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“Meala? Iris?” He rasped my name like he’d been sleeping, but it was impossible to tell with how alert he sounded. “Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m mad at you.” I rolled to my back and immediately hated myself for it. “It hurts.”
“Iris.” He said my name more firmly, and there was rustling behind his commanding tone. “Tell me if you’re safe.”
“Oh, shush, I’m fine.” I touched my forehead and winced at the flash of pain. “Drunk and sad, but I’m not about to be kidnapped by Oompa Loompas. Oh, but maybe I am. That would get me a lot of attention. Do you think I’d make it on the front page of the paper? As you know, that’s my goal in life.”
“If this call isn’t about your security, then I’m going to end it.” Gruff and steady, he spoke to me like a pesky little girl with a crush.
“I’m sad, Ronan.” My bottom lip quivered. “I’m sad and I don’t want to tell my friends because they’re all drunk too and—” A deep down sob burst out of me like an erupting volcano, violent and charring as it rolled through me.
“Iris, come on. This isn’t—”
“Ronan,please.”
If he hung up now, I was liable to make a stupid decision. Even more stupid than calling my bodyguard in the middle of the night. Like maybe bring that smarmy douchelord who’d run at the mention of my precious Cynthia back to my bed for a distraction. I knew I’d regret it, but I was tempted anyway. I didn’t know why, my mind was topsy-turvy right now, but Ronan made sense. He was my marble sentinel, as steady as his voice.
His sigh of defeat was music to my drunken ears. “Okay. I won’t hang up if you promise not to speak of Oompa Loompas. Those little orange shits give me the creeps.”
I brought my knees up to my chest, curling into a dizzy ball. “I promise.”
And then I started to cry and babble and sob a little more. Ronan never hung up. I fell asleep with my phone at my ear and my name being called from a faraway place that sounded a lot like Ireland.
