Chapter 23 The Sneak
THE SNEAK
LANEY
Ronan was quiet when we returned to the little house on Monument Court.
I had learned a lot over the last several hours.
For one, these people could drink. I mean, really put it back.
It was shocking, really, how much alcohol had been imbibed at the party by his family members, his supposed friends, and the people who claimed to know him the best. I was starting to understand why Ronan had, if not a drinking problem, then at least a solidly unhealthy relationship with the stuff. He’d never been taught otherwise.
The next was that no one in this world ever said what they meant. Whether a compliment, jibe, or just a comment on the weather, every little statement seemed to carry loaded meanings, none of which I could read properly.
Lastly, they could do it forever. We left just after one, and the party was still going strong, and several of its guests were loudly talking about an after party with knowing looks Ronan’s way.
It became clear over the course of the evening that our night in Vegas wasn’t a one-off for my husband the way it was for me.
I found myself wondering just how many nights Ronan had lost to the unknown.
How many hours he’d given to self-medication.
“Are you all right?” I finally had to ask when he followed me into the bedroom at the top of the stairs.
“Huh? Oh, sure. Fine.”
I frowned, watching as he yanked his tie loose with harsh, absent-minded movements. Not even so much as a minor quip. Ronan was a lot of things, but vague was never one of them.
“Are you sure? You seem… off.”
He blinked, and a second later, his fatigue disappeared, replaced with the rakish mischief I had come to expect from him. That everyone expected him, I’d also learned.
I was starting to suspect it wasn’t anything more than a well-conceived mask.
“If I’m off,” he said as he padded back toward me, “I’m sure you can turn me back on.”
“That might be the worst joke in human history.”
His dark eyes met mine, and he opened his mouth, clearly ready to fire back another comeback.
Ronan, I had also learned this evening, didn’t back down in a fight.
He’d implied that in his youth, those fights had been physical, mostly brother pitted against brother.
But it was clear that these days, while his father was no less interested in forcing his children to battle it out, Ronan fought more with his wits than his fists.
Well, maybe not just his wits, I thought as he pulled off his shirt, baring the ridiculously chiseled chest and stepladder of a stomach that was entirely too Greek-god-like to be fair.
Then the mask dropped, and with it, he dropped to the edge of the bed with a huff, balling his shirt in hands. “Guilty. But, fuck, I’m tired. You can’t blame me for not being on point.”
I took a seat next to him and tentatively rubbed his shoulder. His skin was warm, dappled with a few freckles over his deltoids. Despite the fact that he’d kept my hand firmly in his all night, suddenly I felt shy at the contact. He was so big next to me. So immediate.
“You don’t need to be on point with me,” I told him honestly. “In fact, I kind of prefer it when you’re not.”
Once again, those eyes met mine, this time with a sharpness that shook. “Is that so?”
I nodded. “I promise.”
His hand came up to cup my cheek, and he watched me for a long moment while his thumb brushed over my cheekbone. Then, slowly, he bent down and set his lips on mine.
It felt good. Too good. But while I’d have been lying if I said I wanted him to stop, something also had me pulling away.
He pulled back with a confused expression. “What’s wrong?”
“I—nothing. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
He wasn’t buying it. “You weren’t expecting me to kiss you? Ari, I’ve been wanting to drag you out of that arena all night. It’s Friday. If I’m going to reach my weekly quota of orgasms by tomorrow, I need to get to work.”
I couldn’t help but smile. But when he bent to kiss me again, this time I pushed him away with a hand on his chest. “Ronan, stop.”
This time, he sat up fully, looking confused. “What is it? Be honest.”
It was hard to explain. But something about the combination of the contract, the party, his family’s intensity, and the realization that Ronan’s personality and Ronan’s mask were possibly one and the same had me a bit rattled.
Did you marry my son for money or for love?
How many people were going to wonder that exact question over and over again?
How could I claim the latter, or anything close to it, when I wasn’t sure I knew him at all?
“It’s just been a long night,” I said quietly as I stood.
He remained still, watching me with that sharp, dark-eyed gaze as I unzipped one of my suitcases and pulled out a pair of pajamas. I’d unpack in the morning. Right now, I needed sleep.
“I know we’re supposed to share a bed,” I said, waving at the yacht-sized mattress. “It’s in the contract. I get that—”
“Fuck the contract.” Ronan’s voice was solemn. “Ari, what do you really need?”
