25. Sienna
TWENTY-FIVE
SIENNA
“Why are we going for a walk?” I asked.
Tyran had been home for a few hours and managed to clean up the entire bedroom, get work done, and even had the energy to go for a walk, while I felt physically and mentally exhausted.
“It’ll help you sleep better,” he said, handing me my coat.
I winced, recalling my outburst earlier. Something had come over me when I’d woken to the feel of a hand around my throat. My mind had instantly dragged me back to that place I’d spent so long trying to forget, and my instincts flared.
I fought.
“I’d just woken up,” I grumbled.
Still, I took the coat from him and slipped it on.
“We will walk through the forest,” he said. “Maybe all the way to your cottage and the coastline.”
“You won’t wear a jacket?” I questioned, looking him over.
Tyran had changed into jeans and a sweater, looking less like the mobster I was accustomed to seeing and more like an ordinary, hot man.
“Worried I’ll get sick?” he teased. I rolled my eyes and shrugged. “Don’t worry, we’ll get married even if I’m on my deathbed.”
“How comforting,” I mumbled. “Just put on your jacket too.”
He chuckled as he reached for his own tweed coat and slid it on.
“Where is your leather jacket?” I asked suddenly.
I didn’t see it while exploring his closets.
He shrugged. “Probably back in New York. Why?”
“I was just wondering. You look very much like a…” I searched for the right word. “Legit businessman these days.”
“Maybe I’m trying to impress you and your family.”
I scoffed. “I doubt it.”
We exited the castle and my gaze flicked to the gilding by the gate where I knew the guards were. I stepped closer to Tyran and my hand instinctively reached for his. I was being irrational, but that guard scared the living daylights out of me.
We walked in silence for a bit, past the darkened lawn, past shrubberies and flower beds, toward the forest.
“I thought you said guards aren’t allowed inside the castle?” I asked.
“They aren’t,” he said finally, turning to face me but not releasing my arm. “But you took pills and scared the living shit out of me.”
“How do you know I took pills?”
“I have indoor surveillance,” he said, and then quickly added, “That only I have access to.”
“Creepy,” I muttered. “Who’s the stalker now?”
“Touché.”
Tense silence stretched, but I didn’t mind it. Instead, I enjoyed the quiet, and focused on the crunching sound of leaves under our feet.
“What the fuck, Sienna?” he finally said, breaking the peace. “How long have you been taking pills? And downing them with alcohol? Do you have a death wish?”
“Sometimes.” I smiled sadly. “I’m not really trying to kill myself, though.”
“You could have fooled me.” He let out a sardonic breath. “Taking sleeping pills with alcohol is a sure way to find death.”
“Don’t be melodramatic.”
“You will stop.” I rolled my eyes at his overreaction and he added, “I mean it. I’ve tossed every pill bottle into the trash and the alcohol is hidden now.”
I resumed walking and he followed, although his grip on my hand tightened.
A crunch of fallen leaves echoed beneath our feet as we walked, each step stirring shades of amber, gold, and deep red. The wind whispered through the bare branches, making them sway against the cool autumn sky.
Fall in Ireland was cold enough to find its way through our coats, but there was something undeniably beautiful about it.
The familiar green of the Irish landscape remained, softened and deepened by the changing season, blending effortlessly with the warm canvas of autumn colors.
Emerald fields stretched alongside trees dressed in copper and rust, creating a landscape that felt both wild and peaceful.
The air smelled of rain, earth, and fallen leaves.
“It helps me get some rest,” I finally said.
“How often do you take them?”
“Every few days.” He stared at my profile, and I added in a whisper, “Sometimes every day.”
“How many?”
“Usually two do the trick with some alcohol."
“Jesus, baby. That’s bad.”
“I can’t sleep without them,” I admitted. Shame colored my cheeks. Did this mean I was an addict? I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t sure. “And if I don’t get sleep, then I can’t concentrate to get any work done.”
“How long?” he asked. I opened my mouth to say it had only started when he demanded, “I want the truth.”
I swallowed. “A few years.”
His blue eyes narrowed to slits. “Before or after you sent me to prison?”
I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them. He was still watching me.
“Before.”
He nodded somberly. “So after your kidnapping?”
My lips thinned, but I was certain my expression was an answer enough.
“Those things are slowly killing you,” he said.
“I have to die one day,” I said, attempting to lighten the mood.
“Funny.”
“Why do you care?” I snapped, coming to a stop and turning to glare at him. I tried to yank my hand out of his grip, but he wouldn’t let me. “I sent you to prison, remember? You want to make me pay for betraying you.”
His face tightened with anger in the moonlight.
“And how in the fuck will you pay if you kill yourself!” he said.
“I’m not trying to kill myself.”
“You’re killing yourself slowly every time you take a fucking pill and down it with alcohol. Eventually two pills will become three, then four. And one day, you won’t wake up.”
“At least I won’t dream anymore,” I cried, my eyes burning with the anger that had been buried inside me for five long years.
“No, you won’t,” he said. “It seems I was wrong about you after all.” His eyes seemed to burn into mine. “You’re not brave. You’re a coward.”
Something snapped inside me and I yanked my hand out of his, then I raised both fists and pummeled his chest.
“Fuck you.”
I kept hitting his hard chest. He didn’t defend himself, although his jacket probably made the impact almost nonexistent.
