Chapter 32
As Cillian handed our coats to the attendant, I adjusted the side train of my mini dress, that gave the delicate beaded tulle fabric a more sophisticated length.
Then I gave the curls of my side-swept hairstyle a last check.
With my shoulders back, head up, and smile plastered, my game face was on.
I was ready for whatever tonight’s gala might bring.
Cillian kissed my hand. His eyes roamed my body from top to bottom, a lustful twinkle there.
“You’re mesmerizing, love. A real fairy among men.”
He didn’t look too bad himself in a suit and tie, his bad-boy look shrouded beneath polished pomp and a classy pair of oxfords.
They didn’t quite take the weighted menace out of his gaze or the rigidity from his posture, but I was looking forward to unwrapping him and rediscovering every single one of his tattoos and hard angles with my tongue later tonight.
It was definitely a step up from his appearance at our wedding seven years ago.
When he offered me his arm under the eyes of Boston’s wealthy society, with our guards not too far behind, a ridiculous flush crept up my cheeks. I was no better than a schoolgirl with her first crush.
We made our way through the Boch Center’s entrance arm in arm below glimmering lighting fixtures.
Gentle classical music softened the clack and echo of heels on tiles against the low-hanging ceiling, but the closer we got to the doors toward the grand lobby, the louder the rush of ping-ponging conversations became.
My steps faltered as I realized one very simple but crucial detail. We never discussed how I was to help him today. I tugged him slightly off to the side to let others pass.
“So what’s the plan?” I eyed the clusters of couples chatting beyond the doorway to the grand lobby. “Who are we schmoozing?”
“Schmoozing?” Cillian repeated with a twinge of amusement, his hand settling on my waist.
“Yes, who is your focus tonight?”
I glanced covertly at the assembled crowd.
The men sported suits designed by a range of brands from luxury to masstige, but at first glance, none of them were worth less than six hundred euros.
The women were comparatively styled, which meant this evening entertained a wide range of people in the upper class.
“Are we meeting someone specific? An investor for a business opportunity? Or maybe the mayor to discuss annual donations you might make?”
His soft chuckles reverberated against my spine.
“What? What is so funny? I am only trying to help.”
He planted a kiss against my shoulder.
“There’s no plan, sweetheart. Just enjoy.”
“Enjoy?”
The word made no sense. No one actually enjoyed these events, filled with fake smiles and insincere flattery, not even for the food.
I glanced at the open floor plan skeptically and chewed the inside of my bottom lip.
I’d never been to one of these fundraisers or galas without a purpose.
There was always an endgame that my family meant to achieve with these parties, yet tonight, Cillian gave me no direction at all.
In other words, he was tossing me out to the wolves without a stick to defend myself with.
“You cannot be serious.”
“Why not?”
He led me through the arched doorway and into a wide space with oak trim against marble walls, surrounded by colonnades on sweeping balconies that reached toward a high domed ceiling and painted frescoes, reminiscent of the Palace of Versailles.
Large round tables festooned the hall in a flurry of silver, gold, and red that drew the focus to the grand staircase at the room’s end.
The grand lobby was exactly what its name promised.
People moseyed from one cluster to another, their perfumes and colognes wafting around the lobby. They drank cocktails and ate hors d’oeuvres while ambling around the space and searching for their seating placements. It was all beautiful, but I gawked at Cillian, not the decor.
“I never come to these, with good reason.” His lips curled with disdain. “But Liam does. He’s the one who gets off on the attention at these things. He must be around here somewhere.”
“But then…” I gawped at him. “Why are we here?”
With a jerk to my wrist, he twirled me into his arms, my back to his front, and set his chin against my bare shoulder.
“It was on your list.” He picked two champagne glasses off a passing server’s tray and handed me one. “You said you wanted to come to one of these on the arm of someone who loves you. So I made that happen, no matter how much these people bore me to tears.”
“Wonderful,” I gritted out. I knocked back a large gulp of champagne and swallowed before the bubbles had time to fizzle in my mouth. “If I’d known you didn’t care for these, I wouldn’t have—wait…”
I spun in his arms, my dress scratching against his suit.
“What did you say? Y-you love me?”
He gripped my face. The chill of his champagne flute tucked against my cheek cooled the prickling behind my eyes. Please don’t let me have imagined it. He brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“I do.”
