Chapter 3 #5
“It’s been difficult for him,” I say slowly.
“This has all been difficult. The last few months have been some of the hardest we’ve had to deal with.
” I break off, taking another sip of my drink.
It feels as if we can’t get away from these topics, from blood and death.
With a more normal man, I wouldn’t have these conversations…
but those men don’t understand the need for security, for protection, the need to make sure I’m watched over at all times.
They resent that they can’t get me alone, can’t easily get what they want.
"I understand," Desmond says. "Family can be complicated. Especially families like ours." He pauses. “I understand how Ronan must feel. Losing a wife and a father so close together. After all, I lost my sister, and then my father.”
There's something in his tone that makes me look at him more closely. In the dim light, his green eyes seem almost predatory. I’m not sure what the look is, exactly. Desire, maybe? I’ve seen it so rarely that I’m not entirely sure I can parse it out.
I remember what it looked like when Elio wanted me. The yearning in his eyes, the need. But that kind of longing is rare. It’s not something I ever expect to find with someone else.
I’m not sure I want to ever feel it with someone else. If I could, it would cheapen it somehow, I think. I’d rather live the rest of my life never feeling it again, settling for simple, banal affection, than lessen what Elio and I had together briefly.
"What do you mean?" I ask, tapping my nails against the side of my glass. Desmond shrugs.
"Just that we all have our secrets, our loyalties, our obligations. Sometimes they conflict with what we want for ourselves."
He reaches across the table and takes my hand again, his thumb stroking across my knuckles. "I imagine it's been difficult for you, being the only daughter. All that protection, all those expectations."
"I've been lucky.” His touch sends something warm up my arm, at odds with my internal back-and-forth over how this man makes me feel. "My father, and now Ronan, have always supported my independence."
"Have they?" Desmond's grip tightens slightly. "Or have they just given you the illusion of independence while keeping you on a very long leash? Your father especially. I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t one day have wanted a more traditional role for you."
I tug my hand back, but he doesn't let go immediately. When he finally releases me, it's with obvious reluctance.
"I think you're underestimating my brother," I say, my voice cooler than before. “And how valuable I am to the family. Marrying me off to someone more traditional would be like shooting themselves in the foot.”
“Maybe.” Desmond tilts his head slightly. “It’s still self-serving, though, isn’t it? Independence, because it suits them.”
I laugh a little shakily. “Are you saying my independence should come without strings? That I don’t need to be useful to live my own life?
” He’s saying things I’ve thought before, in the dark parts of the night.
But I don’t particularly like hearing them from him, having my innermost fears turned inside out.
It’s almost as if he knows me a little too well for my comfort.
Or maybe he just wants to understand me. Maybe, once again, I’m reading all of this in the worst possible light because it’s easier than being hopeful that this could work out.
“I’m just saying that I wouldn’t underestimate how much control he has over your life.” Desmond shrugs again. “It matters what you want too, Annie.”
“Are you hoping that I’ll say you?” I tease him, trying to lighten things a bit. When he smiles, I feel my shoulders drop slightly as I relax.
“Of course I am.” His fingers graze mine again where they’re wrapped around the crystal glass. “Like you said, this has been a wonderful night. I’m sad that it has to end.”
I take another sip of my drink, using the moment to study his face.
There’s a smile on his full mouth, his eyes gleaming as he watches me.
There’s desire there, I’m sure of it now, and genuine interest. He wants me—he wants more of me, and I think I want more of him, too.
At the very least, I’d like another night like this one.
"What about you?" I ask, changing the subject. "Any family obligations I should know about? Drama that you want to share?" I keep my tone light and teasing, wanting to steer away from the heavier topics we keep coming back to tonight.
"Just the usual," he says vaguely, waving a hand. "Business interests to maintain, relationships to cultivate. The kind of thing that comes with our name. It’s all boring, really. Although I’m sure you’d find the financial parts of it fascinating."
“I always do,” I say with a laugh, and Desmond shakes his head.
“I can’t understand that. I was never a maths guy in school. Not in the slightest.”
