Chapter 19
What had happened between her and Bellamy? One minute he was kissing her like he could never get enough of her. And the next moment, he was cold and distant.
She wanted to say something, ask him what was wrong. But a part of her was afraid of what he would say, that he would reject her again.
She pushed up from the floor, needing to stretch after sitting for so long. The quietness in the bank basement was eerie, and she guessed the robbers had finished cracking the safe open and already made their getaway.
So much for being the heroine and saving the day. Instead, she was an utter failure in this adventure she found herself in. Not only hadn’t she discovered a way to free herself and outwit the crooks, but now she’d made a fool of herself with Bellamy. Again.
She hadn’t misread him, had she? His touch, his kisses on her fingers, even his putting his arm around her, had all made her feel as though he truly cared about her.
No one could kiss with so much emotion behind it the way he just had and then pretend like it didn’t mean anything.
No one else was present for them to impress like at the party, and he couldn’t tell her he was just acting.
“Bellamy?” She couldn’t let it go. It just wasn’t in her nature to do so.
She could almost feel him stiffen.
“What’s going on?” The question tumbled out. “For a pretend relationship, our kisses aren’t very pretend.”
He exhaled a long sigh. “I’m sorry—”
“Please don’t apologize.” Her chest squeezed. “Instead, give me the explanation I deserve.”
“’Tis a long story.” His voice was laced with frustration.
“We have plenty of time for a long story.” They had nothing but time at this point.
“Oh aye, so we do.”
She waited for him to keep going, to reveal that perhaps he already had a secret relationship with another woman, or that he wanted to wait until he was famous with his painting before he allowed himself to get serious, or that he had a terminal illness that would prevent him from a long-term relationship.
Okay, so maybe the last reason was something that belonged in a fictional story. But the other two reasons were possibilities. “Do you care about another woman? Is that it?”
“Ach, the devil. Do you really think me capable of cheating, Zaira?”
“I don’t know. Then is it your art? You want to get established or famous as a painter before you get married, don’t you?”
He blew out another tense breath. “No, that’s not it.”
Her muscles had tightened with each of his answers. “Then what, Bellamy? Why are you avoiding whatever this is that is happening between us?”
There, she’d said it. She’d admitted their relationship was more than playacting. Thankfully he couldn’t run away from her, was trapped in the same room, and had to say something.
He was silent for another long moment. Then he spoke in a low, raw voice. “You should know something about the McKenna matchmakers. They’re unlucky in love.”
She nearly scoffed but then voiced her response as calmly as she could. “How so?”
“Matchmakers in my family, for as far back as anyone can recall, always end up in bad marriages. They’re lucky in finding love for others but unlucky for themselves.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“They fall in love, but the love ends up being a disaster, so it does.”
She tried to take in what he was saying so she could respond thoughtfully. “I’m sure matchmakers aren’t the only ones whose marriages start out with luster but then fall into disrepair.”
“But the matchmakers’ marriages always fail.”
“So you want yours to be different?”
“Aye.”
She could admire his desire to have a good marriage.
That was noble of him, since some men didn’t consider whether a marriage was good or bad, only that it was ordained by God and for the procreation of children.
On the other hand, he couldn’t let fear stop him from getting married.
“Did you ever consider that unlucky streaks are always made to be broken?”
“It hasn’t been broken yet.”
“Maybe we can’t sit back and wait for luck to decide the future of our marriages. Maybe we have to decide the future of our relationships ourselves.”
“Sounds like something Oscar would say.”
“Or you.”
He shrugged. “The matchmakers have advice on relationships for everyone else, but they can never make the advice work for themselves.”
“I think I’ve also heard Oscar say that happiness in a marriage doesn’t happen by chance, that happiness is a matter of choice.”
“He didn’t choose it, that’s for certain.” The bitterness in Bellamy’s tone took her by surprise.
She knew Bellamy’s mam had died before the McKennas immigrated, but he hadn’t spoken much about her, even last night during their conversations about their families. “You may not want to talk about this, Bellamy. But if you’ve a notion to, I’d like to hear about your mam and Oscar.”
Bellamy hesitated, then shifted, as though he was leaning against a wall. “My mam told me that Oscar was her knight in shining armor, that he rescued her from a terrible home and took her away so they could have their fairy-tale life.”
She smiled. “It’s hard to picture Oscar as a knight in shining armor.”
“He always loved the craic, the grand times, the late nights.”
“Now, that doesn’t surprise me because he still does.”
“Oh, aye. If there’s a party to be had, Oscar Fingal McKenna is sure to be present.”
“Your mam was the same?”
“If truth be told, she liked the craic more than Oscar.”
“Then they must have made quite the pair.”
“Everyone said they were a perfect love match, and never did a fellow adore a woman as Oscar adored her.” Bellamy’s tone suddenly turned sad.
“What went wrong?”
“She loved to paint and would spend hours and hours at it. And he never supported her in it, even tried to get her to quit.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.” Zaira knew that was a possibility with her writing, that her future husband might not support it, especially once she had children and was busy with her family. “I’m sure it’s difficult for any mother to find the balance between her family and what she loves doing.”
