Chapter 15 #2
Maybe Cavin isn’t the boy I knew in school.
He fights like a demon but doesn’t unleash himself on me.
Or hasn’t yet.
The restraint that must take… the control.
Standing there in the crowd, watching him raise his bloodied fists in victory, I felt something shift inside me. Fear, yes. Awe, absolutely. Arousal that made my knees weak.
But also… pride.
He’s mine.
This dangerous, violent man has chosen to be gentle with me. And that choice, that constant caging of his nature, is somehow more intimate than anything else between us.
When his eyes found mine across the crowd, dark and predatory and hungry, I felt it like a physical touch.
Maybe he won’t always cage it with me. Not forever.
And the most terrifying part?
I want him to let it loose. Excitement and arousal twist together. I’ve replayed the fight and his hand around my neck, replayed those moments a thousand times since, trying to understand why it didn’t terrify me but did the opposite.
And I want to feel it again.
But this time, I want to see how it ends.
So finally, I say yes.
Okay, fine. Alright I’ll go out to dinner with you.
When?
Cavin
Tonight. I’ll pick you up at six o’clock. Wear something pretty.
My heart flutters in my chest.
I wish Bridget wasn’t back in the hospital for treatments because I want someone to complain to and then squeal with. I want someone who will help me pick out the clothes I should wear. I want to talk about what I’m going to do tonight.
I may be marrying a man I hate, but at least he’s a man and not a boy. He’s picking me up. He told me what time. He told me what to wear.
I like black and white. I like expectations and dependability. So if anything, Cavin is competent. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?
I don’t tell my mother—I have at least an ounce of self-preservation left. But I do go to my da.
“Listen,” I tell my father over breakfast. “Would you agree that I’m making a sacrifice for this family?”
“Of course,” he says, pushing his cup of tea away. “What’s this about?”
“I’m going out to dinner with Cavin tonight, and I do not want Mam breathing down my neck.”
“So you want me to occupy your mother?” he says with a nod. “Fair enough. What time do you need?”
“I guess I need… I don’t know, an hour to get ready? He’s picking me up at six.”
“I’ll have her out of the house by half four,” he says with a nod.
I get up from the table, and he reaches for my hand. “You do what you have to, Erin. Make that man fall in love with you.”
He lets me go and leaves the table. I’m reeling, staring after him.
Make that man fall in love with you.
Since when was that the goal? Isn’t it enough to marry him?
And how exactly does one do that? I don’t know how to make him fall in love with me.
Love me? Sure, no problem, Da. I’ll just figure out which parts of myself to bury so Cavin doesn’t rip the piss out of me like he did in school. Grand.
In the afternoon, I go to my room and set up my tablet with the YouTube tutorials Bridget showed me before she went back to the hospital. Then I get a brilliant idea.
I click video call, and she picks up on the first ring.
But Bridget looks pale. She has dark circles under her eyes. And is that a fleck of blood at the corner of her mouth? I gasp when I look at her.
I need to make it work tonight.
“Hey,” Bridget says with a watery smile. “What’s up? I know, I know, I look terrible. It was a rough night, but I’m feeling a little better.”
Bridget’s a terrible liar.
“Cavin’s taking me out to dinner,” I say with a grimace. “And I need to… Oh god, I don’t know. I need to be ready soon.”
“Where’s he taking you?”
“He just said”—my voice lowers to a deep pitch—‘I’ll pick you up at six. Wear something nice.’”
Bridget smiles, and I swear her eyes have hearts in them like a little emoji. “He did?”
“Yes,” I say, blowing out a breath. “I’m not that impressed, so relax. What should I wear?”
“It’s cute though.”
“It’s not cute, it’s bossy.”
Is there anything about the McCarthy family men that isn’t bossy?
I sigh.
“Okay, you definitely need to wear the ivory dress that dips all the way down in front. The backless one.”
“Bridget!” I scold her.
“I know,” she says with a grin. “But don’t you want this man to be attracted to you?”
I remember the way he looked at me in the club—hungry, like a wolf circling its prey. And somehow… I don’t think that’s a problem.
I didn’t see a purple band on his arm.
Wait a minute. Do the men there wear bands too? I need to find out.
I shrug. “I suppose.”
“Yes! Of course. But wear something beautiful, maybe that emerald dress. Make him jealous. Make him want to protect you.”
I remember the way he snarled in my ear: You come into this club… Men here come with one purpose.
I remember exactly how that felt.
“Alright,” I say. “Sure.”
“Well, your makeup looks beautiful,” she says.
I nod. “It does. Thank you.”
