talk this out. Just pick up your phone, baby.

Chris: I’m worried about you. Genevieve, just answer your phone, babe.

They went on and on, all in a similar vein. I ignored them all, instead calling Dahlia and asking if there was any way I could crash in her guest room. She said yes immediately, of course, without asking any questions, and said she’d come get me. I told her not to worry about it and told Rowan that if he wanted me to consider his offer, he’d have Rory take me and drop me off at Dahlia’s—without Rowan coming along.

He acquiesced without argument, for once, and Rory took me to the gorgeous brownstone that Dahlia and her husband, Alek, live in. I was greeted by both Dahlia and her new puppy, a ball of white Samoyed fluff that’s a cousin to Evelyn’s dog, Buttons.

Dahlia, thankfully, waited until I’d had a bath and changed into clean clothes to ask questions, but I saw her look at my bruising cheek the moment I walked in. I told her that I’d hurt it by tripping while trying to learn to use my crutches, and I felt like it burned my tongue to lie to her. I’ve never lied to her, or Evelyn, or any of my other friends in my entire life. But I couldn’t tell her the truth, just like I couldn’t tell Evelyn the truth, either, when she came over today so the three of us could talk, at my request.

If either of them knew, Dimitri and Alek would find out, too. And if Dimitri didn’t kill Chris with his own hands—or send someone to do it—Alek would. Dimitri is the more level-headed brother, the leader of the family and more sensible, but I’m not sure he wouldn’t put out a hit on Chris. And Alek?—

Dahlia’s husband is devastatingly handsome, and devastatingly brutal. He’s Dimitri’s right hand, his enforcer, and while Dimitri might put a hit out on Chris, Alek would go to his penthouse and make sure Chris died screaming for so much as laying a finger on me.

I’m furious that Chris hurt me, and still stunned that it happened at all. I feel like the shock of it hasn’t entirely worn off. But one thing I do know for certain is that killing him for it feels like a step too far.

“So you and Chris split up,” Evelyn says slowly, repeating what I told Dahlia last night and told Evelyn when she came over today. “Because of the accident?” Her nose wrinkles. “That’s really shitty, Genevieve. You’re more than just a ballerina.”

“Not to him,” I say softly, and Rowan’s voice echoes in my head, sending a tremor down my spine.

Your dancing isn’t all you have to offer, lass. Far from it.

“Well, you can stay here as long as you need to,” Dahlia says decisively. “As long as you want. You don’t have to take whatever Rowan is offering you?—”

“I know I don’t have to. But—” I bite my lip and look at Evelyn. She’s watching me with an expression that says she knows what I’m thinking, and that I’m not entirely crazy for thinking it.

“You met Rowan at that party? The one I designed a dress for?” Evelyn looks as if she’s working through something in her head.

I nod. “He was interested in the ballet. In becoming a patron—I think my patron, specifically. Vincent pushed him a bit, pushed me, too. I told him I didn’t need the distraction before the showcase, that it was too much to deal with. Things weren’t good between Chris and me, but I thought I could deal with it all afterwards, that I?—”

I trail off, feeling that knot of pain behind my chest again, that feeling that I somehow fucked this all up.

“Now I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I say softly, looking down at my fingers, twisted together in my lap. “My whole life has been ballet. Since I was old enough to take classes, all I wanted was to be the best. I worked so hard for it, and?—”

“You are the best,” Dahlia says firmly, and I shake my head, feeling tears well up again.

“I was ,” I whisper. “I’m not anymore. I’ll never be a prima again. Even if I go back to ballet, I’ll only ever be a shadow of what I used to be. It won’t be enough. I know it won’t be, and I have no idea what else I’m going to do with my life.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to marry a man you barely know!” Dahlia exclaims. “Evelyn and I will take care of you. You know we will. You’re not going to be homeless while you’re healing, and?—”

“I know.” I manage a weak, watery smile. “I know you’ll both do everything you can to help. But you have families of your own now. You’re both going to have babies soon. You have your own lives to worry about, and you can’t fix mine forever. I need to figure out what I’m going to do, sooner rather than later, and Rowan—” I take a slow breath. “Rowan has offered to help with that.”

Dahlia snorts. “It sounds like he’s not very reliable, if he’s this unfocused playboy that Dimitri is talking about?—”

“He answers to the other bosses as well now, though,” Evelyn says calmly. “Or he will, once he takes over. If he doesn’t keep his obligations to Genevieve, if he’s not a good husband to her—” She lets out a slow breath. “He’ll answer for it to Dimitri, for sure. Antony to a lesser degree, maybe. I’m not sure how much he’ll involve himself in Rowan’s affairs—he’s much more old-school than the others. But Dimitri won’t stand for Rowan not fulfilling his promises. If you have a contract with him—” Evelyn shrugs. “It will be honored.”

