CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Tierney
The next day, I came home from therapy, and a feral need to do something nice for Achilles slammed into me.
I didn’t know where it came from or how to stop it. It was like a volcano erupting out of nowhere.
I did kind things for people I loved all the time.
I had nurtured Lila, my sister-in-law, back to health when she was starving herself during those first few months of her marriage.
I had held Tiernan’s hand, day in and day out, when he was feeling suicidal, watching his chest move every night to make sure he was still breathing.
But I never made a big deal out of it and never considered it a show of my loyalty and affection. I took care of people around me not because I wanted to be nice or kind, but because I loved them so much I couldn’t bear the idea they were hurting or suffering.
This was different.
I wanted Achilles to know I was making an effort.
I wanted to show him that all of his hard work and efforts weren’t for nothing. That I was cracking, melting, warming to the idea of being domesticated after years of acting like my only chance at freedom was to be as feral and combative as possible.
Since I was hardly traditional wife material, I was short of ideas. Pacing the living room, I tried to think of ways to make him happy that didn’t include wrapping my legs around his waist.
I could shop for him, but Achilles had a unique style that wasn’t necessarily predictable. Every piece of clothing he donned looked exactly right on him, even though he could wear a tailored suit one day and shorts and hoodie the next.
I could take a pottery or art class with him, but he’d hate every minute of it and just pretend to be happy to appease me, and I didn’t want that.
There was only one stereotypical womanly thing I knew how to do and very well—cook.
I was very good in the kitchen. First, because I spent time in rather interesting places while Tiernan and I were on the run from Igor before we were reunited with Tyrone.
Second, because I was the only female in the household growing up, and more than me caving to societal norms, I recognized that all the Callaghan men were simply awful at making food and didn’t want everyone starving to death.
Knowing Achilles enjoyed home-cooked meals, I made sweet couscous with raisins and a hearty lamb and vegetable stew. Then, I realized he might want a bit of street food, so I fried some stuffed sardines.
When the clock hit seven o’clock and he still wasn’t home, I decided I had time to bake him a dessert and made him my famous date cookies.
At eight thirty, he walked through the door. By then, I was surrounded by dishes and fragrances of spices and baked goods. I also looked a little disheveled from all the hard work. I grinned at him in welcome. “Hey!”
He shouldered off his jacket, sauntered over in my direction with the intention of giving me a kiss, then froze in his spot, taking in all the dishes around me. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing. I made you dinner and got a little carried away.”
“You made me…dinner?” he asked, as though the idea was unheard of.
And I guess it was. To him. Because I’d spent so much time trying to hate him and being deliberately rude to him.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I know you like home-cooked food. But you don’t have to—”
“I…need a second.”
Abruptly, he turned around and stalked toward the bedroom. I stood in the kitchen, blinking in confusion.
Did I do something wrong?
Did I overstep?
I didn’t think I did.
But maybe Achilles wasn’t fond of trying new dishes. Or maybe he didn’t want me to touch his things. Although, none of these options seemed even a little viable.
Itching to go to the bedroom and ask him if he was okay, I forced myself to stay in my spot. He needed a moment, and I intended to give it to him. I swiped my finger over my phone’s screen, checking the time. I was going to give him ten minutes before I went there to check on him.
Achilles returned after eight minutes, just when I was becoming antsy enough to break my word and go after him.
He wiped at his eyes, and I noticed they were red-rimmed.
There was no way he’d cried, right?
Licking my lips, I didn’t dare move or breathe.
“Are you okay?” I croaked, achingly sad for some reason.
Was it really that surprising, that out of the realm of expectation, that someone took care of Achilles and not vice versa?
I guessed the answer was yes. His mother never really liked him—his words, not mine—and his father was categorically incapable of emotions. Then there was me. I’d given him some affection, some love, something to cling to, while we were kids, then took it all away abruptly.
No wonder he’d hated me with such ferocious heat.
“I’m fine. I’m just…” He stopped in front of me and smiled a bit shyly. “I’m just really happy that you’re here,” he finished.
That was all it took for me to eat the rest of the space between us with two steps and twist my fingers in his hair, drawing him close for a heated, passionate kiss. I tasted the cigarettes and coffee on his breath and vowed somewhere inside me to take care of this man if he’d let me.
When I released him from my kiss, he still looked a little dazed.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah…I think.”
“You think?”
“I’m a little shocked you made all of this for me. But, yeah, I am. I am hungry,” he said, stating the words to himself more than to me, trying to ground himself in the moment.
“I’m happy to be here, too, you know.” I ran my fingers over the jagged skin of his cheek—along the scars I’d put there. “And I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Yes, I know.”
“How do you know?”
“I won’t let you.”
My heart sank. Was he going to keep me here against my will? Was he planning on meddling with my life again?
He must’ve read the wariness on my face, because he gripped my upper arms and said, “No, I won’t let you leave because I’ll do anything, anything to make you happy with me.”
“Anything?” I scanned him from under the curtain of my lashes, the familiar warmth of his gaze filling my body.
“Anything.”
“You must have some red flags.” I smiled.
“When it comes to you? No.”
“That’s not possible.”
He shook his head. “Trust me when I say, Tierney, that where you’re concerned, I’m color-blind.”