Chapter 17
Amy
Ipull on my ‘Walmart wares’, as Alasdair called them, which are just jeans, a cardigan, and Converse. I’m trying not to rub my eyes from tiredness. I’ve already applied some mascara, and I don’t want to mess it up.
I sip on some of the juice that he sent yesterday as I wait for it to be nine.
My stomach is in knots as my mind goes over the possible scenarios that could happen today.
Alasdair didn’t say what we’re going to be doing, and that really makes me nervous.
I don’t feel prepared, and it’s hard not to have flashbacks to that morning with my grandfather two days ago when I felt the same way and ended the day traumatized.
I grab a water bottle and my bag before heading downstairs to the lobby. It’s eight-forty-five, but I can’t wait around. I’m too nervous. I’d rather wait for him down there than in my room.
The lobby is already a hub of bustling activity, mostly people going to the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast and the cafe for their morning coffee.
There’s a group of tourists looking around the lobby, snapping pictures.
I can’t say I blame them. With fine art on the walls, marble floors, and the sparkling chandelier, it’s a gorgeous sight.
Not to mention all the flower sculptures, the lavish furniture to lounge around on, and the plush rugs in the sitting areas.
It’s a gorgeous place to be, even if I don’t feel like I belong.
I go over to the sitting area and lean against a marble pillar, not wanting to sit on the fancy furniture.
I’d be anxious the whole time about staining it or something.
People flutter about from place to place, the sound of their footsteps echoing throughout the open lobby.
I glance at the chandelier that hangs over the seats.
It’s not as grand as the main one by the front desks when you first walk in, but it still screams opulence.
I’m startled out of my thoughts by a voice, low and deep, speaking over my shoulder.
“What are you looking at, leannán?” I practically jump out of my skin.
Mr. Irish Demon himself is leaning against the same pillar just behind me.
He follows what my line of sight was, but doesn’t seem to know what to look at, his eyes flickering about, searching for something interesting.
I shift on my feet a little. “The chandelier.”
He turns to regard me with an arch brow. “The chandelier? What’s so interesting about that?”
I shrug. “It’s pretty.”
He chuckles. “You really aren’t used to extravagance, are you?
” His eyes look me up and down, and suddenly I feel underdressed, even though he told me not to worry about wearing anything special.
“I like your Walmart attire.” His gaze is intense, almost heated.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was attracted to me.
But that’s laughable, since there’s nothing arousing about my baggy sweater and jeans.
Even so, a thrill of desire spikes up my spine unexpectedly, and I have to shake off the lust that zips up my spine from his expression being so close to what I imagined in my horny daydreams yesterday.
“Thanks.” I tug on the sleeves of my maroon cardigan a bit, not sure if he was being sarcastic or not. “I hope it’s okay. I wasn’t sure how to dress since I don’t know what we’re doing today.”
His expression softens. It almost looks strange on him, like the muscles in his face aren’t familiar making that. “It’s fine. I hope you’ll enjoy what I have planned. Are you hungry?”
I think for a moment to assess my hunger levels, and then nod.
He chuckles and offers his arm to me. “Good. How does a light breakfast in the hotel’s tea room sound?”
I’ve only seen peeks of the tearoom, having passed it on the way to one of the restaurants with my grandparents. The classy white and gold decor had caught my attention. “Sounds nice.” I loop my arm through his.
He nods and pats my hand with his free one as he leads us through the lobby. My skin suddenly feels very sensitive and aware of his touch. “I’m glad, because I got a reservation for us. Speaking of food, did you like what I sent yesterday?”
I almost forgot to thank him for that, so I’m glad he brought it up. “It was wonderful, and a pleasant surprise. Thank you so much. It’s very thoughtful of you.”
He smirks a little, and I hate how it sends butterflies fluttering around in my chest. You’re being a silly, naive girl. “You’re welcome.”
I can’t help but notice how good he smells, or how nice the fabric of his button-down shirt feels against my arm, even through the fabric of my cardigan.
Once we step into the opulent dining room, Alasdair informs the hostess he has a reservation at nine o’clock under Alasdair.
As the hostess leads us to our table, I’m not expecting the same chivalrous treatment that I received when we went to dinner with my grandparents.
He has no reason to do so, since my grandfather isn’t here to spite.
He’s chivalrous anyway.
He releases my arm once we get to the table, and pulls out a chair for me.
“Thank you,” I say softly, trying to sit down daintily on the chair.
How does one even do that? How do rich girls sit?
I glance around the room, trying to observe the people at other tables, watching how they hold themselves.
Alasdair clears his throat, bringing my attention back to him. Once my eyes focus on him again, he chuckles. “Ah, there you are.” He leans forward, gray eyes studying my face with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. “You’re a mysterious woman, do you know that?”
The comment catches me off guard. A huff of surprised amusement leaves my lips before I can stop it. “Me?”