Dahlia’s eyes widen. “You’re not seriously considering—” She breaks off as Puff, the small puppy, wakes up from where he’s napping next to her feet and starts to bark, clearly agitated by the rising intensity of the conversation. She reaches down, picking up the ball of fluff, and puts the puppy in her lap as she keeps talking. “You can’t be encouraging Genevieve to do this, Evie.”

“Why not?” Evelyn bites her lip. “I married Dimitri for reasons that had nothing to do with love. Your marriage to Alek was the same, in the beginning,” she points out. “You hated him, at first. But look at us now. We’re blissfully happy, with husbands who adore us and growing families, and everything we could want.”

“That doesn’t mean my marriage with Rowan will be the same,” I say quietly. “I don’t think we’re destined for any grand love.” Plenty of grand arguments, maybe. The two of us can’t seem to be in the same room without bickering. But maybe?—

I bite my lip. I’m not so na?ve that I don’t know that at least some of that is due to the sexual tension between us. And Rowan made it clear that part of what he wants is me in his bed—for how long, still to be negotiated. Once that wears off, maybe we’ll be able to have a calm, companionable marriage, for as long as it lasts.

“Maybe not,” Evelyn allows. “But it’s possible.”

Dahlia shakes her head. “I don’t like it. You barely know him—” She looks at Evelyn. “You really think this is a good idea?”

Evelyn lets out a small sigh. “I don’t know,” she admits. “But we can’t really argue that it can’t work, can we? We’ve both been in those situations, and even though we fell in love eventually, it doesn’t change the fact that it started out that way.”

“Right, but it wasn’t good that it started out that way for either of us,” Dahlia says, glancing at me. “And this isn’t romantic at all—especially after the way Chris treated you, I just think…”

“I’ve never been a romantic, though,” I blurt out. “Right?” I look between the two of them. “You’ve both known me for a long time. I’ve always been practical.”

Dahlia hesitates, but she nods. She knows it’s true, as much as Evelyn does. “You are nothing if not practical,” she admits, and Evelyn nods.

“I dated Chris because he checked off a list,” I continue. “He wanted to have me, and patronize the ballet, and he gave me all the things I needed at the time to be okay with it. He was handsome, good enough in bed, he kept up his part of the agreement, and I kept up mine. It wasn’t until recently that it all started to go bad. I didn’t need lust or love out of our relationship, just for it to work the way we both needed it to. How is that any different from what Rowan is offering?” I look at Evelyn. “Like you said, Rowan will have to hold up his end of the deal. He won’t get away with hurting me or lying to me. It would affect his standing, and he can’t have that.” I also feel sure, based on Rowan’s reaction to Chris striking me once, that he’d never lay a finger on me in anger.

“Plenty of mafia men are unfaithful, though,” Evelyn says gently. “Dimitri would never cheat on me, but that’s often unusual. Rowan might not be. That’s something you’d have to work out between the two of you—but no one in the families will come down on him if he does.”

An odd pang hits my chest at the thought of Rowan sleeping with another woman. I push it away immediately, because why would it matter if he did? The marriage won’t be real. We’re planning a divorce along with a wedding. There’s no reason for me to care if he seeks pleasure elsewhere—all that means is that he won’t come to my bed. He won’t tempt me with the way he makes me feel, won’t make me want things that won’t last and that only serve to give me something to miss when they’re gone.

I’m too busy to be distracted by things like lust and passion—or I was, anyway. It was the foundation of my relationship with Chris… the fact that I wasn’t consumed by him meant that I could compartmentalize the relationship into its proper place, give it the time that I had for it, and no more.

This is the same thing. This marriage would be a contract, an arrangement. If Rowan needs passion, then he’ll have to find it elsewhere—and I shouldn’t care if he does.

“That’s his business,” I say calmly, as if it doesn’t bother me at all. I take a slow breath. “Rowan can give me something that I need… something that I can’t get on my own. And I can give him something that he needs. It’s practical—but I’ve always been that. And this—” I gesture to my foot in its cast. “This isn’t the time to start being reckless or romantic.”

“Are you sure?” Evelyn asks gently. “This is marriage . Marriage to a mafia heir. It’s not a small thing.”

It’s not forever, I remind myself. That’s the one part she doesn’t know.

I swallow hard, thinking of Rowan standing over Chris, the fury in his face, the way he protected me. I think of his hand on my cheek, and the desire in his eyes.

This isn’t love. I’m not even sure that I like him a lot of the time. And I haven’t forgiven him yet for his part in what happened.

But I do believe he’ll keep his word.

“Yes,” I say firmly, glancing between both of my best friends. “I’m sure.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m going to tell him yes.”