18. Maeve
18
MAEVE
I can't get enough of these steak and eggs. After the exhaustion and everything I've gone through, I know this is what I need, and I'm devouring them. I'm starving too, so it's good that Brigid is so willing to do anything I ask as long as Ronan approves.
The doctor left a few moments ago, someone new. I don't know why Dr. Butcher didn't come but this new person, Dr. Olivia Burnside, was very nice. She asked me all the questions Dr. Butcher asked me and came to a very solid conclusion. She says I'm suffering from stress-induced exhaustion and maybe a touch of anemia since I've not been eating. Since I lied to her about my last period, there is no reason for her or anyone else to suspect that I'm pregnant. I like to keep it that way.
And since she clearly has been forcibly conscripted into Ronan's service, as was I—I could see the terror in her eyes—she probably came to a logical conclusion that I was here against my will too. Ronan hovered the whole time, which gave me zero chance to speak up, but what would I say, anyway? The second she saw my face, she knew who I was and addressed me by name. It made Ronan tense, though, so I wonder if I'll ever see her again or if they'll kill her just for knowing it was me.
As I chew my bites of sirloin carefully, I wonder what they did to make her come here. Did they kidnap her the way they did me? Was she here against her will? Did they take a family member or loved one and threaten them with death if she didn't cooperate? I shudder as I swallow and feel badly for being so sick, for needing a new doctor. It makes me worry for the original doctor.
"How are you feeling?" Ronan asks as he sits on the foot of the bed.
In his strange, twisted way, he really does care. If he didn't care at all, he would have left me vomiting on the bathroom floor the other night. Or he'd have beaten me and dragged me back to bed. Providing medical care and waiting for me to feel better, putting off other work to be here for me, they're all signs that somewhere in that black hole he calls a heart, he cares. It's endearing but scary too. I know what he does for people he cares about and what he'd do to make them protect him too.
"I'm okay… better," I assure him as I take another bite of food. Red meat and green, leafy vegetables are the best way to get my body to make more blood. That’s the only way to reverse this extreme fatigue, though I'm not sure how to combat the worst of the nausea except the Zofran, but the new doctor thinks that was a tummy bug. No new prescription for that.
"That's good…" He smiles, and it's a warm expression. "I was worried about you."
It's sweet of him to hover. Given any other circumstance, a man like this would be my dream. Waiting on me hand and foot—or having his staff do so because he's so wealthy he doesn't have to lift a finger. Both options are a dream come true. And the tender way he watches over me and wants me to do the right self-care habits the doctor gave me is slightly annoying but very caring. It's like I don't know who he is.
The image I have seared into my mind is the violent anger in his eyes when he saw that bloodied man. The flash of his fist all bruised and cut when his men dragged me back into the house after running. I know he hit that man. Who knows whether the man is alive now. And the way he shouted at me—it terrified me. How am I supposed to reconcile those images with the tenderness of this person sitting in front of me?
"You were?" I ask, disbelieving. It's such a stark contrast between his two selves. How can he be so extreme on both ends? Where is the balance? And would I ever be happy with a man right down that center line? Would he lean too far to the angry side and never be what I need? And why am I thinking like this instead of thinking about going home?
"Yes, I was. And I'm glad it's just exhaustion. I think we need to get you out of this room and do things you enjoy. I've given the order to my men to give you more liberty. A walk through the garden or a hot bath now and then. If you want to take a dip in the pool or stroll through my library and read, anything you want."
I take another bite of eggs and look up at his sincere expression. He's trying so hard for reasons I don't understand. Of course, I saved his life, but this isn't how a grateful man acts. This is how a man acts when he's in love. But is Ronan O'Rourke even capable of love? Is he even able to feel something for someone else at all other than contempt? And if this isn't love, which I highly doubt it is, then is it an attempt to manipulate me into staying so he doesn't feel bad about it? So he feels like he has control over my emotions?
"Do you know what I really want? What do I really need?" My question is a very sincere one. Because I could love a dark man. I could love a man who has hangups and sins. I could even look past some of those horrible things if I thought for a single second that he actually cared about my heart and how I felt. That's what's important, not the actions he takes, but the sincerity of his feelings and how he responds to my feelings.
Ronan sits in quiet contemplation as I continue to eat. I cut the meat meticulously into bite-size pieces and chew thoughtfully. The meat is savory, melting on my tongue. The eggs are almost cold now, though not getting rubbery yet. The orange juice tastes fresh squeezed, and when I'm finally finished and I set my tray aside, he sighs and nods at me.
"I do know what you deeply want and need." There's a tone of resolve and yet disappointment as he speaks. I take the napkin and wipe my mouth before I speak again.
"And what do you feel like I want and need?"
