Chapter 15
fifteen
JONATHAN
“For the love of all that’s holy, Jon, stop staring at her. Your face is screaming stalker,” Daniel hissed in his ear, like the annoying mosquito he was.
The elbow to the gut proved how much his cousin needed swatting. Jonathan tossed back another swallow of his family’s whiskey, which had him remembering his conversation with his dad earlier, though conversation wasn’t a completely accurate description.
His father let Jonathan know that he expected an attitude adjustment before they met again, and that if he ever snapped at his mother again, he’d tan his hide no matter his supposed adult status.
He cringed in shame. He had been short with his mom. She’d been telling her sisters, Raven and Rowan, that she couldn’t wait to hear all about Mags’ date. Jonathan had childishly replied, “You need to get a hobby, Mom. No one else gives a shit.”
And that was when his father grasped him by the back of the neck and led him from the room. He’d gone back to his mother and apologized, because he was out of line and because he had hurt her feelings. Taking his anger out on her had been a new low.
The evening, unfortunately, didn’t improve. He and Daniel were the only friends in the group who didn’t know who Mags was bringing or whether it was the same “friend” who had taken her to the hospital and who she was now living with.
Even Ciar and Dagr were tight-lipped, and Jonathan knew that they knew since they were married to two of Mags’ best friends.
Even Blair let him down. Daniel relented after hours of Jonathan needling him to ask Blair. Daniel said she rolled her eyes and shut the front door in his face.
Jonathan had been at Gray Eyes for two hours, and unfortunately, he was no longer in the dark about Mags and her friend. He wished he were.
He’d had to endure an introduction to the bastard, who couldn’t seem to keep his giant paws off Mags. Jonathan saw red as he watched the man’s hand curve around her ribs, her bare ribs.
The dress she wore was created to bring men to their knees, or perhaps it was the woman who wore it. He forced his eyes from her breasts, the creamy smoothness of their curves peeking from the deep cut of her bodice making it almost impossible to blink
It had been hell to watch that man’s thumb sliding gently over the bruises marring Mag’s ribs, visible when the soft light surrounding the room hit her just right. Jonathan wanted to get her alone and ask her if she was truly okay. If there was anything she needed.
He wanted to be the man who provided her comfort, but he’d left it too late.
Jonathan startled when Gray tapped him on the shoulder, not realizing that she, Blair, and Bébhinn had joined him at the bar.
“It sucks, doesn’t it?” Bébhinn asked.
“Am I supposed to guess what you’re speaking of?” Rude, but his personality had departed weeks ago. Also, he knew exactly what she was referring to, or who, rather.
Bébhinn sighed in what must have been disappointment. “Our group is meeting in the card room for a brief announcement. Don’t be late, turd.”
“It’s not a good look, Jon, to only be interested in Mags now that she’s gotten over you,” Gray said solemnly. “She has enough heavy things dragging her down right now. She doesn’t need you piling on.”
He wanted to shout that he’d always been interested in her. He wanted to beg to know what things were worrying Mags. He said nothing, which he was pretty good at.
Gray and Bébhinn went to stand by their husbands, leaving Blair looking at him fiercely, her head of fiery curls and waves reminding him of Medusa. She looked like she wanted to turn him into stone at any rate.
“I saw you kiss Mags that night,” she signed.
Jonathan would swear he’d been electrocuted. He didn’t think anyone knew about that night. “You mean Mags told you?” There was no reason to deny the kiss, nor was he upset that Mags would tell one of her best friends.
“No. I saw you. I was in the gardens below. I watched you take advantage of her feelings for you. Then, I watched you leave her alone without a word.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Shouldn’t have what. Kissed her? Left her? Kissed another girl a minute later? I ran back inside to get to her on the balcony, but she’d already gone back inside before I could get to her. She was watching you kiss that girl, and you were watching Mags while you did it.
“I understand we were all younger then, alcohol was involved, mistakes were made. But you hurt her that night, and you’ve continued to hurt her for almost three years.
None of us would have wanted you to date Mags if you weren’t into her that way, but you could have at least explained that to her after the fact.
“And now, now,” she signed with more emphasis, her breathy voice forming the word as well, “she has finally found happiness, and you’re moping about like a kicked puppy. I love you, Jonathan, but get over yourself.”
Blair walked away without a backward glance to join their friends. His head throbbed with the mental beating the girls gave him, but he was far from giving up and walking away because of his mistakes.
The O’Faolains had plenty of stories about the many apology tours the men in the family had to take before they got the women they wanted.
Jonathan tracked Mags and her date across the room. They were clearly making their way to the back room to meet everyone. He saw his chance a moment later, when the two separated to speak to others.
Mags was telling an attractive middle-aged woman covered in jewels, “I will call your secretary tomorrow to set up a time to take your measurements and see the dress. Thank you for thinking of me. I’ve never embroidered a belt.
I’m completely excited. Once I see your home and a bit of your space, I know I can come up with a personal design all for you. ”
“I look forward to it, Margaret.”
The moment they separated and before she could reattach herself to her date’s side, Jonathan swooped in. He quickly entwined their arms to lead her further away. She gave a solid tug, but he wasn’t letting go.
“Let me go,” she growled under her breath, thankfully not willing to make a scene.
He led her through the crowd until they were close to the high-stakes room where their friends were probably already gathered.
Tucking them behind a tall wooden column of intricate Celtic fretwork, he turned her to face him, studiously ignoring how damn beautiful she looked. He placed his hands on her shoulders gently, knowing that despite her showing up tonight, she had to still be in quite a bit of pain.
He looked into her eyes and prayed she would hear him out. “Listen, Mags, I know I have no right to it, but would you please say that you’ll give me a moment of your time tomorrow, or the next day,” he pleaded. “I don’t deserve it, but for the sake of our history, please.”
In this lighting, her green eyes looked more hazel, with hints of brown swirling through them, as she gazed at him with a sadness he had never seen in her before.
Not since the night he’d kissed her.
“I’m not sure what you need to talk to me about, Jon.
I’ve assured you more than once after your latest date took potshots at me that, at this point, being belittled by your ladies is as easy to brush off as a fly’s nuisance.
” She waved her hands between them like the state of their friendship wasn’t a big deal.
“Apologies for my past mistakes, and the position they’ve put you in won’t make them any less. I know that. I only want to talk to you. Just the two of us.”
“Margaret,” her date’s deep voice sounded firm and just on the left side of aggression.
She immediately tried to step away from his touch, but he couldn’t leave it at that. “Please, Mags. Only a moment.”
“I’ll text you when I have time, though I can’t imagine we have anything that needs sorting.”
Jonathan had to let her go when she wrapped her hand in her date’s. The man stared intensely at Jonathan a beat longer before pivoting sharply on his heel. Jonathan was forced to watch as the stranger stopped before walking into the card room. He lifted Mags’ chin and kissed her on the mouth.
The man, he refused to remember his name, took a beat to glare at Jonathan over her head.
Jonathan felt his body swell with rage. That bastard was staking a claim on his…on Mags. That man might be royalty in Nigeria, but he wasn’t anything in Dublin, and he sure as hell wasn’t an O’Faolain.