Chapter 25
CATRIONA
“The flight will be about ten hours or so,” Aiden says as we board the luxury jet the next week, his voice dripping with that infuriating self-possession. “You can sleep most of it, if you want.”
I glance at him over my shoulder, my nerves simmering just beneath the surface.
Under any other circumstances, I would be ecstatic to visit Ireland, but in the aftermath of all that’s happened, it’s the last place I want to be.
I close my eyes as we settle into our seats and go over the steps again.
We’ll fly into Dublin. Drive across to Doolin where Aiden has a house. Then the day after, we’ll go to Cian’s monstrosity of a former castle turned hotel, turned fortress, where we’ll meet Mary. And the rest of the heads of each Clan. I don’t know which part I’m most nervous about.
Remembering to respond, I say, “Sure, thanks.”
It helps that Aiden is distracting. So thoroughly distracting.
I don’t know what we’re doing together, but it’s enough to quiet my brain.
Somehow, I keep coming up with the moment I had him on his knees.
The ravaged beauty on his face as pleasure ripped through him.
It should make me sick, but all I feel is powerful. I’d done that.
There’s a sickness beneath my skin demanding I do it again. And again.
“What rules will you have for me now? No leaving the confines of whatever hellscape is my prison? No sightseeing? No leaving the bodyguards behind? Hell, you may as well slap me in handcuffs and gag me.” Bren and Tadhg lumber onto the aircraft after us.
It helps to resort to our earlier back-and-forth ways.
That, I understand. That, I can control.
“That can be arranged. If you weren’t determined to escape them every chance you get, maybe I’d give you more freedom. But I promise you, the last thing you want to do is run into a rival Clan unprotected.”
“I promise I’ll be a good little girl and stay near the house. If I leave, I’ll take Ren and Stimpy with me.”
He lifts a hand and ghosts it over my cheek. My body goes as tight as a bow string. A smile teases his lips. “This will all be over soon. I promise.” His brows lower, and the laughter leaves his face. “If all goes well, you won’t have anything to worry about for a long time.”
My conversation with Mara tugs at my memory, and despite the rational voice in my head screaming it’s a bad idea, I say, “Tell me about your mother.”
I don’t expect him to answer, but he says, “Why don’t I tell you what she was like when she met my father first?
” At my nod, he continues, passing the time as they ready the jet.
“She went to school for history. Loved nothing more than a stack of books and a cup of tea. Met my father at a library, but she didn’t learn until later that he was only there because he followed her in. ”
“That sounds familiar,” I snark.
“He kept showing up until she agreed to a date. She was a soft, kind soul. Loves roses and has the greenest thumb you’ve ever seen. My dad was crazy in love with her.”
“Must have been nice.”
“It’s why Cian killed him, you see. He’d been in love with her, too.”
The words come from nowhere as the jet lifts off. I don’t know if it’s the sudden motion or the frankness with which he speaks that takes my breath away.
“I found out much later that he’d been planning it since before I was ever born.
Maybe from the moment my parents met, and she chose my father over Cian.
He didn’t care about her roses or her books.
He cared about collecting her. Having her because she belonged to my father.
” He looks off in the middle distance and huffs a breath.
“And he’s spent most of my life lording her over me because I’m my father’s son. ”
I’m afraid to speak, but I don’t want him to stop. It’s like I’m getting access to forbidden knowledge. Precious. Terrifying. “Why—”
“Because he harbored a lifetime of resentment toward me for all the things my father had, and he didn’t.”
“We have to do something to save her.”
“That’s not for you to worry about,” Aiden says, as though it’s that simple.
He gestures to the flight attendant, his tone shifting to one of polite authority and clearly trying to change the subject.
“My wife gets motion sickness on flights. Could you bring us a glass of ginger ale with ice and two meclizine, please?”
“Right away, Mr. Aiden,” the flight attendant replies.
I stare at him, gobsmacked and off-kilter. Momentarily distracted from our conversation. “How do you know I get motion sickness when I fly?”
He gives me an unimpressed glance. “You’re my wife,” he answers, as though it’s that simple.
I’m about to demand a more detailed explanation when the flight attendant returns with the drink and medication. Aiden passes them to me without another word, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be attending to my needs.
“Thank you so much. If you don’t mind, we’d like privacy until it’s time for dinner,” he says smoothly.
“Of course.” She reaches into the storage panel above our seats. “Here are your blankets and pillows. Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll close the window panels and privacy screen.”
“Thank you,” Aiden says, his attention already back on me.
I stare at the glass in one hand and the medication in the palm of my other. I don’t want to feel like we have anything in common, but we do. I’m willing to risk anything to find out what happened to my mother. And he’s willing to kill to free his.
“Take the medicine, Catriona,” he urges. “I promise it’s safe, and you’ll enjoy the trip more if you aren’t nauseated.”
I shake my head, but for once, I do as I’m told and swallow the pills with a sip of ginger ale.
My hands clutch the armrests as the plane climbs, and I don’t even realize Aiden’s arm is beneath mine until we’re well into the sky. Even then, he turns it underneath mine and holds my hand until the medicine takes me off to a fitful sleep.
What’s even more shocking is… I let him.
The ride from the small, private airport an hour outside of Dublin takes a few hours, during which I fall in and out of sleep.
Aiden grows more and more tense the closer we get to our destination, and I spend it staring out the window as the countryside blurs around me, wishing my mother were alive to go on this trip with me.
She and my father had met in Ireland. He’d been visiting family in Dublin—his parents were first-generation American immigrants—and she’d been learning the ropes of her father’s shipping corporation.
Supposedly, it had been love at first sight.
Within six months, they were married, expecting me, and living in New Orleans.