His grin widens. “Yes, you. I can’t tell what you’re thinking from moment to moment. But I can tell that your mind is a fascinating place. Most people I can read like a book, but you…you’re different.”
I let out a low sigh. “Please don’t say that I’m not like other girls.” I fumble a bit, realizing I had actually just said that out loud. It wouldn’t do good to piss him off, especially first thing in the morning. “Um, I just mean that it’s kind of cliche, you know? I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Didn’t you?” He pours ice water from the jug the hostess left for us into fancy crystal glasses and takes a sip. “I think you meant exactly what you said.”
I feel my heart sink a little. He doesn’t seem upset per se, but sometimes people are able to hide it well. The fact that he’s insisting I meant it doesn’t bode well for me, though. “I…I didn’t mean any offense.”
He chuckles and sets down his glass, looking at me for a long moment before he leans forward again. “Are you scared of me, leannán?”
“I…do you want me to be scared of you?” I ask with furrowed brows.
He keeps calling me that name, and I wonder what it means.
Is he making fun of me to my face without me even knowing?
It wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe that’s just what he’s doing in general with me.
He’s just toying with me, poking at the ugliest fish in the aquarium that’s struggling to swim.
His chuckling turns into full laughter. “That’s not what I asked.” He shakes his head. “Did your grandparents train you to be so…performative?”
I frown. “Yes and no. I’m autistic and a woman, society has trained me to be performative, or else.”
“Or else what?” His eyes glimmer with an intense interest that takes me aback.
I let out a long exhale. “It’s hard to explain. Or else I won’t belong. Or else people will be unhappy with me, even my parents. And, when you’re a child, that feels like a death sentence. Belonging is the desire of all humans, isn’t it? No one wants to be shunned and isolated.”
He stares at me for a long moment before leaning back in his chair. “And yet, you think you’re not interesting. Hm.”
“I’m not. This is just…basic psychology stuff.” I shrug.
He opens his mouth to respond, but then a waitress comes up, smiling brightly. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Alasdair. Here’s your menu. Can I get you something to start with? Coffee, tea?”
I expect Alasdair to correct her calling me Mrs. Alasdair, but he doesn’t. In fact, he smirks a little and shoots me a glance before turning back to the waitress. He orders us some coffee, somehow knowing exactly what I’d order.
I arch my brow. “How’d you know how I take my coffee? We’ve only gone to the coffee shop once, and that’s different.”
He waves me off. “Some things are easy to pick up on. Now, let’s not get distracted. It may be ‘basic psychology stuff,’ but the fact you understand it so seamlessly and how it applies to your life is rare. And exciting.”
I arch my brow. “All right. If you say so, I guess I’ll take the compliment.” I chuckle to make my comment light.
He watches me as the waitress delivers our coffees, and then takes our orders. I’m getting the eggs benedict with bacon on the side, he’s getting a cheese, tomato, and basil omelet with sausage on the side.
In fact, he doesn’t take his eyes off of me the entire meal. No wonder the man is practically a mafia god, he knows how to intimidate. And yet, it doesn’t quite feel like that’s what he’s trying to do. I don't know what he is trying to do, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to scare me.
“You never answered my question.” He sips his coffee while maintaining eye contact over the rim.
I drink my own coffee to buy myself time. “Which one was that?” I know what he’s referring to, but I’m putting off answering, since I’d really rather not discuss this. I’m not sure what I’d prefer to discuss with him, but not that. Not when I feel like he might use it against me.
He chuckles, low and raspy. “You’re a smart girl. You know what I’m talking about.”
I sigh, wishing he hadn’t called my bluff. “I don’t think ‘scared’ is the right word for it.”
He leans forward again. “Then, do tell, what is the correct word, Ms. Astero?”
“I’m…aware. Of what you’re capable of. I don’t know how else to put it. I’m not interested in provoking you. I…respect you, maybe that’s a better word.”
A strange gleam grows in his eyes. I’m not quite sure what to make of it. I haven’t seen it before in someone and it confuses me. His grip tightens on his coffee mug. “I see. Thank you for the clarification.”
I nod. “Yeah. No problem.” It’s quiet for a moment, and I look at my coffee, focusing on drinking it. I know I should speak up and continue the conversation, but I’m not sure what to say. My mind is racing, unable to come up with a thread of conversation to follow.
Our food arrives shortly after, much to my relief. This way I can focus on eating, giving me something to do. I can still see him looking at me in my peripheral vision, but I ignore it.
He doesn’t speak for the rest of the meal, which I appreciate.
Honestly, I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the rest of the day with him, since everything just feels so tense.
There’s such high stakes. I feel like one verbal misstep will send me hurtling down the proverbial cliff.
He’s a dangerous man. At any moment, he might get sick of this arrangement and decide to finish it.
And the only way to get the docks while still ending the arrangement, is to end me.
I’m walking a social tightrope and neither of my legs are trained or steady. That’s how it feels.
If I can’t even handle a day with him, how am I going to handle a lifetime?