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“See?” I smile at him. “Old man.”
Theo narrows his eyes at me, and another laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. I don’t realize, for a moment, just how happy I am until he turns away, and the realization settles back in.
We haven’t been together long enough to know if it would last forever, if this has arealfoundation beyond the one that we’ve been forced to create, but at least from what I can see, Theo and Iwork. He wants me, and I want him—I can’t pretend otherwise, not unless I want to lie to myself, too, and I can’t see how that’s helpful. We seem to make each other laugh. He’s gentle with me, careful, but in ways that make me feel valued instead of coddled. And his devotion to his family—
I press my lips together as I stand there with my glass of wine in hand, watching Theo pull a ceramic roasting pan with a crisp-looking bird out of the oven, filling the room with a scent worthy of any five-star restaurant. I’m struck all over again by the realization of what sort of man it is that I’ve married. What I could have, if things were different.
Theo values his family’s past. He values their hard work and dedication, what it took to get him to where he is in life—and he’ll show that same devotion to his own family, when it comes time.That’swhy he treats me the way he does, why he is so gentle and patient with me, why he treats me like I’m valuable—because to him, Iam. I’m his wife, his family—who he believes will give him a family of his own, the next generation of McNeils to carry on the legacy that clearly means so much to him.
The emotion that wells up in my throat threatens to choke me, my eyes going glassy with tears. I can’t hide them quickly enough before Theo sets the roasting pan on top of the stove, retrieving the vegetables, and turning to look at me. The good-natured expression on his face vanishes, replaced with concern, and he slips off the oven mitts and walks quickly to me, his fingers touching my jaw lightly as he tips my face up to his.
“What’s wrong, Marika?” he asks softly, and I realize how much I enjoy the way he says my name. It sounds different in his accent, and I swallow hard, trying not to burst into tears.
I can’t help feeling that everything about this, about what I’m doing, is wrong. And that leaves me torn between my brother and my husband—and my lover.
It also means I have to lie to Theo, because if I tell him the truth right now, I have no idea what will happen. I can’t make a choice like that in a moment of such strong emotion.
“No one has ever cooked for me before.” It sounds silly, and I bite my lip, trying to think of how to make it make sense. “I mean—I have a staff at home, I grew up with one—but I never imagined myhusbandin a kitchen, cooking dinner for me. I never imagined any of this, honestly,” I whisper, looking at him, and that’s not a lie.
I didn’t imagine Theo. I couldn’t have—not as he is. I didn’t imagine a man with a soft touch or a good heart, a man with talents that I wouldn’t have thought he would have cultivated, a man who comes to me without demands or orders.
Theo is the kind of man that, had I been given a choice to find him for myself, I might havewantedto be with. And that feels like the cruelest trick of all.
“I’ll happily make you dinner just about every night we’re here, if it means that much to you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. “But not if it’ll make you cry.” He reaches up, wiping away a tear that’s started to fall from my eyelashes. “I hoped to never make you cry, Marika. I know that’s not realistic, not in any marriage. But I did hope it would take a long damn time before it happened.”
I swallow hard against the painful swell of emotion, forcing a smile. “It’s just been a long day,” I reassure him. “A lot of things I’m not used to. I’ve never even flown before—”
“We’re going to fix that, for sure,” Theo says with a smile, brushing his fingers over my cheek once more before stepping away to go back to the food. “I don’t know why your family kept you locked up like a hothouse flower—I think it would have been a lot more appealing to whoever they married you to for you to have a bit of knowledge about the world. But at the end of the day,” he adds, opening a drawer to slip carving tools out for the duck, “I’m almost glad they did. Means I get to show you all of the places you’ve never been myself, lass.”
I take another sip of the wine, the change in conversation helping me get my emotions back under control. “You like to travel?”
Theo nods. “I haven’t gotten to in past years as much as I’d like.” He puts some of the roasted meat onto a china plate, adding vegetables and potatoes from a pot that I hadn’t noticed. “But I’m thinking I’ll give Finn a bit more responsibility here soon. Give us some space to travel and enjoy our time together. More time here, too, if you like this place as much as I hope you will.”
He holds out the plate. “Let’s go have dinner. The smaller dining room, I think.”
Back at the mansion I grew up in, the “smaller” dining room is still ludicrously big. But here, the one Theo designed seems intentionally meant to mimic a more ordinary dining room—with the formal dining room left for the times when he might want to impress someone. The room is relatively small, facing the back garden with huge windows and a carved wooden table that seats six. The lighting in the room is warm, looking out to the peaceful night outside, and as we step inside and Theo sets his plate and wine glass down, I feel my chest clench all over again.
I grew up eating at a table so long that it felt ridiculous, with my brother and parents, under a chandelier, with staff bringing every course of the elaborate dinners we were always served, every night of the week. But this—
I can imagine living here with Theo. I can imagine having meals that he cooked—that maybe he eventually teachesmeto cook—at this table, looking out at the garden through the changing seasons. I can imagine a child here, and then two, or three, the room filled with laughter and conversation, a warmth that was never present in my own life growing up. There was always distance between me and my father. Wherever we were, whatever was happening, he was always thepakhanfirst and our father a distant second. But Theo—
He’s not the leader of the Irish Kings here. In this room, he’s only my husband.
And he’s trying to be agoodone.
The lump in my throat makes it hard to eat. I sit down at the table, taking a bite of the duck as Theo digs in to his own food. “It’s delicious,” I manage, looking up at him. “I really was surprised you could cook.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a talent that I think most men in this world are encouraged to cultivate,” he says dryly. “But my grandmother insisted on trying to teach me as a boy. I loved her very much, but of course, I didn’t want to, and I complained constantly. I never really learned anything she tried to teach me, and when I was older and she passed, I felt like I owed it to her to learn. A way of carrying on her memory. I made a point of learning all the old recipes she passed down.” He gestures at our plates. “I wanted to make you something suitably elegant, for our first night here. But there’s plenty of dishes I enjoy making that are more—rustic.”
“I can’t wait to try them.” I realize, as I say the words, that I mean them. I haven’t thought once, since I came downstairs, about when we’re going back to Chicago. I feel more relaxed and at ease here than I have in a long time, even with—
My stomach tightens all over again as I remember Adrik and how he said he’d be watching. I feel that tension spread as I wonder if he’s watching us right now, if he sees me here at the dinner table, sipping wine and talking and laughing with Theo. If he’s dissecting every interaction, cataloging it, to throw in my face later or ask me to explain.
That’s no way to maintain a relationship.
I have to fight the urge to bury my face in my hands, to keep sitting there and taking small sips of wine and making small talk. My relationship with Theo is doomed no matter what happens, but I see now how foolish it was to think what I have with Adrik could survive, either. That he could sit here and watch me carry on a marriage, supposedly fake or not, with another man and not succumb to jealousy and anger.
And now I can feel how close it all is to crumbling down.
