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He’d warred with himself a little about that, he had to admit, an unusual reaction for him. “No, I told you. I want you to tell me who you are.”
“If I didn’t have lipstick on, you’d so be getting another kiss.” She swiped his cheek playfully with her hand. “Come on, we’re expected. Ghislaine wanted us to arrive ten minutes before everything started, the better to build anticipation.”
That kind of anticipation was new to Liam, but it was clear from the moment he parked her car in the packed lot. The reporters lingering outside for a smoke or a scoop all turned to see why Wilt was walking in their direction.
“Linc wanted me to see you both inside and run interference with the reporters milling about who aren’t gaping at the mural.” He had his tablet tucked under his arm and looked all business. “Taylor, some meet and greets have been arranged for you. Liam, I assume you’re joining her.”
He nodded and touched her hand as they walked, giving her the chance to decide whether she wanted to hold it. She took it without hesitation, making his heart expand. With that, they headed into the sea of reporters fanned out in front of the building. Cameras flashed and people shouted questions at both of them. Somehow, he hadn’t been prepared for the barrage directed at him.
Did you see Veritas?
What was it like to help him?
What did he look like?
How did he contact you?
Did he tell you why you weren’t in the mural?
His calm demeanor wavered momentarily as Taylor’s grip tightened, and she whispered, “We should have gone in the back.”
Only they didn’t really have a back entrance, he thought as someone called his name. He turned to the source and was blinded momentarily as the flash caught him in the eyes. Right. He was part of the story too now that he’d made a statement about having given Veritas permission.
Wilt cleared the path with the brisk efficiency of a professional bouncer, although Liam was already doing his best to shield Taylor himself. He was oddly protective of her, but he supposed that would be his new normal.
When they reached the main doors to the center, Ghislaine was there in a bold red suit, holding her tablet, her blond hair swept up in a twist, a frown on her beautiful face. “I’m sorry about that.” Her French accent was more evident when she was irritated. “Apparently my directive about waiting until the press conference to ask questions wasn’t strong enough with the Irish reporters, whom I don’t know as well yet. That will be remedied, I promise. Go on to the stage. I’ll be right behind you after I talk to thoseeejits, as Donal would call them.”
Liam was glad he wouldn’t be staying for that lecture.
They made their way onto the stage. The VIP seats were off to the left of the podium, but he wanted a little time with her before settling in. He became aware of the sound of people talking which fell when the seated reporters spotted them.
“This is going to be fun,” Taylor whispered to him. “I’m concentrating on Arthur Hale being here. He’s the older man in the front row, seated between the elegant silver-haired woman, Clara, and the handsome dark-haired man in the navy suit. That’s his nephew, Trevor.”
“The one who runs the inn in Kinsale,” he said, nodding to the group as they smiled their way. “I like the look of them.”
“It’s a dream to meet Arthur Hale. That’s what’s keeping me going. I can’t vomit in front of my idol.”
Maybe he was picking up on her vibes, because his stomach suddenly felt seasick as well. “You’re going to do great.”
Moments later, Ghislaine strode onto the stage and introduced Taylor. Liam squeezed her hand and left her to it, taking a seat beside his mother, who sent him an encouraging smile after he kissed her cheek.
“Hi, I’m Taylor McGowan, and we really should stop meeting like this,” she began, flashing a conspiratorial, droll smile. “After the last press conference where the Kindness Sheep got harassed, you’d think the arts center would be sailing in easy waters. But no, here we are. Still dealing with factions who are using intimidation and harassment to try and shut us down. Let me catch you up on why a Veritas mural has come to grace the south wall of the arts center.”
She breezed through her statement, a pro at using humor to punctuate some very nasty details about Malcolm stopping her on the road and Mary Kincaid being arrested for attempting to paint over her visage.
Her references to Veritas were much like Liam’s: emotionally neutral without the use of gender-revealing pronouns. Taylor couldn’t bring herself to go there, and oddly, neither could he. When she was finished, he took a quieter breath than his mother beside him. Then the questions started coming as she opened the floor.
All of them were pretty standard to his ear, save one from one of the pesky Irish reporters who’d flocked them. “Ms. McGowan, I noticed you holding hands with Liam O’Hanlon, who came to your rescue on the day of the incident. Have you two begun a relationship because of recent events?”
That had Liam sitting up a little straighter in his folding chair. His mum, true to form, chuckled under her breath and whispered, “If only that idiot knew…”
Taylor paused and looked over at him, a full smile gracing her rosy lips, before turning back to the audience. “Well, itwaspretty romantic, wasn’t it? Liam appeared on his black Triumph out of nowhere and put himself between me and Malcolm. Next question.”
His muscles relaxed again as he thought about her response. She’d avoided going into details, which was clever, although he knew any canny reporter could find out he was staying at her house. Soon they would need to address that. There would be talk, and he wanted the wider community to know it was more than a fling based on sharing an emotionally charged moment together. She was his, and he hers.
When Ghislaine stepped in to cut off questions and thank everyone for coming, a couple of reporters shouted out requests for Liam to make a statement about Veritas. He did his best to relax as Ghislaine leaned forward to the microphone and answered, “We hadn’t planned on Mr. O’Hanlon speaking today.”
More protestations came from the crowd, prompting Taylor to put her hand over the microphone and whisper something to Ghislaine, who nodded. When they both swung their gazes in his direction, that seasick feeling in his stomach returned.