“No, Sienna. Fuck you.” I glanced up at him and my fists froze, resting against his chest. “No wonder you agreed to give me five years. You never intended to live that long.” He took me by the upper arm, lowered his head, and brought his lips against mine.
“You owe me five years, and you’re going to pay up. Without fucking pills or alcohol.”
Then he took my mouth in a punishing kiss. He encircled me with his arms, trapping me within them. His mouth pressed to mine with a fierce urgency and his hands moved boldly over my body.
My heart was pounding so violently that I felt as though it might break through my ribs. It was like that first time he kissed me, when the entire world ceased to exist, leaving me in flames with him.
“Promise me,” he murmured against my lips, letting me drown in the taste of him.
I clutched his jacket as my knees weakened.
“Promise what?” I asked, sagging against him.
My mind was a scrambled mess.
“Promise me you’ll stay with me,” he whispered against my mouth. “Promise you won’t touch pills or alcohol anymore. You owe me that much at least.”
“I promise.” I gazed at him in despair. “Although you might not like me then.”
He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Why wouldn’t I like you?”
“Because I’m cranky when I’m tired.”
“You’re cranky even when you’re not.”
I shot him an annoyed look. “That wasn’t very romantic.”
“I’m not trying to be romantic.”
“That’s obvious.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
He grabbed my hand and we continued walking in silence.
The forest gradually thinned, the trees giving way to rough grass and low shrubs battered by the wind.
Ahead, the land dropped sharply, a jagged line of cliffs stretching under the moon and overlooking the restless sea which stretched endlessly beneath the dark sky.
The only silver lining was where the moonlight touched the water.
Waves crashed against the rocks far below, the sound carrying upward on the cold wind.
“I’ve been living here for five years,” I said pensively, “yet never came over to the cliffs. I usually stroll through the forest.”
“Maybe you were subconsciously trying to find me,” he retorted wryly, knowing full well that wasn’t true since he’d spent those five years behind bars.
I turned to face him and found him already looking at me. “Why won’t you let me explain why I betrayed you?”
His expression darkened and he shoved his hands into his coat pockets.
“Because there isn’t a reason good enough that would justify it.” He turned and stared toward the horizon, then continued. “However, you can make it up to me.”
“I know, I know… You want an heir and five years of my life.”
“Yes, that’s for me, but now I want something for you.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It isn’t.”
“That’s exactly what someone about to say something ominous would say.”
He ignored me.
“Your therapy with Dr. Freud…” I stiffened, sensing what was coming. “You should resume your sessions.”
I shook my head. “I won’t. I don’t want to remember those days, never mind talk about them.”
“Well, you have to deal with it, because now you have an addiction to add to that conversation.”
My shoulders stiffened. “It’s not an addiction,” I gritted.
“If you need the pills to sleep, it is.”
“I need them to rest,” I corrected him.
“I’ve called her,” he said, ignoring me. “She offered to do FaceTime therapy sessions and recommended long walks to tire you out.”
I snickered. “Is that all?”
“No, she also suggested that if walks don’t tire you enough, we have lots of sex.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Did she now?”
“Yes.” To his credit, he kept his expression serious, but his eyes betrayed him. He was lying through his teeth.
“Wouldn’t that constitute exchanging one addiction for another?”
“Being addicted to sex isn’t so bad.”
I rolled my eyes. “I thought any kind of addiction is bad.”
“Not that one.” He grinned. “Now, what do you say?”
I looked back toward the sea. “I don’t need a therapist, but walks and sex… sure, let’s give it a try.”
His jaw clenched. “Sienna.”
I shot him a wary sidelong glance. “I thought you’d be happy. I’m not saying no to long walks and sex.”
“But I’m not happy that you can’t sleep without pills.”
“That doesn’t mean I need therapy.”
“What do you think you need?”
He stepped closer, his gaze locked on me.
“You need help,” he said quietly when I didn’t answer. “Not because there’s something wrong with you. Because something happened to you, and you’ve been carrying it alone for years.”
The wind caught my hair, whipping it across my face. I pushed it away.
I turned sharply toward him. “And if I say no?”
“Then I won’t force you.” He held my gaze. “But I’ll ask you to reconsider.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you alive.”
I looked away.
“Because you want heirs,” I muttered. “And five years.”
His gaze flashed with something sardonic.
“Among many other things.” A whisper of darkness laced through his voice as he cupped my chin.
“You owe me, and I intend to collect. In order to do that, I need you to be healthy.” The rasp of his voice raised goose bumps on my arms, and I sucked in a breath as his lips skimmed up my neck. “Physically and mentally.”
I shivered.
“For five years, you’re all I thought about. You’re mine, and no pills or addiction will get in my way, Sienna.”
I swallowed. “That sounds very… wrong.”
He stepped closer, his cologne wrapping around me as he pulled me against his chest. I should have pushed him away, but suddenly, my brain was in a fog filled with desire.
He ran a thumb across my bottom lip and my lips parted.
“Tell me you’ll talk to Dr. Freud or another therapist,” he demanded. “At least once.”
“Okay,” I breathed under his possessive gaze while my body shivered in anticipation. “After the wedding.”
“Good girl,” he murmured against my lips, and warmth instantly ran to my face.
I always knew that I’d do anything—right or wrong—for this man.