Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Cavin
I lean against the stone railing after she steps back inside, my hands braced, head down, trying to get my breathing under control.
What the hell am I doing? She’s Erin Kavanagh. The girl who made my life hell at St. Albert’s.
The girl who’s about to become my wife, whether either of us wants it or not.
And I just stood there on that balcony, close enough to touch, and spilled my guts like some lovesick fool.
I drag a hand through my hair, cursing under my breath. She looked at me different after that. Not with pity, thank Christ, but with something worse.
Understanding.
Her eyes had gone soft. Her lips parted, just slightly, like she wanted to say something but didn’t know how. And for one dangerous fucking second, I wanted to close the distance between us. See if her mouth was as soft as it looked.
Christ.
I’m losing my mind. She’s the girl who ratted me out at every turn.
Who got me beaten more times than I can count.
Who looked at me like I was dirt. But when she was counting under her breath earlier, fingers tapping that nervous rhythm against her thigh—I remembered.
All those times at school when she’d do the same thing.
When the other kids would mock her for it.
When I’d stand there and do nothing, or worse, when I’d join in, just to keep the attention off how much I noticed her.
How much I wanted to grab her hand and still those tapping fingers. Pull her somewhere quiet where she could breathe.
Fuck.
I wasn’t kind to her… I know that, but standing on that balcony with the wind in her hair and her guard finally down, I wanted to be. Wanted to trace the line of her jaw. Tuck that loose strand of hair behind her ear. Feel if her pulse was racing the way mine was.
Wanted to know if she felt it too, this thing between us that I don’t have a name for.
“Cavin.” I turn.
Seamus is in the doorway, his arms crossed, expression unreadable. “You coming? Mam’s about to ring the bell.”
“Aye. Just needed some air.” His eyes narrow, gaze flicking past me to the empty balcony.
“You talk to her yet?”
“About what?” I still give him shit.
“Don’t fuck with me. About the marriage.” I smirk but straighten. “Not yet.”
“Well, you’d better before dinner. Because if she has something to say about it with both families watching, it’ll be a bloodbath.” He pauses, studying me too closely. “And Cav?”
“Yeah?”
“Try not to cock this up. We need this alliance.”
He walks away before I can respond. I stare out at the dark garden, my jaw clenched.
Right. The alliance, family, trade routes. That’s what this is about.
Not the way her hand felt in mine at the graveyard—small and cold and right. Not the way she smells like roses. Not the way something in my chest settled when I pulled her against my side, and she didn’t pull away.
When her fingers curled into my coat like I was the only solid thing in the world. Not the way I wanted to keep her there. Safe. Mine.
How can I hate the woman and still feel murderous at the thought of her being anyone else’s? How can I hate her and still feel like mine is the only name she should ever say?
None of that matters.
I push off the railing and head back inside, flexing my hands to get rid of the phantom feeling of her waist under my palm.
Time to face the truth. She’s going to look at me with those sharp eyes and realize I’m exactly the bastard she always thought I was. That this whole thing—the tour, the vulnerability, the moment on the balcony—was just leading to a trap. She’s going to hate me even more after this.
And somehow, that thought bothers me more than it should. Because part of me, the part that’s still standing on that balcony in the cold with her, doesn’t want her to hate me at all. Part of me wants the opposite, and that’s the most dangerous thing of all.