Bridget smiles and giggles, and I’m not sure why, but it’s not that complicated. She showed me a video, and now I know how to do it.
I like to keep it natural. My eyes are brighter.
My cheeks are slightly flushed. My lips are full from a lip plumper and stained with something that doesn’t come off when I eat or drink.
I’ve had my eyebrows waxed, and I used a little filler brush.
She showed me this really amazing mascara that does something called “tubing” that just washes off with warm water. Kind of miraculous.
I look pretty good.
“Alright,” she says. “Go put that dress on. And what did you do with your hair?”
“Well, I just washed it,” I tell her. “And did a little with the stuff you bought me and did a bit of a blowout or some such. It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it.”
All through secondary school, I had frizz-ball hair. But up until recently, she showed me some kind of method. And I’m not going to argue—it’s nice being able to wake up to luxurious, silky waves.
And when I put that dress on? It’s stunning.
I look at the time. Five fifty.
“What am I going to do for the next ten minutes?” I say nervously.
Bridget giggles and starts coughing. She coughs louder and louder until I feel my own ribs begin to rattle in sympathy.
“You know what?” I say. “I don’t have to go out to dinner tonight. I need to—”
“No,” Bridget says firmly. “You do. You’re doing this for our family. And honestly, Erin, after I hang up the phone, I’m just going to sleep. I just need sleep.”
She needs so much more than sleep.
I draw in a deep breath.
“So before he arrives, maybe mentally rehearse a couple of conversations you’ll have with him in your head before you have them in person. You know how that helps you. Okay? Can you do that?”
“Rehearse conversations?” I grimace. “What do you mean?”
“Oh my god, you’re so cute,” she says, coughing again. “I wish I were there. Like this—let’s practice.”
I wait again until the coughing subsides.
Fuck aplastic anemia. Why did she get the faulty bone marrow? She’s the pretty one, the one who would’ve done really well playing this part in our world.
I should be the one in that hospital bed.
Bridget sinks back against a bed of pillows. A nurse comes in and adjusts her IV. Then another one comes in and checks her medication.
We go on as if this is normal because this has become our new normal.
“Tell me a little bit about yourself, Erin,” she says in a deep, masculine voice, and I can’t help but giggle.
“Don’t ask me that,” I tell her, shaking my head.
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t tell him that I’m into knitting and puzzles, Bridget. He’ll think he’s marrying an old lady.”
“Who do you think he wants to marry?” she says. “He wants to marry you. You’re not an old lady. You don’t have shriveled up titties and ovaries.”
I roll my eyes but snort.
“Listen, Erin.” She leans forward into the camera, and I wish that she didn’t, because when she does, the harsh fluorescent lighting makes her eyes look bright and highlights the dark circles underneath. It scares me.
“You need to be honest. Honesty is still the best policy. You have to understand,” she says vehemently.
“In our world, everything is cloaked in lies, right? It’s all about who you know, how you play the game, who the power players are, who’s rising, who’s falling.
Who’s next.” She swallows hard. “You don’t play by those rules.
Honestly, babe,” she says with a soft smile, “it’s one of the things I love best about you.
You are who you are, no matter what anybody else thinks.
” She gives me a half smile and lowers her voice again.
“So tell me, Erin. Tell me a little bit about yourself.”
Hmm. “I…don’t like to drink? I don’t like loud music. I don’t like…”
Me pushed up against the wall, his hand on my throat, his voice right up against my ear, and the way my heart fluttered in excitement. I liked that. But I quickly move on, pushing the thought away.
I swallow hard. “What about you?”
Bridget grins. “I like guns, fast cars, and fighting,” she says in this comically gruff, masculine voice. “And the plans I have for the beautiful woman I’m marrying.”
“Oh my god, Bridget,” I say with a giggle.
“Erin?” My father’s voice calls from downstairs, and there’s a soft knock at the door.
“Yes?”
I open it to find our housekeeper on the other side. “Your ride’s here, ma’am,” she says, her eyes wide. “And what a ride it is,” she adds with a little smile as she quickly scurries away.
“Oh god. Oh god, Bridget. I have to go. He’s… he’s here.”
“Relax,” she says with a big smile. “Remember, this is the man you’re marrying, okay?”
“I know,” I say with a grimace.
“It’s not like it’s a blind date,” she says. “Just go. Have fun. Eat good food.”
“How do I look?”
Bridget clasps her hands over her heart, sighs, and leans back against the pillows. “You look absolutely, stunningly, amazingly beautiful. And if you weren’t my sister, and he wasn’t marrying you, I would ask to marry you myself.”
That makes me smile. “You’re crazy.”