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“He’s really dead? Bennington?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have Raj dig around a little more,” Ronan said, methodically making his way through what was left of my omelet. He ate like he was stoking a fire, without enjoyment. Pure expedience.
“He was such a no one. Completely innocuous. I can’t believe he was a danger to anyone.”
Ronan stood up, the plates in his hand. “We can worry about it tomorrow. You should get some sleep.”
“I need to speak to Caroline,” I said. He shook his head and took the plates to the kitchen. “Am I a prisoner again? Do I need to remind you how that didn’t work out for you last time?”
By accident, in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, his eyes met mine and I caught my breath. Everything that happened in that cottage was there between us. The chair and the dark bedroom, the secrets up on the hill in the church. The cats. The bath and the whiskey. Then he blinked and just like that the memories were gone.
“We go to Caroline’s together,” he said. “You’re not to leave here alone.”
“Ronan. I won’t be a prisoner.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“You married me. Remember? We already made this terrible sacrifice. The least we can do is take advantage of the protection it provides us.”
“Our marriage isn’t going to keep you safe. Don’t you get it?” he asked. “Eden was right, we’re leaving leverage every place we go. You are now a tool someone can use to get to me. There are people out there who, when finding out I’m married, will delight in the idea that they can hurt you so they can hurt me.”
I opened my mouth to argue but then closed it again. His words rang of truth. The silence around us breathed and there were a thousand questions I could ask, but there was only one that mattered.
“Would it hurt you if I was hurt?”
“You daft fucking girl, don’t you hear what I’m saying?”
“Well, you’re yelling, so it—”
“You don’t know my life, Poppy. You think you do and that’s my fault. I never should have taken you to that cottage. I never should have…” He stopped. The words he didn’t say were ringing in the silence.
Touched you.
Kissed you.
Let you close. Well, you did, I thought. And now we’re here. “You’re an innocent.”
“Not so much anymore.”
“Poppy, I’m not joking about this.”
“I’m not joking either,” I cried. We were both standing, exhaustion and terror making me yell. “It only hurts you, Ronan, if you care about me and you’ve made it—”
He grabbed me. “If you were hurt, it wouldn’t hurt me.” He leaned forward, his face in mine like he could say these words right into my mouth if he could. Into my brain. “It would kill me.”
He dropped my arms and stepped away. As far away as he could get from me until he was standing at the windows, looking at the city. I stood there, reeling.
“Despite what happened on that plane, this marriage is not real. As soon as we’re able, you will divorce me and walk away. And you will never look back.” He turned to me. “Don’t get it turned around in your head; we will end.”
The ground beneath my feet was suddenly unsteady and my head began to swim. I was tired and hungover and now suddenly so…sad. And I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to change his mind and reveal his heart. But I wasn’t capable of the words.
“Hey,” he said with his voice low and quiet, like he hadn’t just punched me in the gut. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
I wanted to sink into that brattiness I had with him sometimes. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. But I wanted him to wrap me up in his arms more. So, I gave up the fight. I surrendered to the moment and this moment called for sleep. “Where?” I asked.
“I’ll show you.”
Like a child I followed him out of the living room, down the hallway, through the kitchen to a bedroom off the back. There was a king-size bed with a black comforter and crisp white pillowcases. The sun was rising through the windows of the front room, but it was dark back here, the sound of the city hushed and quiet.
“There’s a bathroom through here,” he said, opening a door to reveal a white-tiled room. This was clearly his bedroom. There was a dresser with a silver tray on top of it, cluttered with watches and receipts. Money in a gold clip. The room smelled like him.
“This is your room,” I said, my skin flushing with the idea of lying down in that big bed of his and him lying down next to me. “There’s a guest room off the living room.” He answered the question I wasn’t brave enough to ask. “I’ll stay there.”
