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How did I make sense of all these versions of him?
How did I keep my heart from leaping into the arms of a man who fucked me like he needed me to live and now was making me an omelet?
I wasn’t strong enough to resist this Ronan. I’d be in love by morning if I wasn’t careful.
On my phone, I scrolled through the internet and ordered pants, shirts, shoes, dresses, underwear (thank goodness) and toiletries to be delivered tomorrow. Here. My new home. Our home.
Ronan sat down next to me with two plates of food. Big yellow fluffy omelets with cheese oozing out the middle.
My plate had sliced-up apples on it. I was for a second taken back to the cottage and the farl. One sweet. One savory.
“We should have stayed in Ireland,” I said, staring at the food.
He looked up at me, his eyes sharp. “You can’t be serious.”
“Why?”
“Because there was nothing there.”
“Rascal was. The cottage was. You were.” The words came out unprovoked and I looked out the window instead of at him. Stupid fucking Poppy. Stupid fucking heart. I had to stop giving myself away like that.
“That’s enough life for you?” he asked quietly. Like it mattered. Like my answer had the power to change things. I gave myself points for not looking at him. For not throwing myself in his arms.
“Poppy? That’s enough for you?”
I nodded into the silence. Reckless and dumb to the very end.
His laughter made me flinch.
And then despite all my efforts, my eyes were hot with tears. Every tear I’d held back for years. Every time the senator hurt me and I didn’t give him the satisfaction of crying. With my shoulder I wiped away a tear that slid down my cheek so he wouldn’t see it.
There. That’s how he feels. Your longings are laughable. Remember this, Poppy. Remember, or every pain you feel after this is your own damn fault.
“You’re only saying that because you’re scared.” He attacked his omelet with the side of his fork. I wiped my face, brushing away all the tears until they stopped.
My stomach suddenly grumbled and I took a slice of apple.
“I don’t think I am, actually.”
“You’re not scared.”
“I don’t know, Ronan.” When I looked at him, all I saw was how handsome he was. And how tired. Which I refused to feel anything about. “We’re on the top floor of a four-floor fortress with dozens of armed guards beneath us. I feel pretty safe.”
“You shouldn’t,” he said. His eyes raked me for a moment, reminding me of the plane. Of his touch. His hunger. But then he blinked and it was over and I could tell myself it was a trick of my heart seeing what it wanted.
Ronan demolished his eggs and I bit an apple in half.
“What are the pictures of?” I asked, gesturing at the framed black-and-white pictures on the wall behind his shoulder. There was a wind-swept dune. A sunrise over a snow-covered mountain. A woman smiling over her shoulder in the jungle. She was beautiful and I hated her.
He looked at them like it was the first time and then shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Aren’t they yours?”
“No. The apartment came furnished.”
“You have someone else’s photos on your wall?”
“All of this stuff is someone else’s.”
There’s the stone-cold killer I know. Everything fell back into place, these versions of him. I sighed, selfishly comforted and a little sad all at once. I wondered if he didn’t care about his home or didn’t notice. And then I wondered which was worse.
“What happens tomorrow?” I asked and then pointed my apple at the window and the day outside. “Or today. Or…next. What happens next?”
“You’re going to bed.”
“You’re not?”
“I will,” he said, but I knew he was lying. “We need to figure out what the senator had on both families. How he was working with them.”
“Blackmail?” I asked. The idea had been spinning in my mind for a while. In his position he’d have a lot of information. The kind that could be weaponized. The apples had unlocked my hunger and I cut the omelet with the side of my fork and put a piece in my mouth. It was more butter and salt than egg and I approved of that ratio.
“That makes sense for Caroline. She works very hard to control her image.”
“What do the Morelli’s care about?” I asked. The omelet was too rich and I set down my fork and picked up another apple.
“Power. Control. Money.” Ronan shrugged. “Hating the Constantines. They care a lot about that.”
“Then the senator had information that would have taken that away?”
“Jeopardized it.” He sat back, his plate empty. I saw his eyes glance over at mine and I pushed my half an omelet towards him.
“You’re not going to eat it?”
I shook my head. “Niamh has the box from Bennington. I’ll go get it,” he said.
