Chapter 25
EILISH
I’m getting some reading done for class in the kitchen of the Upper East Side brownstone when my phone rings. I grin when I glance down and see Cillian’s name on the screen.
“So, are you two just going to full-on move into that castle over there?”
He chuckles. “If Una has her way, it’s a distinct possibility.”
My lips spread wide and I gasp. “Really?”
A rumbling laugh leaves his throat. “ No . Don’t get me wrong, I could get pretty used to playing the King and Queen of Ireland over here. But there are things we’d both miss about New York.”
As if on cue, Bones pads into the kitchen and rubs his face against my shin.
“Things like the fuzzy little houseguest I’m getting quite used to?”
Cillian chuckles. “He grows on you, doesn’t he?”
“He’s definitely growing. Horizontally, that is. Castle’s feeding him way too much.”
“Well, we’re not staying forever. But we are extending the trip by another few weeks.”
My brows shoot up. “Oh?”
“Yeah. There are a few old friends of mine I’d love to introduce Una to.”
I grin. “Old friends of yours ? You sure you have those?”
He chuckles. “One or two. Adrian and Celeste Cross reached out when they heard I was here. And we’re going to meet up with Rose and Oliver Prince too.”
I grin. Rose is another of Cillian’s nieces, by way of his late sister, Saoirse. We’ve only met a few times, but I really like her. Her husband, Oliver, is cool too.
“Tell her hi from me when you see her. She should come visit New York again.”
Cillian clears his throat. “Got a second? I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure thing. About what?”
“Gavan.”
I swallow, my hand tensing around the phone as my mouth goes dry.
“I…”
“I can assume this is one of the reasons you’ve been avoiding coming back to the conversation about Brooks?”
“Amongst others,” I say quietly. “Look, Cil—”
“Eilish,” he sighs. “You’re an adult. You don’t need to explain yourself to me.”
My brow furrows. “Well, I know this thing with the McKinnleys could mean a lot to the family, politically speaki—”
“I don’t give a shit about that. I mean, yeah, I’ve thought about it and what it could do for us. But you obviously despise Brooks—for reasons I’d actually be very keen to hear about sometime, if you’d like to share,” he adds. There’s a lethal edge to his voice.
Part of me has almost told Cillian a half dozen times before about what happened with Brooks.
Or what’s happen ing , really. Because Cillian’s…
well, Cillian… and I know what he is, and what he’s capable of.
He’d go straight to Brooks’ house and literally skin him alive if I told him about what happened.
So yes, part of me has thought about that.
Often. But the thing is, Brooks isn’t just some regular trust fund brat douchebag.
His father is a freaking Senator, for God’s sake.
And I also don’t know how extensive the evidence he has against me is.
It’s bad enough that he has it at all. It’d be horrifying if he was killed and someone else got their hands on it.
“Nothing you need to go full Patrick Bateman about,” I joke. “He’s just a douchebag.”
Cillian sighs. “Well then, that’s all the conversation we need to have about it. Consider the subject closed.”
“Cillian—”
“It’s done, Eilish,” he growls quietly.
I smile. “Thank you.”
“But that brings us back to Gavan…”
My mouth twists. “Who told you? Neve?”
He chuckles darkly. “She wouldn’t turn on you in a million years. I have…people.”
“What, like spies?”
“Yes.”
I swallow thickly. Cillian sighs.
“Again, you don’t have to explain yourself.
You can make your own decisions, Eilish.
And for what it’s worth, I respect Gavan.
” He grunts. “I don’t like him very much, but I respect him.
And if you clearly like him, and you’re happy, and he’s treating you well, and you’re with him because you are choosing to be… ”
“I am,” I say quietly, blushing.
“Then I promise I’ll keep my skinning knives tucked away in the cupboard.”
I grin. “Thank you.”
“Just make sure Gavan is aware that if any of those points above change, there’s no measure I won’t take and no line I won’t cross to make him reevaluate his definition of pain and suffering.”
That’s not a joke, and it’s not Cillian being all gung-ho macho.
That’s who he is.
“Say hi to Una for me.”
“Will do. Take care, Eilish.”
****
It’s been a couple of weeks since Gavan proposed to me. Or at least, since Gavan put a certain proposition on the table and let it sit there. And it’s not that I’ve necessarily been avoiding the subject since then. I’ve just been…reluctant to bring it up.
Oddly, he hasn’t mentioned it again, either. Even though I fully understand what’s at stake for him and why he needs to get married in order to stop his aunt from seizing his empire.
I guess I’m just still confused why it’s me he’s asking.
I mean, why not some random girl? A girl whose family Gavan did not almost go to war with on more than one occasion in the past?
Or a girl he’s not “with” in the first place because of blackmail?
All this, of course, leads me down the rabbit-hole of whether I’m “with” Gavan at all or not. Yes, it does feel like we’ve moved way past the whole blackmail thing at this point. But even so, what are we to each other?
Does frequently sleeping with someone with whom you are exclusive, with whom you also spend a fair amount of time, make you “with” them?
