Chapter 23 #2
"Cressida, love," he said, his voice softening as he addressed his woman. "Would you like to take a walk in the gardens? The lights are on outside and the weather is unusually mild. There's something I'd like to show you."
Cressida's face brightened immediately, tension leaving her shoulders. "I'd love to see how the roses are doing. It's been so long since we’ve—"
"Perfect." Ronan stood, moving to pull out her chair with the old-world courtesy that had somehow survived his job description. "Alexander, Aoife—please don't disturb us for the next two hours. We have ... business to discuss."
I wondered what he meant by that?
"Of course," I said, standing as they prepared to leave. "Take all the time you need."
I watched them walk toward the garden doors, Cressida's hand nestled in the crook of Ronan's arm, her face animated as she spoke about her plants and flowers. Whatever Ronan had planned, it was making her happy.
The dining room fell into silence after they left, the air heavy. Aoife remained seated, her fingers wrapped around her wine glass, staring at the dark liquid as if it held answers.
"That went well," she said finally, her voice carrying a bitter edge. "I can see why he's so successful. That threat was delivered with artistic precision."
"He meant every word." I moved around the table, settling into the chair beside her instead of across from her. "But he wouldn't have bothered threatening you if he didn't think there was something worth protecting."
She looked up at me, and I saw vulnerability in her green eyes that she rarely allowed anyone to witness. "Are you? Worth protecting?"
The question hit deeper than it should have. "That's not for me to decide."
"Isn't it?" She turned to face me fully, her knee brushing against mine. "Alexander, I need to know what this is. What we are. Because I can't keep pretending it's just physical attraction or temporary alliance or whatever other rational explanation we've been hiding behind."
My breath caught at the honesty in her voice, the way she stripped away all pretence and laid herself bare.
"What do you want it to be?" I asked, though part of me was terrified of her answer.
"I want it to be real," she said simply. "I want to stop looking over my shoulder for threats from the past and start thinking about the future. I want to trust someone completely for the first time in my life."
Yet, the moment these words left my lips, guilt clawed at my chest. What kind of daughter was I to end up like this, with a man I should loathe with all of my being?
"Even if that someone works for the man who destroyed your family? A rival?"
"Even then." Her hand found mine, fingers intertwining with surprising strength.
"Because maybe some things are more important than the past. Maybe some connections transcend blood feuds and family loyalty. And no, as I clearly explained, none of you truly destroyed anything. My father did that perfectly on his own. Cressida’s kidnapping was the last straw. "
All I saw when I looked at her was a woman laying her heart on the table, risking everything for the possibility of something real.
"Ronan might never fully trust you," I warned. "Not completely. There will be that shadow of suspicion."
"I know." She smiled sadly. "Perhaps trust is something that has to be earned over time. Maybe it's enough that he's willing to give me the chance to try."
Rather than respond, I tangled my hand in her auburn hair, pulling her head back as I claimed her mouth with desperate hunger.
She responded instantly, her lips parting, her tongue meeting mine in a dance I never wanted to end. I deepened the kiss, tasting the wine. Gripping her waist with my free hand, I pulled her closer until she was practically in my lap.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I rested my forehead against hers.
"The hunt," I said, my voice rough with desire and regret. "We'll have to postpone it. Two days, after Ronan leaves."
She nodded. "Two days, then. But, Alexander?"
"Yes?"
Her smile was wicked, full of promise. "I prefer your full name to Alex.” Her smile turned to a grin. “It will be worth the wait."
Two days suddenly felt like an eternity. I had to resist the urge to carry her upstairs immediately.
But for the first time since this whole mess began, we had time to figure out what we were, what we could become.
Time to see if love really could conquer all...
Was it love then? Not obsession, like Beatrice had. That was for certain.
We sat and chatted about mundane things for a while, and it felt refreshing. So normal and easy, the minutes just ticked by.
Two hours later, I took Aoife's hand and led her toward the garden doors. "Come," I said, curiosity getting the better of me. "Let's see what Ronan's been up to."
The evening air was cool against our skin as we stepped outside, and the scents of the garden embraced us. As we rounded the corner toward the main path, Aoife suddenly stopped, her hand tightening on mine.
"Oh my God," she breathed, her voice filled with wonder.
The scene before us was nothing short of magical.
Hundreds of candles flickered throughout the rose garden, their warm light casting dancing shadows across ancient stone paths.
White roses—Cressida's favourites—had been arranged in elegant displays, their petals glowing like pearls in the candlelight.
A small table sat beneath the arbour where climbing roses formed a natural cathedral, and crystal glasses caught the tiny flames like captured starlight.
