Adeline
Two days after I saw Ciaran off to the airport, the doorbell rings.
“Oh my God.” Mom places a hand over her heart when I run to Ciaran. “I’m going to melt.”
It’s New Year’s Eve, hours away from the ball dropping, but Ciaran is once again in my parents' house. His hands squeeze tight around me, his forehead resting against mine.
“Did you miss me?” I tease, but the giddiness can’t even properly describe the well of emotion and how deep it goes.
“I missed you,” he murmurs, hugging me tighter.
“That’s cute.” Lennie comes downstairs, a book in hand. “Very romantic.”
Mom makes a puppy dog face, sighing. Dad wordlessly goes into his office, slamming the door.
“Happy New Year’s, princess.” Ciaran kisses my forehead, and when Mom finally gets the hint and leaves, he sweeps me in for something deeper.
Christmas break passes in a blur of goodwill and warmth. January is blue. It’s not horrendous, but I am sad to go back to school. I finally admit to myself that NYU is not what I thought it’d be like.
I’m happy to be at university, and I don’t hate studying.
It’s just different than I’d pictured it.
I have to have a grown-up conversation with myself that not everything turns out to be glitter and glam.
I’ve got one semester left in Brittany Hall, and then I’ll figure out a different living arrangement.
My internship ended before break, but I was surprised when the mean HR lady persuaded me to reapply for next year.
I’m not sure if I really want to, but I’m gratified that the experience didn’t turn out to be as much of a disaster as I thought it would.
It helps having Ciaran around to give me a boost. Much of our days are the same.
I thought I’d get bored, but it turns out I’m more of a creature of habit than I thought.
I study like crazy, and Ciaran sometimes has to take phone calls in the bedroom, shutting the door.
But I like when he makes me a grilled cheese for dinner, and my God.
. . The man can do whatever he wants with my body, whenever.
The January blues tinge pink when we head into February, and then we’re into a blustery spring, with the hint of warmer weather that keeps eluding New York.
I shake out my dark hair, debating how to style it. I’m at Ciaran’s, in front of the bathroom mirror, examining myself.
A short black and silver dress hugs my curves. I’ll put on my stilettos when we leave. My eyeshadow is smoked out, my blush is perfect, and I’ve got on my favorite wine-colored lip stain.
Tonight, Ciaran has a family event, and he asked me to attend. His uncle’s birthday party. We’ll be going to his penthouse, and it’s the first time I’ve ever been invited.
The other O’Connell cousins get sprinkled here and there, but Ciaran is closest to Seamus and then Dermot. I’ve seen them both multiple times now over the past few months. Ciaran has fought at Leon’s several more times, so it’s not like I haven’t been around his uncle.
This must be how Ciaran felt around the holidays, though.
All week there’s been a crackle of energy, nerves as I think about this party. I’m happy to go with Ciaran, and it’s not that I’m intimidated by his uncle.
But he’s different. That’s the only way I can put it.
Ciaran and his cousins laugh loudly, tipping their heads back. Cormac barely lets a ghost of a smile on his face—and even then it’s a bit eerie.
Ciaran cares about his appearance, but Cormac is so buttoned up, his steel-colored buttons were polished the last time I saw him.
Also, he stares an extra second whenever he speaks to me.
I don’t think it’s meant to be creepy. But I don’t think I understood what lingering eye contact meant until I met the man.
His nephew is loyal, though, and I can’t say it’s unwarranted. His uncle is at every fight. They don’t just talk about work when they’re together. It’s like my connection with Dad when we water the garden at home together.
Cormac raised Ciaran. He dropped him off at school, taught him how to tie a knot, and gave him advice when Cain Murray didn’t answer his phone.
Ciaran’s dad is absent from all his fights. I was tempted once to ask Ciaran if he’d ever heard if his dad and his teenage girlfriend were still together, but I don’t think he’d have appreciated the joke.
I went out and bought a gift for Cormac. It’s a book on Irish history, perfectly wrapped because I asked Nat for help. I was actually inspired by Lennie, who’d thoughtfully given Ciaran a history book for Christmas.
My boyfriend’s face had lit up when he’d unwrapped it. One, because he was surprised he’d gotten presents (I’d told him we weren’t going to be rude), and two, because he knows how shy Lennie is. This was a big gesture coming from her. A sign that she didn’t mind his presence at family gatherings.
“Adeline Marie,” Ciaran calls from the living room because he got ready in ten minutes. A phone call from Nora gave me a chance to take my time, but his patience has officially run out.
“I need ten more minutes,” I lie.
“Ten more minutes,” comes his disgusted reply.
Picking up a bottle of Ciaran’s favorite cologne, I take a sniff, inhaling warm cedar and amber. What can I say? My man smells good.
Ciaran’s towering frame looms in the doorway. “What? You’re not even—”
I take another sniff, playing it cool, when really on the inside I’m much more nervous than I even want to think about.
“Do you like my outfit?” I quietly ask, looking up at him from under my lashes.
