Chapter Two
Alannah, Age Sixteen
Ronin steps ahead of me and holds the door open, his hand light at my back as I step inside the restaurant.
The smell of garlic and roasting meat fills the air, but my stomach has been knotted with nerves all day about our first date, and I can hardly think about eating yet.
A man in a dark jacket greets Ronin by name and tells us our table is ready before leading us through the dining room.
As we follow him, I look around, taking in the small tables scattered around the room, each one set with a white tablecloth and a candle burning at its centre.
Couples sit close together over their meals, speaking in low voices, and the whole restaurant feels smaller than I expected.
More intimate. He stops at a table in a quiet corner and sets a menu at each place before stepping away.
Ronin pulls out my chair, then takes the seat across from me.
I’ve barely opened my menu when the waiter appears beside the table, his smile turning familiar as he looks at Ronin. “Good evening, Mr. Byrne.”
“Evening,” Ronin says, then leans a little closer to me. “All right if I order for us?” he asks quietly.
I close my menu and nod, grateful not to have to worry about what to choose.
He’s clearly been here before, and I’m sure whatever he picks will be good.
When he turns to the waiter to order, my eyes catch on the mark at the edge of his shirt collar.
It looks almost like a bruise, fainter than I remember, but still there.
He’d had to cancel our date the night before when work came up, and I’d felt awful when he stopped by this morning looking like he still hadn’t been to bed, asking if he could take me out for dinner tonight instead.
While he stood there waiting for my answer, I’d noticed the mark on his neck.
It had been darker then, standing out against his tanned skin.
“Are you all right?” I’d asked, lifting my hand without thinking, reaching toward it.
He’d smiled, catching my wrist before my fingers could touch the mark. “I’m fine,” he’d said. “Really.” Then he’d kissed my cheek, murmuring that I was a doll for understanding before saying he needed to get home and catch some sleep, but that he’d pick me up at six.
I told myself that if it was something I needed to know, he would have told me. So I let it go.
Some things in my life have always been left unspoken.
I grew up knowing there were parts of my family’s life that weren’t meant to be questioned.
Back home in Ireland, Da had worked for my grandda, and my grandda had run the work there.
We lived outside the laws and rules everyone else followed, and I learned young that you didn’t press for details that weren’t offered.
You noticed what you noticed, and you trusted the people you loved to handle the rest.
Now, seated across from Ronin, I make the same choice again. Because honestly, he doesn’t have to do any of this. We’re already engaged. He doesn’t have to take me on dates, or bring me to beautiful restaurants, or make an effort to get to know me.
But he is. He chose to be here with me. And I choose to believe that means something.
Once Ronin finishes ordering and the waiter leaves, he looks at me, something playful in his eyes. “So,” he says, resting his forearms on the table. “Tell me something about yourself I don’t already know.”
I laugh softly. “I’m not sure there’s much about me you don’t already know.”
“Try me.”
I purse my lips, pretending to think. “All right. I don’t like sweet pickles.”
“I already knew that.”
My mouth falls open. “You did not.”
He looks far too pleased with himself. “Try again.”
I shake my head, not ready to be put on the spot again. “No. I already shared. Your turn. Tell me something about you I wouldn’t already know.”
He smirks at having the question turned back on him, then picks up his water and takes a drink before answering. “I bought a Cadillac last year,” he says. “An older one. I’ve been fixing it up a little at a time. She’ll be a beauty once she’s done.”
“Yeah?” I picture him with grease on his hands and his sleeves rolled up, working on his car, and smile. “You’ve got me there. I didn’t know that.”
He sets his glass down. “See? Now you owe me a good one.”
I trace the edge of my napkin with my thumb, looking down as I try to think of something he never would have guessed about me. “I still miss the sea,” I admit. “Even after all this time. It was always so close back home. It feels strange sometimes, not having it nearby.”
When I look up, his expression has softened. “There’s a stretch of shore just outside the city,” he says. “We’ll go sometime.”
“Really?” The word is out before I can stop myself.
“Really.”
The waiter returns with our food, and everything is delicious.
I’m surprised by how hungry I am once I start eating, and we keep going with Ronin’s game between bites, each of us trying to come up with little things about ourselves the other doesn’t already know.
Before I know it, dinner is over, our plates are cleared away, and a slice of cheesecake is set down in front of us, one fork beside the plate.
The restaurant starts to empty around us as we take our time with dessert, passing the fork back and forth until there’s nothing left but a few crumbs. When the waiter comes back with the check, Ronin pays, and we leave.
On the drive home, Ronin tells me more about the work he’s doing on his Cadillac while I watch the city pass outside my window.
When we reach my house, he comes around to help me out of the car, keeping my hand in his as he walks me to my door.
At the front step, I turn to face him. “Thank you for tonight, Ronin. I had a really nice time.”
He lets go of my hand and strokes his knuckles along my cheek. “Me too, doll,” he says. “I’d like to do it again.”
With him standing so close, I have to fight the urge to look away. “I’d like that.”
He leans down and brushes his lips against my cheek. “Go on inside,” he murmurs. “And make sure you lock up.” I do as he says, slipping inside and locking the door behind me. Before heading upstairs, I stop at the window and watch Ronin get into his car.
When my father first told me he’d agreed to a match between Ronin and me, I hadn’t known what to think.
I’d always had this picture in my mind of what my marriage would be like.
Not grand or perfect, but warm. The sort of marriage my grandparents had, even though theirs had been arranged too.
Growing up, I’d seen them dancing in the kitchen, holding hands at the table, laughing over things no one else seemed to understand.
I’d wanted that one day. I’d hoped, somehow, I might have it.
And Ronin had always been difficult to imagine that way.
He was handsome, and he’d never been unkind to me, but he was also my brother’s friend, and he’d always seemed so serious and hard to read.
I hadn’t known what to expect from him as a husband, or whether the kind of closeness I’d always dreamed of could ever grow between us.
But tonight, he’d made me laugh. He’d listened when I spoke, remembered I didn’t like sweet pickles, and offered to take me to the shore when I told him I missed the sea.
I watch his car pull away from the curb, still feeling the warmth of his kiss on my cheek.
Maybe marrying Ronin Byrne won’t feel like giving something up after all.