I blink away the confusing thoughts, stretching out in the huge, ridiculously comfortable bed in Gavan’s bedroom—his actual bedroom. Like, the one he sleeps in. Not the one where he plays, where he took my virginity that first time.
Not to say that we haven’t spent time in that one since as well.
The blackout shades on the walls of one-way glass windows are already up, bathing the room in morning light. I didn’t actually sleep here last night, though.
We’ve never once actually spent the night with each other. It’s become sort of an unspoken thing.
But this morning—I blush as I remember it—I pinged awake at five to a text from Gavan with a picture of a huge bulge in his linen sheets and the message “Come take care of this. There’s a car waiting downstairs for you.”
That was two hours ago. I’ve been in his bed ever since.
I reach over to the bedside table for my phone and the double espresso he made me earlier.
It’s taken everything I have not to make a crack about the tables turning—how after weeks and weeks of me making him coffee, usually in my underwear, today it was Gavan who strode out of the room, stark naked, only to return with an espresso he’d made me .
Next to me, Gavan’s sitting up in bed, scrolling his phone as his hand lazily traces up and down my bare thigh.
It’s disturbing how used to all of this I could get.
Have gotten.
Blushing, I go to my email. Instantly, my dreamy, grinning morning comes to a screeching halt.
“ Shit !” I blurt, my heart sinking.
“What is it?” Gavan growls next to me, his hand instantly tightening possessively on my thigh.
I groan as I re-read the email. It’s Elsa’s birthday in a couple of days.
I know Hades has something extravagant planned for the two of them for next week, but tonight Neve, Callie, Nora and I were going to take Elsa to the Metropolitan Museum of Art for a private showing of the Impressionists wing, followed by a private dinner at the museum itself. .
Except, the email I just got from a very apologetic museum director informs me that one of the museum’s alarm sensors triggered early this morning, which means the entire place is on lockdown for the next day and a half pending a full security review.
My face falls as I relay all of this to Gavan.
“Ugh, I’m so annoyed! She loves Impressionist art.” My brows knit as I try to think about how I could possibly save the evening. I mean, Elsa’s pretty low maintenance. We could do literally anything , and she’d love simply being out with us.
But still—shit. I really wanted to blow her away with this.
“She likes the Impressionists?”
I nod glumly, paging through my phone looking for the number for the main office of the Guggenheim. It’s modern art, but maybe if I can get hold of the—
“Would the Bijou Gala at the Musée d’Orsay work as a suitable substitute?”
I stiffen, sharply snapping my eyes from my phone to Gavan.
“I’m sorry, what ?”
His brow cocks, a smug grin curling the corners of his mouth.
“The Bijou Gala, at—”
“I heard what you said ,” I arch my brows. “It’s also one of the most exclusive art fundraising galas in the world.”
“Indeed.”
“And it’s tonight .”
“Correct.”
“In Paris .”
“A-plus for geography.”
I grin as I playfully slap his arm.
“It also sells out a year in advance, and the tickets are a hundred thousand dollars each.”
He rakes his fingers down his jaw, looking at me impassively.
“You haven’t answered me. Would it suffice in lieu of a private tour this evening at the Met?”
I snort. “I mean, yeah . But it’s not a realistic—”
Gavan reaches for his phone and starts texting someone. “Numbers. You, your sister, Calliope I’m assuming, as well as Elsa and her sister.”
I stare at him. “Gavan, what are you—”
He barrels on ahead. “I’m going to assume there’s not a chance in hell Hades or Ares allows their wife to get on a plane with me without coming too, so they’re in.
” He frowns at the ceiling. “Castle can come, if he fucking behaves himself.” He looks over at me.
“Will your uncle and Una be joining us?”
“Uh, I don’t—”
“I’ll include them as maybes just in case. Then you and I, of course.”
He finishes sending his text and then rolls his neck. The phone dings in his hand, and he nods curtly at it.
“Excellent. We’re all set.”
My eyes go wide.
“I’m sorry, what just happened?”
“We’re in for the Bijou Gala.”
My jaw drops. “ All of us?”
His brow furrows. “Does Nora still pal around with Galina Kaminksi?”
“I…think so?”
“Ah. Then it’s ten of us with two maybes.” He texts again, and nods curtly at the instant response before dropping the phone. “We’re set.”
I blink. “How the hell did you just do that?”
Gavan smirks, yanking the covers from both of us.
“That Monet in your office…” I chew on my lip, blushing as he rolls over between my legs and wraps them around his waist. “That’s a reproduction, right?”
His mouth lowers to my ear, making me gasp as he starts to nibble at the lobe.
“ Right ?”
“What do you think,” he murmurs, making me gasp as his swollen cock head slips between my lips.
“I think…” I gasp, moaning, as he slides into me. “I think you just invited my entire family to Paris.”
“I’m trying not to think about how many ways this might bite me in the ass later.”
I giggle, grinning as I shift my weight and roll us over, with me on top of him. I groan as I slowly sink all the way down onto his huge, gorgeous cock and lower my mouth to his.
“ Thank you ,” I whisper.