Chapter Eight #2
He takes me to his favourite steakhouse, a small place just off East Broadway.
They know him there and show us straight to our regular table near the back, a little away from the others.
Once we’re seated, Ronin orders for us, and while we wait, he asks about my day.
I tell him more about my final dress fitting, how beautifully the seamstress finished all the little details, and how his mother surprised me with her own veil for the wedding.
“I’m sure you looked beautiful,” he says.
Heat rises in my cheeks, and I look down, tracing the rim of my glass with my finger.
He’s always like this. Making sure I know how he sees me.
That I’m beautiful. That I matter to him.
Since the day he asked if we could spend time together, get to know each other before the wedding, he has made me feel like I’m the most important thing in his world.
The thought makes me shy, so I turn the conversation back on him. “How was your day?”
He thinks it over before answering. “Long. I had a meeting with Da this morning,” Ronin says.
“He and Mam want to travel. Ireland first. Mam’s never seen it, and Da wants to see family while he still can.
After that, maybe London or Paris.” He pauses, his voice staying even.
“He’s decided he’s ready to step back sooner than we thought. ”
“How soon?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“After the wedding.” He meets my eyes. “He’ll pass the seat to me then. Make it official.”
I know what this means to him, how long he’s worked for it. It was always the plan. I just hadn’t thought it would be so soon. Looking at him now, I know he’s ready, and my chest fills with pride. I reach across the table and take his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m so proud of you, love.”
He smiles at that, his thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand.
“Oh—” I suddenly remember what I meant to ask.
“How’s our place coming along?” I picture it as I say the words—the house we picked out together, the big picture windows, the beautiful front yard, and the view of water just over the back fence.
“Nearly ready,” he says. “Furniture comes this week.”
“I could help—”
“No.” He shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “I want you to see it when it’s ready. As soon as the decorator’s finished, I’ll take you—I promise it’ll be before the wedding.”
“Okay,” I say, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. “I keep trying to picture it, what it’ll look like when it’s finished.”
“It’ll be perfect,” he says simply, like he has no doubt at all.
He glances at my finished plate before signaling to the waiter, and when the man comes over, Ronin gives him our dessert order.
Like every time we go out, he chooses something for us to share.
The waiter has barely stepped away when someone stops beside our table and clears his throat.
I look up at the sound and recognize him as one of Ronin’s men.
“Sorry to interrupt, boss.”
Ronin turns, and I catch the flash of irritation on his face before it’s gone.
The man stands there, cap in hand, giving me a quick apologetic look before turning back to Ronin.
“Sorry, boss,” he says quietly. “There’s a problem with the shipment from this morning.
I didn’t want to make the call without you. ”
Ronin leans back in his chair and reaches for his glass, taking a slow sip as he looks at the man.
I wait, hoping he’ll say it can wait—that he’ll deal with whatever it is later.
But instead he sets the glass down and looks at me.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, already getting to his feet before I can even answer.
The two of them move a little way off, too far for me to hear what they’re saying.
I try not to look, wanting to give them privacy, but my eyes keep drifting back anyway.
Every time this happens, I get that familiar hollow feeling in my chest, the one that reminds me I come second the moment work calls.
And I’m used to it, I am. I grew up watching dinner or any sort of gathering get cut short for business, first with Grandda, then Da, and now Ronin.
But still, sometimes I wish things were different.
I glance toward them again just as Ronin looks my way and lifts his hand toward the front of the restaurant, signaling that he needs to step outside. I nod, then watch as he turns and disappears through the door with the other man.
The waiter returns with our dessert while Ronin is still gone.
He sets the cherry pie à la mode in the middle of the table, along with a cup of tea for me and coffee for him.
The ice cream is already melting into the warm crust. I don’t touch it.
I just fidget with my Claddagh ring, slowly turning it around my finger while I wait for him.
I don’t know how long I sit there sipping my tea before Ronin comes back. He slides into his seat again, smiling like we were never interrupted, and annoyance flares up in me at how unbothered he looks.
His attention drops to the untouched dessert. “You didn’t eat any?”
I look down at the plate and then back at him. “I wanted to wait for you.”
He picks up one of the forks the waiter left and cuts off a piece. “Well, let’s dig in,” he says, nudging the other fork toward me.
I leave the fork where it is and take another sip of my tea. He’s eating the pie like nothing happened, and the question slips out before I can stop it. “Was it really something that couldn’t wait?” I ask, my voice low.
Ronin goes still, then sets his fork down with a quiet thud. When he looks at me, the warmth in his eyes is completely gone. “It needed handling,” he says flatly.
I lower my gaze to the table, cheeks burning. I know I shouldn’t have said anything. “I only meant—”
“I know.” His tone softens, and he reaches across the table to cup my cheek. “Let me worry about it.”
The touch is warm and familiar. Under any other circumstances, it might have comforted me. Instead, it leaves me with the uneasy feeling that I’ve disappointed him. I give him a small smile, hoping to smooth it over. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It wasn’t my place.”
“There’s my doll,” he murmurs, cutting off a piece of pie and holding it to my lips. I open my mouth and let him feed me the bite of soggy pie, swallowing it down because I don’t know what else to do.
Next time, I tell myself, I’ll do better. Next time, I’ll keep my questions to myself.
***
By the time Ronin walks me to my door, he’s all smiles again, and the tension from dinner feels far enough away that I can almost pretend it never happened.
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, kissing me softly, and even after the kiss ends, he keeps me tucked against him, pressing another kiss to my hair. “Good night, doll.”
“Good night,” I whisper. His arms slide from me, and I open the door, stepping inside before closing it behind me with a soft click. I rest my hand against the wood, listening as his engine turns over and fades as he drives away.
Upstairs, I change into my nightgown and climb beneath the covers.
The room is dark except for a sliver of moonlight slipping through the gap in the curtains and across the bed.
I lift my left hand, turning it slowly until the Claddagh catches the light.
The heart faces inward, toward me, the way Ronin placed it.
The way it’s supposed to sit when you’re spoken for.
I bring my other hand up and run my fingers over the smooth gold. The crown. The hands holding the heart. I can’t believe the wedding is only weeks away. After all this time, it’s finally happening. The dress. Our home. Ronin taking over for his da. And me, beside him.
Since he proposed, we’ve been spending more and more time together.
Late dinners that stretch for hours, early mornings when he picks me up and we spend the whole day together.
Every time he drops me home, I keep thinking about the day when he won’t have to leave anymore.
When there won’t be any more doors to walk me to, no more goodbyes.
Soon, he’ll stay.
I tuck my hand beneath my cheek, the gold warm against my skin, and let my eyes drift closed, holding on to that thought until sleep takes me.