Our lips met in a gentle kiss.
He loved me.
“You wouldn’t see me caught dead in one of these otherwise.”
A chuckle coughed out of me. He really loved me.
I swallowed down the rest of my champagne, then dropped off the glass at the closest table near the doors.
“We’re not staying.” I grabbed his hand, ready to drag him home to show him exactly how much those words meant to me.
“Cillian O’Leary,” a forceful voice called.
A man stepped in front of us with a blonde woman at least two decades younger on his arm and effectively cut off our exit.
After years of practice placating powerful men and their arrogant attitudes at these sorts of events, I plucked a wide-toothed smile out of my bag of tricks, fixed it on my face, and took him in.
John Hanklin—I recognized him from photos of my investigation into Cillian—was close to his fifties, with an undercut gelled hairstyle and was wearing a Brioni suit that hid his slight gut.
He was the O’Leary lawyer, as well as the lawyer to a good fifth of Boston’s upper crust. In line with my feelings after our few email exchanges, I disliked him on sight.
It didn’t help that his cologne clashed with his smarmy grin.
The heavy citrus and bergamot undertones better suited someone with a bubbly personality rather than someone with his uppity posture.
I bit the inside of my bottom lip. Would he recognize me? My heart ran a marathon in worry that Cillian’s declaration of love might be short-lived if Hanklin said anything.
“I knew I saw you.” Hanklin shook Cillian’s hand, then he called over our shoulders. “Didn’t I tell you that was him, Liam?”
Of course that meant Cillian’s brother joined us too. Granted, Liam looked dapper in a suit, but he and everyone else needed to get lost while my libido competed with my fear and demanded that I passionately drag Cillian into the first empty room available and have my way with him.
“Ha, even your brother doesn’t recognize you at these sorts of things. We don’t see enough of you.”
“Hanklin, Liam,” Cillian greeted between gritted teeth.
He tossed his lawyer a cold glare before his eyes returned to me with warmth and care. That was all it took to lift the sudden weight of his lawyer’s and brother’s presence. He loved me.
“And even rarer. You have a date.”
“I do. If you both would excuse us.”
“Actually, Hanklin needs some of your time, Killy. Certain questions I can’t answer, and since you’re here…” Liam turned his sunny disposition on me. “You don’t mind, Alice, do you?”
Was there really ever a choice during these events?
“You can keep Eloise company,” Hanklin said, and she looked as thrilled at being pawned off on me as I did.
But Cillian’s attention remained focused on me, and that made this worth it.
Whatever business Hanklin and Liam wanted to discuss, my mobster’s intense gaze stated exactly where my importance ranked compared to it.
That turned my knees into a pile of goo, ready to kneel and submit to anything he wanted from me.
“Go,” I urged him softly. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, or so I’ve heard.”
“I don’t need to be apart from you for that.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll have Eloise.” I waggled my eyebrows teasingly.
He grunted. “Let’s get this over with.”
Then he stomped away with the other two.
“Well, lucky you. That man looks like he’d be fun in the sack,” Eloise said, then slugged down the second half of her champagne. “Come on, I need more to drink.”
What started as a short mission for alcohol with one person turned into a congregation of women.
The conversation bounced from the dresses they planned to wear at an upcoming charity event to the cause of said charity event.
That then attracted the host-to-be and his entourage, which somehow twisted into a psychoanalysis on male versus female altruism in the upper class compared to the middle or lower class, before switching over to tonight’s donated auction lots and an estimation of their worth.
Like usual, I mediated. I redirected when a lull came up.
I appeased, complimented, and laughed along at tactless jokes.
Needless to say, when Cillian wrapped his arm around me and stole me away from the clucking hens, I went with gusto, practically sighing into his arms.
As I gently massaged the corners of my eyes to liven them back up, he led me to our table and pulled a chair out for me. He sat in the next one over.
“I thought you might need this. A little pick-me-up.”
On my place setting was a steaming, strong-bodied espresso wafting warm notes of caramel and roasted hazelnuts.
Oh god, the smell. I hadn’t even drunk it yet, and already life flowed back into my tired brain.
“Yes. Merci. Thank you.”
Over the rim of the demitasse, I spied his slick smile, one that said he was thoroughly pleased with himself.
“That look because of one little coffee?” I asked.