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I raise an eyebrow, unsure of what she’s talking about. “And what would that entail, Saoirse?”
“I want to start a foundation.” She says it flatly, without beating around the bush. “I want to do it with the other wives of the Kings and the alliance—Sofia and Caterina, too. It will be good for all of us and do good at the same time. I want you to promise me that I’ll have your full support in that—both financially and that you’ll let me run and manage it as I see fit, without interference, just as you intend to run the Kings.” Her chin tilts up as she meets my eyes. “Is that acceptable toyou, Connor?”
I’m not sure what I’d expected her to say, but it hadn’t been that. I have to hide just how impressed I actually am by her request because the last thing I want is for her to feel she has the upper hand with me. But I’m surprised by it, and it makes me wonder if there really is much more to my uptight Irish princess than I knew.
“Of course,” I say simply. “That’s an excellent goal, Saoirse, and it will benefit us all. I’m more than happy to support you in that.” I smile at her then, reaching for her hand as I take the ring out of the box. “I’ll have to take this back later, of course, before the ceremony. But I want this promise between us to be meaningful as well.” I hold out the ring at the tip of her finger, looking into her bright green eyes. “We are in agreement, Saoirse O’Sullivan? In this marriage, we will support one another and do our duty to our family, and that will be our bond. No passion, no love, only commitment. Marriages have been built on much worse.”
“Indeed they have,” Saoirse says softly. “We are in agreement, Connor McGregor.”
She holds my gaze as I slide the ring onto her finger, the wind whipping her hair loose from her ponytail.No passion. No love. Only duty.
No passion.
The ring fits perfectly. Her hand is delicate and warm in mine, and I should let go.
No passion.
Her eyes don’t leave mine, even for a second, and I see the hitch in her breath as my hand tightens on hers. “Engagement promises are sealed with a kiss, aren’t they?” Saoirse whispers huskily, and I know that I should deny her that kiss with every cell in my body. We’re alone on a windswept Irish beach, without another soul for miles, and no one but ourselves to hold us accountable.
This is a place for romance, passion, and love—all things I just told her that she should never expect from me, things we just promised to never expect from each other.
But I can’t let go of her hand. I can’t stop looking at her lips. I can’t stop thinking of how they feel on mine, and after all, she’s going to be my wife. It’s not as if I’m never going to kiss her again.
“Indeed they are,” I murmur, and then I pull her into my arms.
