Chapter 47 Ronan
Ronan
"Yes?" Pixie's sweet voice did things to me no other woman ever had. Days of anxiety and panic faded until there was only her. How I longed to be with her, holding her curvy little body in my arms, hearing her needy little moans as she let me slide my cock into her perfect cunt.
"Say something, you fool!" My dickhead brother jabbed his elbow into my ribs.
The trip to Italy had done nothing to soothe his temper. Flying economy on Ryanair had that effect on most people.
Luckily for us, the flight attendants had fallen in love at first sight and showered us with free drinks. They'd have upgraded us to premium seats at the front, too, only the flight was full.
"I'm sorry," I blurted, having lost my mind somewhere over the Mediterranean.
"Sorry?" She sounded confused, and I frowned. Had she not seen the stupid post on Instagram?
"That Instagram post was fake, Pixie. The woman lied. I never fucked her last week, or even in the last year."
A middle-aged Karen in a hideous pink velour tracksuit glared at me from her plastic chair while her bald, fat husband stared at his crappy phone.
Clearly, vulgar language was a red line for her. Oh well. "She's a lying cunt, Pixie. The only pussy I want is yours."
Karen gasped and clutched her pearls like a Victorian spinster who'd just walked in on the local priest railing a nun. I half-watched as she turned puce. Shit, was she stroking out? No fucking way was I giving that old bitch the kiss of life.
Conal could take one for the twin team. I blamed him for this shit show. It had been his job to monitor Pixie's mental health, and he'd failed. Miserably.
Pixie sighed in my ear. "Declan explained the post was fake." I listened to her sweet breathing while Conal shoved me away from the Karen, who'd started filming me on her phone.
"Like what you see?" I yelled as Karen gasped in scandalized outrage. Conal grabbed me around the neck and hauled me off down a side corridor toward the restrooms. I let him, even though I was at least one inch taller and definitely bigger. In all ways.
"What's going on, Ro?" Pixie asked, sounding concerned.
"What's going on Pixie is that I'm losing my shit without you. I need you like I need oxygen." Dramatic, but not entirely untrue. "Please don't leave me." I wasn't too proud to beg.
Conal snatched the phone from me. "Sweetheart, we're in Naples. I'm sorry for whatever you overheard. Saoirse was out of order. I know you're upset, but we can figure this out."
I grabbed the phone back. "What he's trying to say is that we love you and if you leave us, we'll never get over the trauma of rejection."
Pixie didn't reply, but I could hear her breathing in my ear.
Panic welled up inside me. Had I blown it?
I'd never told a woman I loved her and actually fucking meant it.
Now I understood why people held back and waited for the other person to admit their feelings first. Being the first to say the L word was deeply triggering.
Like so triggering, I wanted to punch Conal in the face to soothe my emotional wound.
Putting myself on the line like this was fucking terrifying. It felt like the world had dropped away from under me, leaving me hovering over a black void. If Pixie rejected me, I'd tumble into the abyss and sink without a trace.
"Please say something!" I sank to my knees, ignoring Conal's furious glare. He might be mad, but I knew damn well he felt the same way; he was just too chicken shit to tell her.
"You love me?" She didn't sound angry, so I took that as a win.
"Of course I fucking love you!"
"Smooth," Conal muttered. "Real smooth."
"Pixie, I love you more than I love myself. More than I love the twin I shared a womb with. More than my pigs. Oh, and Petunia had her babies. 12 little piggies, Pixie! Our pig babies need you so you can’t leave me!" I pleaded. "I mean, us," I added when Conal jabbed me in the ribs again.
"You love me," she repeated. I belatedly wondered if Dec was listening to this conversation. He might not be happy to know Pixie and I were getting married as soon as I could arrange it. Oh well, it sucked to be him.
Two pompous looking individuals with anti-stab vests approached from the left.
Had Karen fucking reported us for suspicious and threatening behavior?
She better not have accused us of being terrorists or some such shit.
I'd be fucking annoyed if she had. Talk about fucking racial profiling.
We Irish were bad bastards, but we were not usually terrorists.
The men said something to Conal, but I tuned them all out. As the more balanced of the two of us, it was better if he dealt with their bullshit.
"Pixie, I love you so much I'm legit worried my heart might burst from my chest, which would be fucking messy. Not gonna lie."
She giggled, and some of the tension in me faded away.
"You don't have to say it back, Pixie. But know this: Declan might want you in the US, where it's safer, but I'm coming too. As your personal bodyguard. With a special emphasis on guarding your hot little body."
"Like fuck you are staying in the US!" Dammit. Declan had heard me, and boy, he sounded pissed.
"Ro! Some help here!" I turned to find the two idiot security guards gesturing at him and looking increasingly twitchy. One had his hand on his gun and the other was barking shit into a comms device.
For fuck's sake. We'd only just fucking arrived. So much for staying under the radar.
"Pixie, we'll see you at Catania if we're not arrested."
"Arrested?"
"I love you, Pixie! To the moon and back!
" The fatter of the two guards grabbed my arm, causing the phone to slip from my hand, so I didn't hear her reply.
Things were about to get dicey. I hoped Declan's lawyer had nothing on her calendar for today, because it looked like she'd be busy for the next few hours.