“I admit, Mam wasn’t always good with that balance. She was gone a lot—gaining inspiration for the painting, or so she’d said. And when she was home, she spent nearly all her time painting.”
“Then you painted to be with her?”
“Aye. ’Twas the only time she noticed me.” His admission was soft. “In my childish mind, I thought that if I was good enough at painting, maybe she’d want to be with me more.”
“So you tried harder?”
“I practiced all the time.”
“But it didn’t keep her attention?”
“She loved showing me all her techniques and helping me with my paintings. But it never lasted long.” He fell silent, and the hurt of the past seemed to rise like a living phantom.
“She must have been really talented.”
“She was amazing.”
“So are you, you know. You take after her.”
“Thank you.”
Zaira could only imagine how much he’d wanted his mam’s attention and approval. Maybe that’s why Oscar hadn’t supported her painting. “Do you think Oscar got frustrated with her because he wanted her to be a better mother to you and your sister?”
“’Tis possible. But whatever the issue, he could have been a more encouraging husband.”
She waited for Bellamy to say more about it, but he lapsed into silence.
Her mind turned over and over with everything he’d revealed, and she tried to fit together all the pieces.
Seeing his parents’ marriage fall apart had confirmed his belief that matchmakers were unlucky in love.
Now that it was his turn to get married, he was afraid of having a bad marriage for himself.
But he wasn’t destined to have a failed marriage, especially because he was aware of the unlucky streak and the need to change it.
Armed with such knowledge, wouldn’t he be one step ahead of his da and the others who had come before him?
Bellamy could enter his own marriage ready to work hard.
He wouldn’t be leaving things to chance, would instead make the choice to have a good marriage.
Somehow she had to convince him to give marriage—maybe even give their relationship—a chance. “You can be a better husband than Oscar.”
“Rightly so. That’s why I’m needing to be careful who I choose.” His voice held a determination she hadn’t expected. “Which is why I’m taking my time and not rushing into anything.”
“Here I’ve been thinking that you just didn’t want me.” She tried to lighten her tone so she didn’t sound like she was pushing him to admit his feelings for her. Because she wasn’t, was she?
He didn’t respond.
Maybe he didn’t want her. Then why had he kissed her the way he had? “I’m confused, Bellamy. I felt something when we kissed. You can’t deny that you did too.”
Several more heartbeats passed before he spoke. “I’m not choosing a wife based on my feelings alone. When the time comes, I’ll choose based on solid qualities.”
“And what solid qualities are you looking for in a wife?”
“We’re not meant to be together, Zaira. We may have some attraction, but it’s not enough.”
“So you’re telling me you’re physically attracted to me, but you don’t like me as a person?”
“You’re a great woman and will make some man a fine wife. I’m just looking for someone different.”
“What solid qualities am I missing?” she asked again.
He sighed with exasperation.
“What?” she persisted.
“For one thing, honesty.”
He’d already made it clear he didn’t like all the lying and the deception.
And she could admit she’d easily allowed herself to become more and more deceptive, especially since she’d started trying to get published.
She’d had to make up excuses and hide what she was doing from her family.
Once she’d started being deceptive in one area, it had been all too easy to do so in others.
But she’d been honest with him about who she was, more so than with any other person, even Alannah.
Regardless, he still found her lacking and was rejecting her.
Wasn’t that ultimately what she was afraid of?
Wasn’t that why she’d kept her writing a secret from her parents?
Because she didn’t want to lose their approval?
She’d always felt that the ties to her family were tenuous, maybe because she was so often taken for granted or she’d had affirmation for who they wanted her to be and not who she really was.
If they knew about the daring and impassioned writer she was, they wouldn’t think she was so sweet anymore. What if they found her lacking and rejected her too?
“I know I’ve got an issue with honesty too, Zaira, and I’ve had a role in our deception.” His voice held regret. “Deception was a big part of my parents’ marriage, and it only tore them apart.”
“It’s not too late to work at being honest.” She wasn’t sure why she was trying so hard to convince him to fight for them. But a part of her couldn’t let go of the possibility yet.
“Ach, but that’s just it. The lying and deception are already right at the front of our relationship.”
“So, you don’t believe in fixing what’s wrong?”
“Since I’m fated to face so many challenges in my marriage, I’d like to start out on solid ground.”
“Oh, I see.” She couldn’t keep her frustration from swelling. “You’re looking for a perfect relationship with a perfect woman so you can hopefully have a perfect marriage.”
He didn’t offer a word of protest.
She huffed. “Good luck finding the perfect wife, Bellamy.”
“I won’t find a perfect wife. I know no one is perfect, least of all me. But if I can arrange perfect matches for others, then I can strive to find one for myself too.”
“Is there really such a thing as a perfect match?” Her romantic heart liked to think so.
But when two imperfect humans came together, weren’t there bound to be issues and problems?
“No one is immune from adversity. Maybe a perfect match has to do with how well a couple displays humility and perseverance and the willingness to forgive.”
A shout of alarm came from the area beyond the hallway.
She sat up, and she could hear Bellamy move as well.
Someone had finally arrived at the bank. Had they discovered the robbery?