“You and my brother have that in common,” I tease back, and then immediately break off as I see that hard flash of emotion drift across his gaze again.
It was a foolish thing to say, really. I know Desmond and Ronan never got along, not even when Ronan was married to Siobhan.
It’s another of the reasons I’m in no hurry to divulge to Ronan who I’m seeing until I’m sure that there’s a future in it.
Desmond is definitely not who he would choose for me, given the choice.
Is that part of the allure? I can’t help but wonder as I allow Desmond’s fingers to graze mine for a moment longer.
Is some rebellious part of me jerking against that leash, even though Ronan has never made me feel it?
Am I seeking out someone who would upset Ronan, even though I love my brother more than anything else in the world, to prove my independence?
The thought makes me unsettled. And at the same time, I can’t help thinking—if I really wanted to upset him, I’d go after Elio. Not Desmond.
That thought makes me feel as if it’s exactly what I’m doing, only choosing the lesser of two evils, and I push it away. I just wanted to go out on a date with someone I connected with, someone who I thought might actually work out. Not psychoanalyze myself at the end of it.
"I should probably head home soon," I say, glancing at my phone. "It's getting late."
"Already?" He looks genuinely disappointed. "We're just getting to know each other."
"I know, but I really do have an early meeting tomorrow. Rain check?" I smile at him, giving the hint that I’m interested in a second date.
“A meeting on a Saturday?” Desmond rolls his eyes playfully, and I shrug.
“There’ve been some… changes, recently. I’m not really getting a day off this week. Not when Ronan has reports he needs to see and a pile of paperwork for me to go over.”
"Of course," he says, but I can see the frustration in his expression. "Let me just finish my drink."
He drains the remainder of his whiskey in one swallow and signals for the check. While we wait, he wraps his hand around mine again, his thumb stroking over the inside of my palm.
"I've really enjoyed tonight, Annie," he says, his voice low and intimate. "I hope we can do this again soon."
"I'd like that," I murmur. His touch feels warm, pleasurable, but nothing like what I remember Elio’s fingers feeling like against mine. My chest doesn’t tighten, my breath doesn’t catch.
But I don’t want that, I remind myself. Nothing so painful or so intense.
Simple desire is all I’m after, attraction that’s strong enough for good sex—not that I know what that is, yet—but not so overwhelming that I could lose myself in the other person.
Something simpler and so much less dangerous than what I once felt for Elio.
His other hand finds my knee under the table, and I tense. This is farther than I’m ready to go yet. "You're incredible, you know that? Beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated. Any man would be lucky to have you."
I smile, but it feels shaky. This is what I’m supposed to want, right? His touch, his desire. This is what I’m after. But his hand brushing the side of my knee doesn’t feel right. Not like—
"Thank you," I manage, trying to shift away from his touch without being obvious about it. Stop thinking about Elio, I tell myself firmly. Think about this. Desmond is handsome and intelligent, and charming. He’s what I want, and most importantly, he’s who I’ve chosen to go out with.
"I mean it," he says with a smile, his hand moving higher up my thigh, brushing the soft skin just below the edge of my skirt. "I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about you until we do this again.”
"Desmond.” My voice is sharp enough to make him pause.
He pulls his hand back quickly, having the good grace at least to look sheepish. “Sorry,” he says, giving me a rueful smile. "I got carried away. You're just so… tempting."
The check arrives and he pays quickly, leaving a generous tip.
As we prepare to leave, he helps me with my jacket, his hands lingering on my shoulders longer than necessary.
I wait for the tingling to spread across my skin at his touch, to feel as if the heat of his hands is sinking into my skin, pulling me into him.
But I don’t feel it. I’m interested, curious, but something is missing.
Inexplicably, a rush of anger burns through me, directed right at Elio, who isn’t even here to defend himself.
How dare he ruin me like this? I seethe as I walk out with Desmond to where the car is waiting.
How dare he make me feel things I can’t find again, and then leave?
He didn’t take my virginity, but he ruined me all the same, it feels like.
