7. Connor
CONNOR
“What the heck are you doing here?” Rowan peers into my father’s office where I’ve been hiding for the last hour.
I raise a glass of bourbon. “Fortifying myself.”
My little sister’s nose wrinkles. She slips inside and shuts the door behind her. “Everyone’s leaving soon. Shouldn’t you be at the church already?”
“Probably.”
She glides over and does a twirl, holding out the skirt of her dress. “What do you think?”
“You look great, kid. Almost like a girl.”
She snorts and flops into a chair across from me. “And you look like a creep. Where’d the suit come from? A dead French guy?”
I look down at myself. “Sinead picked this. Well, it was one of her options. It’s designer.”
“Oh, well, if that’s from Sinead, then it must be perfect.”
I laugh and throw a pen at her. She deftly snatches it from the air and twirls it around her fingers, smiling at me.
The scar on her face twists in a way I’ve always loved, even if it reminds me of how much pain she’s been through.
I didn’t think anyone could make me smile today, but leave it to Rowan to pull it off.
“You should go find Dad and your mom before they leave you behind.”
“No way that’ll happen. You know how they are. Ever since the accident, Mom’s a helicopter parent.”
“She can be a little… overbearing.”
“You think? I went to hang out in the park with my friend last week and Mom legit followed me the whole time. She was like a freaky stalker.”
“Want me to talk to her?”
“No way, that’ll make it worse.”
I don’t mention that I’ve had men keeping an eye on her for years myself. That would only piss her off. “If you want, you can ride with me.”
“Speaking of which—“ She gets up, reaching out, and plucks the bourbon from my hand.
“Uh, you’re too young for that.”
“Yeah, and you’re driving today.” She places it down on the bar cart. “You sure you’re okay?”
I run a hand through my hair, probably messing it up, but it doesn’t matter. Sinead probably has a team of stylists waiting at the church to primp me into perfection like a freaking F1 pit team.
“I don’t want to bore you with adult shit, kid. My problems are my own.”
“Yeah, true, but your problems are so much more interesting than mine.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“What’s the matter? You don’t like Sinead? I know you two aren’t in love, I’m not a moron, but she seems great.”
“She is great.” My eyes go to the books, not sure how to explain it to a teenager. Sinead’s fantastic, and that’s exactly the issue.
I don’t deserve a woman like that.
I’ve fucked my way through half the city. I’ve filled, choked, spit on, kissed, and spanked dozens and dozens of women. And not once have I ever cared about them. Not once have they ever stuck in my head.
Until Angie came along all those years ago, and she infected me in ways I still don’t fully understand.
Sleeping with her unlocked that hungry yearning. The vicious, wild need churning in my core.
How can I reasonably marry Sinead, knowing I want someone else?
Knowing I break everything I touch?
Dominance. Control. Blood and pain. Those are all I’ve known for a very long time.
What’s a good woman like Sinead want with a ruthless, heartless monster like me?
I can’t tell Rowan any of that though. She knows I get around, but the other stuff?
I don’t want her to start looking at me like everyone else does.
Like I’m the boss. Like my word is death.
“You should be happy then. Come on, cheer up, idiot. We all know you don’t deserve her, but it’s happening, and you might as well enjoy it.”
“Wow, your pep talks are incredible.”
“Thanks much, I’m fantastic.” Her mouth pinches when her mother calls for her from the other room. “Welp, I’m being summoned. Got to go. I assume I’ll see you at your own wedding?”
“I’ll be there.”
“You better. God, imagine if you weren’t?” She snorts, hopping to her feet. “The freaking shitshow that’d be? Actually, skip it, I want to enjoy the show.” She waves over her shoulder as she marches out of the office, leaving me alone.
I give her ten seconds before I’m up and grabbing my drink again.
All this self-pity is worthless. I’m marrying Sinead in a few hours and that’s the end of it. Like Rowan said, I don’t deserve my future wife, but I might as well try to enjoy it.
She is beautiful. Tall, willowy… long blonde hair, full lips… a tight, athletic body… she clearly keeps in shape. And since there are kids in our future, I’ll get to sample it…
But when I close my eyes to picture my bride’s perky tits, all I can see are those three photos I have hidden deep in my computer’s file system like an addict’s last hit of crack.
Dad, Danielle, and Rowan leave not long later.
I wait until they’re gone before emerging from the office, enjoying the quiet.
I check my phone and find a couple texts from Sinead, reminding me to show up on time, and a message from Marcus, wondering if I’ve drank myself into oblivion and if I need a ride.
I reply to them all to let them know I’m fine and turn to the door.
When my phone starts to ring.
I answer, figuring it’s Sinead. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’m on the way. You don’t have to panic.”