His mouth hangs open, his eyes raking over me.
I place the cologne down and then decide that I really can’t stand the curls I created. A loose braid over one shoulder will do. Mama taught us the art of mixing casual with glam, and I don’t want to feel overdone for some reason.
Ciaran makes a noise, his hand reaching out. “No, I liked—”
I duck out of the way, my fingers weaving. “You get no say on my hair.”
My belly dips when his brow pinches together. His jawline is sharp, his beard groomed. Tattoos peek down his arms since he rolled his sleeves up. This is the Ciaran I know, the one whose eyes crinkle with boyish amusement.
“You look so cute, I’d kiss you if it didn’t ruin my makeup.”
A plea crosses his face.
I laugh, walking around him to get to my shoes. “Hey, um, do you want to drive?”
“Drive?”
“I asked Marco to bring the Aston Martin.” I double check I have my wallet, phone, and lipstick in the small purse I chose for the night. “I figured we’d want to take a car.”
“It’s your car,” Ciaran says.
I shake my purse, making sure everything fits. “I thought. . . I don’t know. You can drive.”
I avoid Ciaran’s gaze, opening the door. His fingers caress my arm as he follows me out.
“Princess, are you sure—”
“Don’t make this into a bigger thing than it is.”
Marco’s got my car at the curb, the driver’s door open. His brow raises when I walk around to the passenger side.
“Does he know—” the bodyguard begins to ask.
I roll my eyes, preparing to angle myself into the car. “Which side of the road to drive on? Yes, yes, he does.”
He has driven my car once before, after all.
Ciaran takes a second to get acclimated, his eyes roaming the interior leather, one hand on the steering wheel. His eyes light up when he steps on the gas.
“Please don’t make me regret this,” I say.
He places one hand on my knee, and I should tell him to focus on the road, but I can’t. I’ve spent hours getting ready, but I sink into my seat, soothed by the drive and the radio.
“Hey. . .”
I look over when Ciaran’s sentence drags on.
He looks over his shoulder, merging left. “Wallen’s going to be there tonight.”
We sit at a red light, the purr of the engine not quite as calming as a moment before.
“Wallen?”
“My uncle invited a bunch of people,” Ciaran explains, his face illuminated by the stoplight. “He RSVP’d.”
He says these last two words like it settles the matter. Like, he might not agree with it. Like he’s gently breaking this news to me. Like he’s upset too, but what does that matter because his uncle was the one who invited him?
“But why did he invite him?” I open my purse, checking my phone. No notifications, not that I expected any.
Ciaran hasn’t said a single thing about Wallen in months. I’ve never forgotten him though, and I know Dad would caution against drifting into a lull that’s misleadingly safe.
“Does your uncle know him?” I ask, the car gliding forward.
Ciaran checks his blind spot again. “My uncle invited a lot of businessmen tonight.”
I knew it wasn’t strictly family. It’s like at Leon’s. Cormac’s focus is entirely on his nephew during any bout, but he never misses a moment to shake someone’s hand.
It’s similar to Ciaran, I realize. Both their eyes laser focus on someone, all aimed at network building.
But Ciaran has learned to relax. To not try so hard.
When we go to lunch and see people, it might take a few weeks longer, but eventually people start thinking of us as regulars.
Then when they begin to speak to Ciaran, his easy laughter draws them in, much better than when he acted all cagey like when we first met.
Ciaran grabs my hand, squeezing. “I just wanted to give you a heads up. You don’t have to speak to him. I’m going to be next to you the whole night.”
“Unless I go to the bathroom,” I say for the mere fact of contradicting him.
“And miss the opportunity to watch you pee?”
The car slows, a sign we’re getting closer. Marco will send the other guard to watch over my Aston Martin, until we text him that we’re ready to leave.
I can already tell I was right to wear one of the most expensive dresses. It’s not that I don’t love splashing out on my clothes, but Cormac is so put together I instinctively knew to pull out my best.
“Does that mean your uncle is doing business with Wallen?” It’s a misnomer. When I say his uncle, I also mean Ciaran. The head of his family and his heir.
“Slightly,” Ciaran says, meeting my eye for the first time before quickly focusing on the road. “Uncle Cormac has known him, but they’ve never done business before. They’re friendly, though. Have you—have you met Wallen before?”
I shake my head but then think better of it. “From afar. Um, I don’t think he comes around Dad much.”
Until Jack got planted on my security team.
Ciaran squeezes my hand, silently acknowledging that he remembers too.
The thing about the world we live in—it’s full of ghosts. Enemies lurk, and villains plot. Of course, at some point I’d come across Wallen. The man has it out for my family.
But I will not appear weak. He doesn’t know that I had anything to do with Jack’s death. He must think my dad caught wind and took care of the problem himself.
Except he didn’t because I never told him how I let Jack get so close.
It’s a fact I’ve had to live with, along with the choice I made when I decided I didn’t want him to know. All I can hope is I made the right choice.