Like I can’t want a perfectly normal, charming, handsome man because I don’t feel the rush, the stomach-twisting, panting, melting desire that I once felt for a boy who left me.
The ride back to my house is quieter than the drive to dinner. Desmond seems lost in thought, and I find myself studying his profile in the dim light from the dashboard. He's undeniably handsome, and he's clearly interested in me. So why do I feel so unsettled?
Maybe it's just nerves. It has been a long time since I've been on a date, and longer still since I've been with someone who seemed genuinely interested in pursuing something serious. Maybe I'm overthinking things, reading too much into his gestures and comments. And seeing Elio earlier today is no doubt messing this all up as well. If I hadn’t seen him, I think, this would have all gone so much better. I wouldn’t be remembering things that I’ve put out of my head for years now.
"Penny for your thoughts," Desmond says, glancing over at me.
"Just thinking about the show," I lie, feeling my stomach twist. "It was really beautiful."
"It was," he agrees. "Though not as beautiful as my date.
" His hand reaches over the console, settling on my knee again. It’s warm, and broad, and firm, and I wonder what it would feel like if I let that hand wander wherever it pleased.
If I let Desmond seduce me. Could I let go and just let it happen?
Would he be gentle with me? How would he feel about taking my virginity?
Would it be a conquest for him or an honor?
I swallow hard, reaching out to touch the back of his hand. I trace the fine veins there, and I feel a ripple of tension run through him. "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?"
"Only when I'm with someone worth charming.” He flashes a smile at me as he pulls into my driveway.
Leon and the other guards are already there, having arrived ahead of us. I can see them taking up positions around the property, and I'm grateful for their presence. Whatever else is on my mind tonight, I don’t feel as if I need to worry about my safety, and that’s a relief.
Desmond walks me to the door, his hand on the small of my back again. When we reach the front steps, he turns to face me, and I can see the expectation in his eyes.
"Thank you for tonight," I say quickly before he can lean in for a kiss. "I had a wonderful time."
"So did I," he murmurs, moving closer. "When can I see you again?"
“Let me see what I have going on next weekend.” I look up at him, taking in the contours of his handsome face in the lights of the courtyard. “I’d like to do this again, too, though.”
As I say it, I realize I do mean it. I don’t want this to be our only date just because of the weird day I had, a former flame showing up again, and my own awkwardness with relationships. “Good night,” I say softly, and I see the heat in his eyes as he looks down at me.
"Good night, beautiful," he murmurs, and this time he does lean in for a kiss. I turn my head slightly so that his lips catch my cheek instead of my mouth, and I feel him tense with frustration.
"I'll talk to you soon," I say, already reaching for my keys.
"I’ll be waiting.” His voice carries a promise that makes me shiver.
I let myself into the house quickly, locking the door behind me and leaning against it with a sigh. Through the window, I watch Desmond get back into his car and drive away, and only then do I allow myself to really think about the evening.
Dinner was lovely, the theater was magical, and Desmond had been charming and attentive. But I can’t shake how his hand on my leg made me feel, as if I were being backed into a corner rather than flirted with and seduced.
Maybe I'm being paranoid. Maybe the combination of alcohol and the intimate setting had just made him more forward than he intended to be. Maybe I'm so unused to male attention that I'm misreading normal romantic interest as something more sinister.
I head upstairs, slipping out of the silk dress and tossing it over the back of a chair as I fall into bed in nothing but the thong I wore under it. My hand grazes my breast, and my thoughts flit back to Elio. To the look in his eyes when he saw me. The way I felt when I saw him.
All of that was supposed to be buried long ago. Destroyed. And I feel a pulse of resentment that he’s come back now, disrupted my life when I might finally have found someone I want to pursue.
I throw back the blankets and slide underneath them, rolling onto my side as I try to banish all thoughts of Elio. I’m going to see Desmond again. I’m going to find out where this leads. And next time, I’m not going to let myself overthink it.
I’m not going to ruin what might be a good thing over a man who proved to me years ago that he never really was.