26. Surrender
Surrender
Finn
I watch Triona from a distance, the only one in the room who gleams with a light all her own.
The gown wraps her in defiance, absorbing the shadows around her and amplifying the fire in her every movement.
She is a flickering flame amidst a sea of polished elegance, untouchable, hypnotic.
Her steps are graceful yet deliberate, but it isn’t her poise or the elegance of her dance alone that keeps my gaze locked—it’s the way she moves with Mannie.
With his smooth charm and effortless grace, he guides her through the steps as if they’ve done this a hundred times before.
His hand rests high on her back, fingers splayed possessively against the intricate fabric of her dress.
I see his thumb move, brushing lightly against her, and my pulse quickens, heat rising to the surface.
To those watching, they must seem the perfect pair—their bodies aligned, their movements effortless, their smiles exchanged as if they exist in a world of their own.
But to me, the sight tears at something raw and primal.
It’s like watching another man lay claim to what is mine—no, what should be mine.
What would be mine if I only dared to give life to my dreams.
For a split second, I nearly lost control—almost pressed my lips to hers, and dragged her out of the room. Let the world watch as I made it known she was mine, consequences be damned.
But I didn’t.
I’m a cursed man with a heart too full and hands too empty—and now I’m watching someone else touch the fire I’ve been burning for.
Each touch, each laugh she throws Mannie’s way sharpens the edges of my frustration, carving my restraint down to brittle remnants.
when she tilts her head, catching the chandelier’s light, her smile glimmers as if meant for no one but him.
Tension coils its way through my muscles, winding tighter, tighter.
I struggle to keep from acting on every primal instinct, screaming at me to rip her away.
“You’re staring.”
A voice cuts through the haze.
Bran steps beside me, casual as ever, his usual humour tempered by something more knowing. He watches me, watches them, and the weight of his gaze is unbearable.
I drag my eyes away from Triona. I can feel the frustration and pain bleeding through, despite my best efforts to mask it. My voice is tight, coiled with something I can’t quite mask. “How can I not?” I gesture toward the dance floor. “Look at them.”
With an exaggerated nod, he mutters under his breath, “I know. That dress is something else.”
I turn to him with a murderous look, my jaw clenching so tightly it aches.
He raises his hands in mock innocence, eyes glinting with amusement. “What? I’m honestly shocked at your restraint. I think I just saw a priest in the corner crossing himself. That dress is a religious experience.”
He has no idea how close I am to snapping. “Say one more thing, Mums. Just one. And I swear, they’ll be peelin’ you off the ballroom floor.”
That first glimpse of her in that dress didn’t just steal my thoughts—it obliterated them. The rush of blood to my cock was so sudden, so overwhelming, I thought I might pass out .
It wasn’t just lust. It was need . Raw, instinctive, all-consuming. The kind of need that makes a man forget where he is, who’s watching, or what damnation he might earn if he touched what he shouldn’t. I nearly stumbled under the weight of it—of her
But I won’t admit that.
What I admit—gritted out through clenched teeth—is, “I just want to cover her up so no one gets the wrong idea.”
He snorts, clearly not buying it.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling sharply before I add, “So no one else sees it and takes it as an invitation.”
A beat.
Then, more pointedly, “Especially not Mannie.”
He follows my gaze to the duo, his expression shifting from sharpness to something more cautious, even concerned, as if he’s measuring my breaking point. “They’re just dancing, Finn.”
“ Dancing ,” I echo bitterly. “It’s more than that to him. I can see the way Mannie looks at her, like he’s claimin’ what isnae his to take.”
His eyebrows lift, expression turning pointed as he considers me with the patience of a man about to deliver a killing blow. “Whose is she to take?” he asks, the challenge clear in his tone.
I glare at him, but his narrowed eyes cut through me, tenacious as he studies my face. His words hang heavy in the air, unspoken but implied: She isn’t yours, either.
“I’d say you’re not mad at him,” he says, his voice deceptively light, “so much as you are at yourself. Because he’s doing what you won’t.”
The truth in those words stings sharper than I want to admit.
Bran shifts closer, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “If you can’t give her what she deserves, someone else will. That’s the choice you’re making—every time you swallow the truth.”
His words slice through the chaos in my mind, cutting straight to the marrow of the fear I’ve buried for far too long.
