CHAPTER SIXTY
Tierney
It was a mistake to go to the movies.
I saw that now, when we were sitting in the theater, surrounded by teenyboppers and couples, all of them more interested in Achilles’s face than the movie.
Achilles wore a baseball cap, the bill pushed low to hide his scars, but a jagged portion of his burned cheek was still illuminated by the giant screen’s lights, bringing even more attention to it.
At work, Achilles’s face was a weapon. But here, out in the real world, where no one knew who he was, he just looked…
scary. And I knew that he’d had options along the way.
Reconstructive surgeries he could’ve done.
But rumor on the street was that Vello liked that his son looked like this.
That he’d wanted his son’s face to match the atrocities he was capable of.
I wanted us to start collecting memories other couples had, things we craved when we were younger, but I’d forgotten we were no longer those people.
A pimply college-aged girl with a pink hoodie and a haughty sneer leaned to whisper in her friend’s ear in the row below us, her gaze flicking to Achilles’s face in the dark. The friend’s gaze traveled to the scarred side of Achilles’s cheek, and she gasped. They both started to giggle.
Guilt and anger swirled in the pit of my stomach.
“This movie sucks.” I swallowed hard, dropping a kiss to Achilles’s shoulder. “Wanna get out of here?”
His pupils were glued to the screen, but I knew he was registering absolutely nothing.
He’d had very few brushes with civilian life outside the Camorra before today and preferred it this way. His soldiers, business partners, and other underground leaders did not recoil from his face and didn’t judge him for it.
“No. It’s fine. I’m watching it,” he clipped out.
The girls’ hushed whispers grew louder, with the words “fire” and “shame about the face” and “but his body’s great” ringing through the air. I shifted in my seat. “Let’s go.”
“You wanted to watch a movie,” Achilles insisted flatly.
“Not anymore. It’s boring.”
Another wave of giggles sounded from behind us. This was ridiculous. I didn’t care that they were probably freshmen at some expensive Manhattan college. They were old enough to know better.
Shooting up to my feet, I swiveled around to face them. “Got something to say?”
The two stared at me, wide-eyed. Upon closer inspection, they looked like they could be twenty-three or twenty-four.
“Ah…are you talking to us?” The one with the perpetual sneer stubbed her chest with a pink, pointy fingernail.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you. You’ve been whispering about my fiancé for half the movie. He’s taken, by the way.”
The girls’ mouth hung open.
Achilles sighed. “Tierney, leave it.”
“No, I wanna hear what they have to say,” I insisted. “What was so funny? I wanna laugh, too. And it had to be good because, instead of ogling Henry, they were staring at my man.”
That made the brunette one—without the pimples—burst out in a laugh. “Trust me, girl, you can have him.”
“I wasn’t asking permission. You really don’t want to see what I’m capable of if you look his way one more time.”
“Is that a threat?” Pimply girl stood up.
The shushing theatergoers were now silent, and everybody was looking at us.
“Nah, it’s a promise.” I smiled.
“Okay, we’re done here.” Achilles stood and scooped me by the waist and tossing me over his shoulder. “You clearly aren’t watching the movie, after all.”
“Let me down. I want to fight them.” I kicked my feet in the air while he sauntered to the stairs leading out of the theater.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because they were rude to us.”
“No, they were rude to me. And I don’t give a fuck.”
“But I—”
“We’re finishing this discussion later.”
I had just enough time to look up and flip the two girls the bird before Achilles took us outside and placed me down on the sidewalk. It was chilly, but all I could feel was ire and heat for how they’d treated him.
“From now on, we’ll only do Camorra and Irish functions. I’m so sorry I brought you here.” I bit down on my lip.
“I’m not.” He pinched a cigarette between his fingers, grinning boyishly.
“You’re not?”
“When we were teenagers, I dreamt about a scenario where you were the jealous one. This was as close as we’ve ever gotten to one.” He took a long drag of his cigarette.
I snorted, shaking my head. My heart rate slowed enough for me to take a breath and notice our surroundings. We were on a busy street. I grabbed his hand in mine and squeezed, heading toward an ice cream shop. “Is this…normal?”
“What? People whispering and snickering when they see my face?” He puffed a cloud of smoke, looking unaffected. “Pretty much. I’m used to it.”
My throat was thick with tears. “How do I make it up to you?”
“You already did.” He lifted a devious eyebrow, his stride nonchalant.
“How?”
“By loving me despite my face.”
The ache inside my chest grew.
“Besides, who says I’d have changed anything about what happened the night of the fire?”
“Of course you would have,” I spluttered. “I would, too.”
“Well, I wouldn’t. The scars you left were a reminder you were once mine. And during the bad times, they were what I clung to. The evidence that I had you once and that maybe I could have you again.”
“I don’t deserve you,” I said, and meant it.
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But you have me anyway. Forever.”