She’d never returned to work or got to go back to Dublin like she’d wanted even though she used to tell me those were some of the happiest moments of her life.
I can almost feel the ghost of her next to me as the green hills dotted with sheep race by.
My chest aches with longing, but I force myself to suppress the emotions building and steady my breathing.
Aiden knocks on my window. Giving myself a little shake, I realize the car has stopped.
He’s standing outside my door, surrounded by vast fields of tall grass.
Beyond him are pastures full of fat, lazy cows, and even farther, the fields give way to nothing but deep blue water as far as I can see.
Despite myself, my heart catches in my throat.
I’ve seen many beautiful things in my life, but nothing has compared to this.
Aiden opens the door for me, but I ignore him to take a step closer to the cliffs, the water. I barely notice the sprawling stone structure to our left. My feet carry me a few steps toward the path that leads to the cliffs when he takes my arm.
I jerk in his grasp and whirl. “Can’t we—”
His silver eyes dance with amusement, as though he enjoys riling me up, but he releases my arm.
“Settle, darlin’. There’ll be time to see the cliffs, but first, you need to eat.
They’ve left us dinner inside the house.
” He jerks his chin at the cottage settled among the fields of grass.
“Bren and Tadhg are in the guest cottage down the way so they can keep an eye on the road.”
“Who left us dinner?” I ask, ignoring the rumbling in my stomach.
“The couple who I’ve employed as caretakers for the house. It’s been a long time since I’ve been home, and I’m afraid they’ve gone overboard as a result. Humor me about this, and I’ll take you on a tour after you’ve eaten. They’re good people.”
As he speaks, I see a curtain flutter in a window, and my stomach growls again. He’s not wrong about eating. I’m starving, having slept most of the flight.
“Food sounds wonderful,” I answer.
Aiden nods to the driver, who moves to the trunk to unload our luggage. He takes my hand again and leads me to the red front door. When I pull away, he looks at me but doesn’t comment.
The house isn’t much to speak of from the outside, but the breathtaking landscape overshadows it.
The red door is the only punch of color against acres of gray stone and fields of tall sage-green grass.
With Aiden’s hand now pressed against my back (I swear now that he’s started, he can’t seem to stop touching me), I step through and find a small vestibule with several pairs of black rain boots lined near a closet door like little soldiers.
Next to them is a small table, where he tosses his wallet and keys before he moves to the left through a doorway.
I follow, taking in my quaint surroundings, feeling a little off balance and out of place.
This home is nothing like I would have imagined him to possess. It’s homey, quaint. Comfortable. I associate him with the elegance and opulence of his life in New Orleans. With gambling, guns, and blood. Machinations and manipulation.
My head reels as we enter the main rooms, skirting around a cozy staircase that leads to the second floor. Had his parents stayed here? Grandparents? What would his life have looked like if he hadn’t been born into the Irish mob?
A sweet older couple greets us, giving him a warm hug and kiss on the cheek.
I barely hear their words but offer a nice smile to them as they walk him through the house, presumably updating him on the amenities.
I’m too busy feeling jet-lagged and off-kilter to be more welcoming than a cursory hello.
I study the space and try to reconcile it with the man I thought I’ve always known. Had he ever been allowed to spend his days here?
A giant wall of stone divides the main living space, the living room on the far side and the dining room and kitchen nearest the front door.
A double-sided fireplace is in the center, filling the room with a crackling warmth.
All around are large floor-to-ceiling windows with views over the pastures that have incredible vistas of the cliffs.
My heart lifts at the sight. Traveling had never been very far up on my father’s list of priorities.
It was too dangerous. Too inconvenient. Didn’t work with school or his campaign schedule.
Then I had college and law school. There had never been time for anything I wanted when his needs were so big they blotted out everything else.
Maybe I can slip away while Aiden is doing… whatever it is he has to do. I can go to town and play tourist. Pretend I’m here with my mother and visit the cliffs. My heart aches for her so badly that I can feel it deep in my bones.
“Catriona.” Aiden’s voice breaks me from the melancholy.
I turn to find him with his hands shoved inside his pockets, standing next to the dining room table. “Yes?”
“Dinner’s ready. Guinness stew. Sit and I’ll bring you a bowl.”
“I can make it myself.”
He gives me an unimpressed look. “Do you always have to fight me? Sit down so I can feed you before you collapse.”
Now that I’m paying attention, the rich, savory scent of stew fills my nose and washes away any of my complaints. So I do as he says, but only because my stomach twists uncomfortably and I’m practically drooling.
He sets a large bowl, crusty bread, and a bottle of apple cider down on the table in front of me.
I tuck in without a word, nearly moaning at how good it tastes.
Because I’m not seated at a table with my father or his guests, I don’t bother with being ladylike. I finish the meal in under ten minutes.
When I look up, he hasn’t touched his food, and he’s pressed back in his seat, watching.
Always watching.
“What?” I ask, on edge, angry with myself for forgetting he was here, even for a second.
He clears his throat, unable to meet my gaze for once.
“I’m going to touch base with Cian tomorrow.
He’ll want us over for dinner soon. So you have plenty of time to rest and settle in before then.
I don’t know when I’ll be back, but the caretakers’ number is on the fridge, and Bren and Tadhg will be close by if you need them. ”
“Of course. I’ll be fine.”
The corner of his mouth lifts and crosses to me to press a sad smile into the top of my hair, which I try to ignore. “Try not to give them the slip. Don’t leave the property without them, do you understand?” I’m glad I’m looking in the opposite direction so I can roll my eyes without him seeing.
“Of course. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson.”
“I shouldn’t be long.”
“Just don’t come back with more tattoos of my name all over you. Or maybe you want to do my portrait this time, really drive it home how obsessed you are with me.”