Something about that name made me still and turn to face him. “I need some space. Just for tonight. I need to process everything. The party, your family, what exactly we’re doing here. So for tonight—just for tonight, I promise—do you think I could have a room to myself?”
Ronan’s brow furrowed, and his hands gripped the bedspread hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He looked like he wanted to argue with me. Or maybe he was just stopping himself from pulling me back to him. I didn’t know why I wanted him to, but I also knew it was for the best that we didn’t.
“Please,” I added, just for good measure.
A magic word, indeed. His shoulders deflated, and he gave a nod. “Of course, yeah. Sure. You stay here, and I’ll take the guestroom.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that—”
“It’s fine,” he cut in as he got up. “My wife doesn’t sleep anywhere but in my bed. Understood?”
I should have said no. Should have told him we weren’t there yet, that maybe he should easy up on the whole “my wife” talk until we had a better sense of exactly what we were together.
But I couldn’t. I found I didn’t want to at all.
“Okay,” I said. “I—thank you for understanding.”
Ronan started for the door, shaking his head. “You don’t ever have to thank me for meeting your basic needs, Laney. Just be straight with me about them. That’s all I ask.”
“Okay, but Ronan?”
He turned back. Those deep bedroom eyes called to me, and this time I was gripping my pajamas, a chair, anything to stop myself from running into those big arms, where I had a sneaking suspicion I belonged.
Dangerous thing, belonging. Especially to a mercurial beast like Ronan Black.
“What is it, Ariadne?” he asked softly.
I swallowed. “Just… be straight with me too, okay? You don’t have to do it with anyone else, but I only want the version of you that’s real. That’s all that matters to me.”
He blinked, those long lashes casting a shadow over the bones of his face. “Good night, Laney. Sleep tight.”
The doors of Ronan’s nineteenth-century townhouse were original to the home.
The reason I knew that was that the solid wood blocked a lot of sound when they were closed and many of the old brass hinges squeaked when they opened.
Just like mine was doing when someone entered the bedroom about an hour after I had turned out the light.
I sat straight up in bed, clutching the puffy comforter to my chest as I stared into the solid darkness. The house was old, but Ronan’s room-darkening blinds were definitely not. Everything was pitch-black. “Who’s there?”
“Relax, Ari. It’s me.”
“Ronan?” I vaguely turned in the direction of the voice, which now seemed closer to the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Shhh!”
Suddenly, I was pulled back down to the mattress, my mouth covered by a strong hand while another equally strong arm yanked the covers up and over my shoulder.
Before I could fight him, the floorboards outside the bedroom shrieked under the clip-clop of what could only be a pair of women’s high heels.
“Shea’s here,” Ronan whispered into my ear.
I tried to twist around, but he wouldn’t let me. So instead, I took a bite.
“Ow!”
“Don’t gag me with your palm,” I whisper-hissed.
“Hard limit?”
“Right now it is. What do you mean, your sister’s here? I thought your family didn’t know about this place.”
My eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness. I could vaguely make out the outline of his hand on my white pillowcase.
“Shea’s the exception. Baby sister and all. I took pity on her when she was a teenager and gave her a place to come when she can’t deal at home.”
I managed not to point out that Shea wasn’t a teenager now, nor did I think she was without funds to find a hotel room or something like that in the city.
Ronan had told me a while ago that until recently, she had been based out of San Francisco and/or bouncing between friends’ yachts.
Now she was back, apparently trying to prove herself to their father.
It was the siren call of the Black family, apparently.
“She’s drunk,” Ronan whispered. “I heard her come in and managed to slip across the hall before she realized I was in the other room. If she caught me there—”
“She’d know something was up,” I finished quietly.
The hand at my waist relaxed a bit. I supposed it didn’t really matter why Ronan wouldn’t want his family to know whether we were getting along—contract or not, it was clear to me that perceptions were important in this family. So much so that none of them ever seemed to tell each other the truth.
We listened as the door to the other room squealed open, then closed. The house went quiet again, and both of us exhaled.
“So, can I stay in here after all?” he asked quietly.
“You only have two bedrooms. There isn’t much of another option, is there?”
His chuckled was warm against the back of my neck. “Not really, no. I could take the couch.”