The line’s quiet for a beat. Then an unexpected voice sends a jolt of shock down my spine.
“Uh, Mr. Maguire? Hi, sorry, this is actually Angelina Bellandi? I’m so sorry to call you on your cell like this. I got the number from your assistant? I had to tell her it was an emergency.”
My jaw feels dislocated. I have to physically rap my knuckles on my forehead to knock sense into my skull again.
“Angie, hello. Is everything okay?”
Another pause. This one laced with anxiety. “Yes. I think so. Mostly. Actually, I know this is strange, but is there any way we can meet and talk today?”
I close my eyes, one hand pressed against the wall. Fuck, I’ll drop anything, for any reason, to see her again.
But I’m marrying another woman in a few hours.
“I can squeeze you in,” I hear myself say, my voice husky with emotion, and what the fuck is wrong with me? Stop talking, Connor, shut the fuck up—“Are you free now?”
“Oh, right now? I mean, yes, absolutely, that’s great. I mean… where should I…?”
In my bedroom. Tied to the posts. Legs spread, dripping wet.
“There’s a coffee shop called Third Rail. Can you be there in fifteen?”
“Sure, yes, I’ll make it happen. Thank you so much, Mr. Maguire, I really appreciate your time.”
“Connor. Call me Connor.”
“Right. Connor. Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
She hangs up.
I stand alone in my father’s foyer, my phone still in my hand.
This is fucking stupid. I don’t have time to meet with Angie, not when I should already be at the church. I’m walking down the aisle in three hours… I’m pledging my life to another woman…
I’m selling myself for the good of the family.
Because that’s what I’ve always done. That’s all I know how to do.
Only this is Angelina… this is my angel…
I owe her more than she’ll ever know.
And I’m desperate to sit across from her one last time as a single man.
We’ll do it in public where I can’t cross the line. I’ll hear what she has to say, watch her quirky lips, try not to laugh at the way her nose wrinkles and twitches, or the way she brushes her hair back from her ears, or the way she walks pigeon-toed, which I find goddamn adorable.
One last time and then it’s done. She’ll be just another employee.
I hurry out the door, telling myself I can handle this, over and over, and knowing I’m fucking lying to myself.
The Third Rail is a hipster place around the corner from my father’s house.
Lots of wood and glass. It smells good, like freshly baked bread and chocolate.
It’s not too crowded at this time of the day after the morning rush but before the lunch crowd.
I get there first and stake out a spot near the back.
I order a double espresso, hot and dark.
I need the caffeine to help counteract the bourbon.
I grab a latte, exactly the way she likes it, and place it down at the seat across from me.
This’ll be easy. No problem at all.
It’s normal that I know her coffee order.
I get another text from Marcus, a call from Sinead, and a text from Rowan. I let my sister know that I’m coming, but I’m delayed. Otherwise, I ignore them, and I’m thinking this won’t be that big of a deal, at least until Angie slips in through the door.
And I realize I’m fucked.
She’s in jeans. I don’t see her in jeans often.
She dresses formally at the office even though our dress code leans casual.
Her hair’s up in a messy bun and her make up is simple, and she’s practically glowing as she chews on her thumbnail until she spots me.
She jolts when our eyes lock and her cheeks flush red, and I think about the look she has in my favorite picture, one of the three I kept: eyes sparkling with amusement and arousal, mouth open, thumb between her teeth.
I kept that shot for that look more than even her incredible body.
I stand to greet her. She awkwardly offers me a hand. I lean in and kiss her cheek. “How was getting here?” I ask as she takes her seat.
“Uh, no problem, I took an Uber.”
“I’ll reimburse you.”
She waves a hand. “No, no, that’s totally fine. Is this for me?” She takes a sip of her drink and laughs. I love how genuine it is. “It’s really good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“How’d you know I took my coffee like this? Actually, never mind, doesn’t matter.” Her smile fades and she takes a deep breath. “I should just say it, you know? I need to spit it out and get it out in the air before my head explodes.”
A drop of dread spills down my spine. “Say what, Angelina?”
Her eyes meet mine. Her back goes straight and she folds her hands together in front of her. For a moment, she reminds me of Sinead: serious, strong, and proud.
A woman any man would die to have.
“We slept together. A few weeks ago. You remember, right?”
“That’s not something I’d forget.”
“Right. Good. And we didn’t… you know… use protection.”
The dread thickens and spreads. “Not that I recall.”
“I want you to know that I’m not doing this to punish you… and I don’t even know what I want, if anything at all… but I thought you needed to know.”
“Know what, angel?” I say quietly, but I already feel it. I saw it the second she walked through those doors. I felt it in my heart.
“Connor, I’m pregnant, and you’re the father.”