Chapter 13
Amy
Ikeep my gaze on the shiny marble floor as my heels click across it. My grandfather chatters at the Irish Demon as we walk out of the hotel towards the car that’s been called for us. The Irish Demon walks next to me, his presence a heavy reminder of my fate.
I’m ever aware of his form next to me as we get into the car.
It’s a limo, and my grandparents slide into the side seats.
I slip in, my eyes darting around, trying to figure out where to sit.
I hesitate, moving to sit across from my grandparents on the other side seat.
But the Irish Demon enters the car behind me, gently tugging on my skirt.
When I look back at him, he slides a hand over my hip and pulls me towards him.
There’s a flash of memory of the dream I had in my head, my entire body tingling from his touch.
Apparently my body has decided to focus on that instead of the trauma I’ve endured.
My eyes widen, but I sit next to him reluctantly. He pats my back gently and then removes his hand to rest on his own thigh. My eyes dart around the limo nervously. My grandparents both seem to notice the interaction, but don’t say anything.
Instead, there’s a moment of silence before my grandfather begins to fill it with chatter about business again, but between my numbness and the fact he’s using a lot of names and lingo that I don’t know, I don’t really understand it.
It’s like he can’t stand silence, which I’ve never seen from him before.
He usually only talks to me when he has to, but evidently it’s a different beast dealing with a…
coworker. I don’t blame him. The Irish Demon is intimidating.
And he’s not helping my grandfather or relieving him of his misery.
He lets him ramble on and on like a fool.
I look at the Irish Demon out of the corner of my eye, only to find him already looking at me. His critical gaze is flickering between me and my grandparents, as if assessing the situation.
When the car comes to a halt, my grandfather looks out the window. “Oh. The Gilded Orchid? That’s…quite the choice, Alasdair. One of the finest, and most expensive, restaurants in the city.” My grandfather’s voice sounds slightly strained.
A deep chuckle comes from the man next to me, his long legs stretched out, his finely pressed suit pants and shiny shoes a statement, even from what I see out of the corner of my eye.
It’s not like I really looked at him as I approached them in the hotel, as I wanted to look anywhere but at the two men I’m dreading to dining with tonight. “Is that a problem, Astero?”
I forgot how delicious his Irish accent is. It’s rich and silky, like how I’d imagine a fancy whiskey would be. But just like the alcohol, something about it burns, too.
My grandfather clears his throat and hastily shakes his head. “No, no, of course not. I’ve been here plenty of times. Good food…beautiful atmosphere.”
“You haven’t brought me here,” My grandmother points out with a slight pout.
I find myself chewing on the inside of my cheek, even if I don’t quite understand why.
The constant tension in this limo is fraying my already broken nerves even further.
I feel my hands tremble, and I fold them together tightly so no one can see it.
My grandfather gives a nervous chuckle, glancing at the Irish Demon quickly, as if he didn’t want him to know that information. “Well, yes. I was going to surprise you for our next anniversary.” It’s a lie that none of us buy.
My grandfather likes to spoil himself with his riches.
That much is obvious. But in my experience with him, I’ve noticed that he doesn’t really like to spend his money on anyone else.
My grandmother is the rare exception, since otherwise she complains.
I think he does just enough to appease her.
I glance out of the corner of my eye towards the Irish Demon.
How much of our future marriage, if I could even call it that, will be like that?
He’s already setting me up for a cut of the docks only just to keep me from whining, that’s what he said.
Were these men all cut from the same cloth?
Probably. It takes a certain type of person to work in their industry after all.
The greed and selfishness required to have the drive they do makes things unsurprising.
Either that, or my grandfather has painted a biased picture of me, and the Irish Demon believes it.
Alasdair exits the car first, not even acknowledging my grandparents’ little back and forth.
I scoot towards the door to leave, and I’m surprised to see his hand reach towards me, a silent offer to help me out of the limo.
His hand is calloused, with a ring on the thumb.
It’s gold, with a large red ruby-like gem on top.
My hand slides in his, and his fingers fold around mine, firmly grasping my hand and actually helping me out. I find myself standing before him, blinking up into those steel blue eyes that always seem to be analyzing me. Are they searching me for faults? I’m sure he’s already finding plenty.
