Chapter 35 #2
“You’re embarrassing yourself, Rhiannon.” Dad’s voice is low, but hard. I can hear the displeasure in his words. Everything wobbles, glasses clinking, and if my eyes were open, I’d bet Mum has not-so-subtly given him a dig underneath the table.
When we part from our kiss, Aoife purses her lips to poorly hide a smile. She and Clíodhna high-five each other, and the men in my family scowl, but I don’t care.
Pete the Prick’s smarmy voice breaks my lust-addled haze. “How’s that women in sport piece coming along? Or have you gone for a more personal angle?” Then he winks over at me. What an arsehole. He’s clearly trying to get Robert in shit with my family and wind him up.
Robert’s knuckles are white, his jaw twitching with an enthusiasm that tells me he wants to deck this man. His leg is jumping and dancing under the table, a telltale sign of anxiety, so I slide my hand into his and give what I hope is a reassuring squeeze.
Once we get through dessert, the crowd breaks up a little.
After clapping Robert on the shoulder, making him wince, Pete moves to sit at another table.
Robert instantly relaxes, the tension that’s been radiating off him in strong and uncomfortable waves dissipates as he comes back to himself.
He leans forward and picks up my hand, planting a soft kiss against my knuckles. “Sorry. I know that was awkward.”
I nod, a knot in my chest releasing at the softness in his voice. “What? It was? Can’t say I noticed.”
That makes him smirk.
“You want to talk about that very not-at-all awkward hour where you looked like you’d messed your pants and were forced to sit in it?”
“Ew.” He scrunches up his face. “That’s… no. I can confirm I didn’t shit myself.” He shakes his head. “Also, thanks for the offer, but not here, not now.” He kisses my fingers again, interlinking his hand with mine. “Should we go get drinks for everyone?”
The point where his lips graze against my skin dances with an electricity that’s linked to a buzzing inside my chest. Is this what real connection feels like? I never felt this way when George touched me, not even in the early days when everything was new and exciting. Or supposed to be.
I don’t get to mull on it for too long because Robert’s curious blue eyes hold me captive. “Rhi? Should we get your family drinks?”
I press my thumb in the space between his eyes where the frowny lines still linger from scowling at his colleague.
Dragging my thumb down the length of his nose doesn’t feel alien, brushing it across his lips and along the curve of his jaw doesn’t either.
It’s familiar, comfortable, warm. Touching him is okay because it’s for show, but there’s a part of me that would rather we were alone.
And that’s a scary realization that I’m not going to say out loud either.
“Drinks, mmm. Sure. Drinks.”
His lips tilt, and it’s my favorite smile of his: knowing, familiar, almost secretive. A special kind of smile that I haven’t seen him give to anyone but me.
We order a round of drinks, Clíodhna moves to sit between Robert and Taranis, and before long, we’re all chatting like this isn’t an anomaly, like my family actually likes the man I’ve brought to dinner.
Dad never liked George, probably because he has a dick that was near Dad’s oldest daughter’s body.
He tolerated him and thought he was a solid match for me.
And while Mum seemingly liked George just fine, I’ve never seen her look as comfortable as she does chatting about houseplant maintenance with Robert.
As the night wears on, the warmth in my chest grows stronger. The anchor tethering me to the fake part of my relationship with the handsome man next to me comes loose. Looser. Like fresh fallen snow poised on the brink of a summit, creaking and straining under its own weight.
Primed.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Treacherous.
And the avalanche is about to come right down the hill and onto my head.
Somewhere around midnight, Robert convinces me to slow dance when the DJ takes a tea break. While his warm arms cradle my body against his firm chest, like it’s the most precious thing in the world, everything feels right.
At least until Robert’s body freezes, and Pete reappears. “Can we talk to you for a minute, mate?”
An older man with salt and pepper hair waits a few feet away, looking expectant. Part of me anticipates Robert telling them to go fuck themselves, but instead, he leans over, kisses my cheek and puts his lips next to my ear. “It’s my boss. I’ll be right back.”
I head to the loo. When I get back, I hover a few feet away as they still haven’t finished, but I’m close enough to catch what they’re saying.
“I told you, Robert. I’ve given you time. Pete says it’s ready to go. The editors love it. Just get the final story to me by Tuesday or you’re done.”
Robert’s shoulders bow, one hand dragging through his hair. He doesn’t fight back.
The Story. I don’t even need to think which story. I know.
My stomach swoops to the ground, the background noises dull, my body goes cold, and my throat closes.
Echoes of George’s betrayal, every warning my father has ever so much as whispered or suggested with his eyes, the press headlines, the glances from my teammates…
I’m such a fucking fool. Of course, a leopard never changes his spots. Of course, he was in it with me for the fucking scoop.
Of course, things between us weren’t in any way real.
It’s always the same story, isn’t it? Different man, same headline. I’m a fucking idiot. I thought I’d learned. Thought I could spot it before it broke me again. I thought—fuck—I thought he was different.
My trembling jaw and shaky hands at what I just heard makes me wonder.
Is he?
Doesn’t feel like it.
Biting my lip to stop the tears from falling and drowning in waves of shame and embarrassment, I back away.
I don’t want to face my family; they’ll know from the look on my face that something is wrong. They’ll know they were right. I was taken for a fool by the man who almost destroyed my father’s career.
So, I run.