And there, in the centre of it all, Ronan knelt on one knee before Cressida, a small velvet box open in his hands, a violin case open next to him, a polished instrument lying within.
Even from this distance, I could see the tears streaming down Cressida's face as she nodded, her hands pressed to her mouth in shock and joy. Ronan rose, sliding the ring onto her finger before pulling her into his arms and spinning her around as she laughed through her tears.
"It's beautiful," Aoife whispered. "It's the most romantic thing I've ever seen."
Before I could respond, Cressida spotted us and came running across the garden, her face radiant with happiness. "Alexander! Aoife! Look!" She thrust her left hand forward, showing off a stunning, glimmering emerald-cut diamond.
"It's gorgeous," Aoife said, genuine warmth in her voice as she examined the ring. "Congratulations, Mrs. Flanagan." She winked.
"Soon-to-be Mrs. Flanagan officially." Cressida laughed, wiping tears from her cheeks.
"And you'll never believe how he did it.
He had Willis bring my violin case from the music room—you know, the one he had fixed for me.
He secretly brought it here... well, when I opened it, the small ring box was nestled inside near my violin… "
She turned to look back at Ronan, who was approaching with measured steps, his usual composed mask softened by genuine happiness.
"He said he wanted to replace all painful memories with beautiful ones... That from now on, I do not need to worry about anything because he’ll always be here for me. " She swallowed.
Such thoughtfulness, the way he'd taken something that had once brought her anguish and transformed it into a symbol of love.
"Ronan," I said, moving to embrace my oldest friend. "Congratulations, brother."
He pulled me into a fierce hug, and for a moment, I felt the weight of our shared history—the boy who'd taken in a servant's son and the man who'd stood by him through everything that followed.
"Thank you," he said quietly, for my ears alone.
"For everything. For protecting what matters while I was away. I want you to understand I’ll never stop trusting you.
" He patted me on the back while I smiled. “And by the way. I hope you know you’ll have to suffer through being my groomsman. Get ready—details to follow.”
I laughed. “Suppose I need to organise a proper bachelor’s party then.”
“I’m fucked.” Ronan shook his head, but his eyes sparkled, and when he looked at Cressida, I saw nothing but peace and contentment.
When we turned to the women, his gaze found Aoife, and it held genuine warmth.
"Aoife," he said warmly. "I hope you'll join us in celebrating."
"I'd be honoured," she replied, nodding.
As Cressida dragged Aoife toward the candlelit table to share champagne and excitement, Ronan caught my arm, his expression growing serious.
"Alex," he said, his voice low so only I could hear. "I meant what I said at dinner. About family, about protecting what matters. But..."
He glanced toward where Beatrice's name had cast its shadow over our evening, then back to me.
"I wasn’t going to tell you this now, but I got word that Beatrice has disappeared again.”
“What?” All of a sudden I felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs.
“Brother, you need to get a grip.” Ronan held me steady. “I don’t have any details, but I spoke to my O’Brien liaison earlier. I am not about to leave you on your own to deal with this. I’ll be providing carte blanche and more men if need be. More security points. Whatever you need.”
I didn’t know what to say. My mind was still stuck at ‘Beatrice has disappeared.’ Fucking hell.
“Be careful," he said simply. "Love makes us vulnerable in ways we don't always anticipate. We’ll talk about this later. I don’t want the women to hear about this just yet. This is a special day."
I followed his gaze to the darkness beyond the garden's warm circle of light. Somewhere out there, Beatrice O'Brien remained a wild card. If she was alive, she remained a threat.
"I will need to tell her though," I said, watching Aoife laugh at something Cressida had said. So beautiful…
Ronan nodded slowly.
I clasped his shoulder, dragging my mind to the present. "Ronan? I'm happy for you. Both of you. You deserve this."
His smile was rare, genuine—the expression of a man who'd found something priceless. "So do you, Alexander. So do you. You have my blessing."
That was the first time he’d explicitly given his approval and confirmed full trust in me. Despite the setbacks, that weight at least was lifted off my shoulder.
As we rejoined the women, watching Aoife and Cressida bond over wedding plans and shared laughter, I allowed myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such madness after all.
Two days. Then we would create our own hunt, our own rules, our own ending.
And maybe, if we were very lucky, it would be a beginning instead of an end.
But in the back of my mind, a nagging worry persisted.
Beatrice O'Brien had vanished into the night with her husband's blood on her hands.
Patrick's condition remained unknown—alive or dead, no one could say.
And somewhere out there, a woman driven mad by obsession and abuse had slipped through our fingers like smoke.
The threat might be gone—which I doubted. It was likely biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike again.
I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the sound of women's laughter, and the promise of a future none of us had dared to imagine.
Whatever came next, we would face it together.