He steps to the side, pulling me with him so my grandparents have room to depart the vehicle.
His hand slides around my waist, the heat of his hand seeps down to my skin, igniting it.
I take a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill my lungs, the two sensations contrasting with each other and making my head spin.
His touch distracts me from the constant blaring noise of the city.
I notice how my grandfather gets out first, but steps to the side, not offering my grandmother any assistance. Still, she acts like the perfect lady, sliding out with a grace that I don’t think I’ve ever exhibited a fraction of in my life.
The limo leaves, and I move to lag behind the group as usual, letting others lead the way, but the man next to me has a different idea. He takes charge, stepping forward to enter the restaurant first, but his hand is still on my waist, so I’m practically dragged along with him.
There’s live music playing as we step in, a smooth jazz that fills the establishment with a lively, classy feel.
My heels click softly against the dark wood of the entrance, a black chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and fine paintings on the walls.
The dining area is hidden from our sight by a large plant arrangement, mostly greenery, with golden orchids peeking out amongst the leaves.
The hostess podium stands in front of the plants.
A young woman looks up at us as we enter, a polite smile on her face. “Hello, how can I help you tonight?”
“I have a reservation for four under Alasdair.” The Irish Demon’s chest rumbles with his deep voice, his Irish accent making him sound sophisticated, like he belongs in a place like this. Maybe that’s a good reminder of how different we are. Pay attention, monkey brain.
I’m pretty sure it’s more focused on the Irish Demon’s hand on my waist than anything else. Dumb. But I can’t blame it for wanting to focus on that instead of the panic that’s threatening to consume me. It’s just trying to cope. So maybe not so dumb after all.
The hostess smiles prettily at him, glancing down and nodding. “Yes, sir. Right this way.” Her eyes scan me up and down. As she turns, it looks like she rolls her eyes. I take a deep breath, thinking nothing of it, but Mr. Alasdair’s grip on my waist tightens ever so slightly.
I can hear my grandmother talking about how pretty everything is as we enter the restaurant. My gaze is fixed on the floor to watch where I’m walking, but at her words, I look up. My eyes widen slightly.
Each table looks to be made out of dark wood, and has an arrangement of fresh orchids and candles on each one. The back wall holds a giant waterfall, and floral frescos decorate the ceiling. It looks like something out of a fairytale.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” That rich, Irish lilt rumbles into my ear, far too close for comfort.
I tense and don’t dare to turn my head, but just nod as I keep looking around, although my attention is far more pulled to the man walking next to me now.
“Shh, don’t be like that, leannán. I’m not going to bite you. ”
I purse my lips slightly. What did he just call me? It was pretty, especially in his accent. “I’m fine,” I say softly.
He chuckles, and the vibrations flow straight through my side until I feel it through my whole chest. “Fine? I don’t think so, love. You’re trembling like a rabbit caught by a wolf and you haven’t looked at me fully once tonight.”
Somehow, as I look out over the spacious restaurant, it reminds me of this morning, of walking through that dank diner, of the horrors I witnessed…
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to focus on the present so my panic doesn’t rise up and overcome me. But it’s difficult. Everything feels too tight, suffocating.
As we arrive at our table, the hostess puts down our menu and says something about our waiter, but I barely hear her.
As I look at my grandfather, all I can see is him torturing those men earlier.
The Irish Demon pulls out a chair for me, and I smooth out my skirt as I sit in it. “Thank you,” I mumble to him.
I can feel his eyes on my face, searching it.
I pick the skin around my nails, trying to calm down.
I don’t know why this restaurant is reminding me of that diner, since they’re practically worlds apart, but it is.
I could even smell the moldy, stale scent of it for a moment, and it makes my throat feel tight.
“Leannán? Are you all right?” He taps my arm, and I hastily nod.
“Not very convincing, little one. Try again. Did they do something to upset you? Or was it the bitch that brought us to our table?” I shake my head.
He’s quiet for a moment, and then his voice is raspy, almost hoarse.
“I don’t believe you. I’ll have her fired. ”