I lean back against the headboard and pull the covers up over my chest. I'm cold, and I know it's what Dr. Butcher said, that my thyroid is adjusting to the shift in hormones. If I were prescribing things, it would be healthy food, good exercise, and regular hormone checks, but I can't reach out for those. The idea that I'm carrying his baby is still too frightening. I'm tormenting myself about how to handle all of this, especially since he seems so adamant that I have to stay here.
Ronan takes a deep breath and stands, walking over to the window. He slides his hands into his pockets and watches something going on outside. His shoulders are squared, but I can tell his attention is still on me. Like he's agonizing inside over what it means to me to live my own life outside of his complete control. I can't even say at this point that I'd run away anymore. Maybe I would return to my life as a doctor and still be at his beck and call for sex, or for surgery… Maybe.
I may run, but that thought seems doubtful now, like the past few weeks have somehow made me change internally. Ronan is definitely the monster I think he is, but not all of him. His entire heart isn't dark. I've seen the light places there. I know he wants good for me. I know he wants me to be healthy. I know he cares. So maybe I wouldn't run.
The thought feels paralyzing but also like the right thing. The entire situation is completely messed up, but I've found him to be everything in a man that I'd want. And will I ever find that again elsewhere? A man with authority to beckon doctors to my side for a fever. A man to lavish me in whatever expensive thing I want without batting an eyelash. A man who makes my body come alive just with a flick of his eye.
These are the things I wrestle with because he seems so perfect at times. But I'm so terrified of him, his business, his family, the child I'm carrying and what it means for me. Would it make more sense to give in and just love him and let him love me? Not fight this anymore? See what sort of man he really is?
"When I was a boy, I found a cat." He turns to face me, hands still tucked into his pockets. I look up at him wondering where he's going with this. "The cat was very young, probably too young to be away from its mother. I was saddened by that. It was sick and feeble, and my father told me to put it in a pillow sack and toss it in the river."
He looks at me like the authority he is. His jaw is set. His eyes are glazed over. His shoulders are as square as a soldier's, and I feel the heat of his presence burning through me.
"I defied my father because death, in any form, should be a last resort. Death should be something that is chosen only when all other options have been exhausted."
I feel my body tense and anger rising in my chest. If he thinks putting me through all of this and then babying me are his "resorts", that he's ticking off a list only to wind up with death as his final option for me, he's going to have a rude awakening. Even if that comes when my cold, dead body is lying in a morgue and he finds he murdered his own child.
"And I hid that cat from my father as I brought it milk and food and nursed it." Ronan walks toward me, and I feel my body cringe, but I try to seem relaxed. "When the cat was almost four months old, my father heard it calling to me. I was only ten years old. He found it. He put it on the kitchen counter in front of me, and he took a rolling pin and beat it on the head to knock it out. Then he screamed at me that following orders was the only proper thing."
I swallow hard, not wanting to hear the end of this story. His father seems more cruel than any person I've met. Who could do that to a kitten? Why do that?
"Am I the cat?" I ask timidly, and Ronan takes his hands out of his pockets and sits on the side of my bed.
"Maeve, I am protecting your life here, whether you believe me or not." His hand rests on my knee, and I see the compassion in his eyes. I've never seen this before. I see the affection there, and it moves me.
"But what if things weren't this way?" I scoot forward, taking his hand and lacing it through mine. He seems moved by that, glancing down at my hand in his and then back to my face.
"What do you mean?" His eyes search mine.
"What if instead of allowing your family to kill the cat, you show them the cat isn't scary or harmful and that by being generous to the cat, you've created something new, something precious? A pet to keep and…" I get choked up as I think of only one thing—freedom. Whatever form it comes in. I need it.
"What are you saying?" he asks, tilting his head. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand, and I sigh and my shoulders drop.
"I'm saying, what if I can be trusted, Ronan? What if I can take the oath your doctor took? The one your new doctor will take. What if instead of putting me in a body bag to leave here, we have an understanding, a relationship?" That last word is a knife in my heart because I'm not sure I know whether I can do that or not. But I'm not sure if I have a choice. Not with the fetus inside my womb.
"I…" He sighs, and I see the tiniest shake of his head as he thinks about what I'm saying, and then we both hear a shout down the hall. He sits straighter and listens, and whatever it is, it sounds urgent. "I'll be back," he says, but before he leaves, he leans forward and kisses me roughly. His lips glide across mine, stubble scraping my face, and for once, I finally don't want him to leave. And it's not because I don't have his answer. I feel close to him.
But he gets up and runs out, and I'm left feeling distraught. I'm actually considering making a pact with the Irish Mafia in exchange for freedom. Freedom that will come at a massive cost—birthing the Irish heir, and my entire future being tainted by crime. What am I even thinking?