“You’re just standing here, letting her slip away because you’re too afraid to take what you want.
And for what? Fear? Rejection? Judgment?
Losing her?” He scoffs, shaking his head.
“You’re already losing her, Finn. Right now.
Toying with fate as you continue to push her into the arms of someone—anyone—who will tell her everything you’re too afraid to say. ”
The weight of it lands like a punch to the ribs. My jaw tightens, frustration burning hot beneath my skin. “It’s not that simple,” I mutter, but even I hear the weakness in it—an excuse, flimsy and worn. A deflection to justify the weight of my hesitation.
Bran lets out a sharp laugh, not unkind, but scathing enough to snap me out of my haze.
“Not that simple? Gods Finn, the woman you want is dancing with someone else right in front of you, and you’re standing like a spectre in your own life.
She’s waiting for you… for you to show her she matters more to you than the fear in your head.
You have the chance to love her openly. Not all of us can afford that risk. ”
His last words stick, and in another time, I’d heed them—turn them over, dig for the meaning buried beneath.
But right now? He’s baiting me, dragging me out of the fog—and it’s working. I round on him.
“The last thing her mother said to me was to let no one impede her path.”
Bran steps into my space, eyes blazing. “And you already have. We both know you’ve already proven how wrong that was.”
I open my mouth, but he barrels on, not giving me the chance to deflect.
“In fact, we’re all so far off the so-called path that we’ll likely never find it again.
” He huffs out a bitter laugh, something haunted behind it.
“And you know what? That’s all right. Maybe the old path was never meant for us.
Maybe what matters now is what we choose in the mess we’re in— who we choose. ”
My pulse pounds in my ears. “You think I dinnae want to? You think it doesnae gut me to see her in his arms?”
“Then fucking do something about it,” Bran fires back, his voice rising enough to draw a few passing glances.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t back down.
He places a hand on my shoulder, his tone razor-sharp. “Stop hiding behind excuses. Stop letting fear control you. Grow a damn spine and show her she matters before it’s too late.”
Then, softer, he adds, “And if you don’t, I swear on every cursed step we’ve walked together, I’ll remind you of your stupidity every day for the rest of your miserable life. With graphic detail. ”
He flashes me a wicked grin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t make me do that. Neither of us would enjoy it. Well, I might, but you’ll go mad before I let up. ”
I snort, the sound low and bitter. “You’re a bastard.”
My eyes drift back to Triona just in time to see Mannie’s hand shift again, this time settling brazenly on her hip as the music slows. My heart stutters as I see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her body stiffens at the move.
That’s all it takes for my resolve to shatter like glass underfoot.
“Mac, calm down—” Bran begins, but the words are distant, lost beneath the roaring in my ears. I shrug off his grip, the world narrowing to a single point.
The sight of Mannie as he leans in, murmuring in Triona’s ear.
Unrelenting frustration mounts with each passing second. Bran’s attempts to rein me in is laughable.
“Finn! I wasn’t suggesting you handle it so abruptly,” Bran whisper shouts, realising the fire he’s stoked has grown beyond his control.
I cross the floor in a few quick, deliberate strides as a lifetime of restraint unravels in an instant. The moment I reach them, Mannie’s smug expression only fuels the fury burning within me.
“Ah, Finnis,” Mannie drawls, voice oozing mockery. “What seems to be the matter?”
“I believe you asked for one dance.”
“Is there a problem with taking more? Your face suggests I have somehow touched a nerve,” he says, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “But I suppose it must be challenging, standing back while someone else gives her the attention she deserves.”
I grab Mannie’s shoulder roughly, yanking him away from Triona without hesitation. One moment he’s standing tall, the next he’s sprawled across the polished floor.
Gasps ripple through the nearby crowd. A few heads turn—enough to draw attention, but not enough to raise alarm. Triona’s hand flies to her mouth, her wide eyes darting between me and Mannie, who lies sprawled on the floor, rubbing his jaw.
“Whatever was that for?” he sneers, each word dripping with a patience so practiced it borders on contempt, even as he struggles to push himself upright.
I step closer, my chest heaving as I fight to control the storm inside me. “You had yer hands all over her like she was yers to take.” My glare narrows, unyielding. “And that’ll never be an option for you.”