Irish Rogue, page 3
“One Guinness for my favorite customer,” Sadie announces as she places the dark, foamy beverage in front of me.
“Thanks, love.”
She goes back to serving other customers while I sip my bitter beer and think. Because even four days of it hasn’t given me an answer. I’m more than half-finished with my drink when Sadie returns with my food. “Can I get you a refill?” She gestures toward my glass.
“Please.” I dig into the flaky crusted pie, sending steam floating into the air.
“Here you go,” she says placing my fresh beer on a card stock coaster displaying the pub’s name.
Mumbling my thanks, I take another bite and glance up. Sadie is still standing there, except she’s wearing a contemplative expression. I set down my fork and wipe my mouth. “What’s the look for?”
“You’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes and not once have you noticed that very beautiful, very single woman at the end of the bar. The one who hasn’t stopped looking in your direction from the moment you sat down,” she says with a discreet head tilt.
I turn and glance at the woman in question. Sadie isn’t wrong. She’s gorgeous. Her long, nearly black hair cascades over her shoulders and caresses her almost perfectly sized breasts. Her cleavage-bearing red dress hugs them while displaying enough creamy skin to grab my attention. I raise my eyes, and they lock onto hers.
Unlike most women who might quickly dart their gaze away, not her. She boldly stares back while taking a sip of wine. The smile she sends me is seductive and inviting. Any other day, I’d be on that in a second. She’s exactly the type of woman I go for. From the assessing gaze, it’s obvious she likes what she sees. It’s also pretty clear what it is she wants. Except I do nothing more than smile and nod politely before turning my attention back to my meal.
“Well, shite,” Sadie exclaims.
I raise my head. “What?” I ask, completely confused.
“You’re dying, aren’t you?” she asks.
I shake my head, trying to make sense of her. “No, I’m not dying. What are you talking about?”
“The only explanation I can find for you to pass up the opportunity to take home a beautiful woman is that you’re dying.”
“For feck’s sake,” I grumble and go back to eating my now-lukewarm shepherd’s pie. Which only makes me more annoyed.
“Padraig Cillian Donnelly, I’ve known you since you were toddling around this place in your diaper, flirting with every woman you saw,” Sadie scolds. “I also know when something is wrong. Now, what god-forsaken reason do you have that you’re not taking that woman up on her invitation?”
“I’m just not interested at the moment. I do have some self-control, you know.”
“Since when?” she snaps back.
My face heats. “Since now.”
“Jaysus. There is something wrong with you. You better just tell me and get it over with.”
“Christ.” I toss down my fork and give up the idea that I’m ever going to finish my food. “Since when did you get so fecking nosy? If you have to know, Anya Petrov thinks we should get married as some sort of weird arrangement to stop her sister from playing matchmaker.”
That draws Sadie up short. “The Russian?”
“Don’t call her that,” I bite out, regretting losing my temper and spilling Anya’s secret. “She’s Pierce’s sister-in-law.”
She holds up her hands. “No offense to the young lady. But why on earth does she think you, of all people, would agree to something like that?”
For some reason, her question raises my hackles. “Forget I said anything. I’m sure she wouldn’t want anyone to know what I just told you.”
Sadie moves closer, her expression turning serious. “You have me word I won’t say anything. But Paddy, you’re not considering it, are you?”
I shift in my seat, feeling like a kid being scolded. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Have you thought about all the things that could go wrong with an arrangement like this?” she asks.
“Of course, I have. I’ve done nothing but think about it since she proposed it to me. Every pro and con imaginable.”
Sadie’s expression is worrisome. “I wouldn’t want that poor girl to get hurt. She’s been through a lot already for one so young. I don’t want you hurt, either.”
I scoff. “Not a chance of that happening. This isn’t any different from an arranged marriage contract like Brenna and Emilio had. It’s a mutually beneficial business agreement. Nothing more.”
She stares even harder at me, her eyes slightly widened. “Think about how that ‘mutually beneficial business arrangement’ turned out for your sister. Happily married and in love, with four wonderful children.”
A rock hits the bottom of my gut. Feck.
Chapter 4
Anya
* * *
My fingers haven’t hurt this bad in a while. I set down the dress I’ve been working on and alternate stretching and flexing my joints and muscles.
“You know you’re going to give yourself arthritis before you’re thirty if you keep that shit up, right? Why can’t you use a sewing machine like a normal person?” Caitlín’s muffled voice rises from the floor, where she’s lying, doing another one of her painful-looking yoga poses. She calls it the plow pose, but it resembles a being-smothered-by-my-fat-thighs pose.
“I use a machine. It’s just that sometimes I like to do some of the work by hand. It helps with my focus and dexterity. It also helps to relax me.” Something I’m in dire need of at the moment.
Caitlín flips her legs back over to the proper side of her body, sits up, and swivels to face me cross-legged. “It also causes gnarly, old, crooked fingers.”
“You mean these gnarly, old ones?” I raise a single finger in her direction.
She gasps in mock horror and throws a pillow at me. “How rude.”
I catch it and burst out laughing. Hers quickly joins mine. I adore Caitlín so much. She’s become my best friend over the last five years. The person I tell all my secrets to. Even more so than Mila. I’m probably the only person Caitlín has never tried to weasel them out of by eavesdropping or trickery. It makes me love her even more.
“He still hasn’t given me an answer,” I tell her quietly, setting the pillow on the bed next to me. “Tomorrow will be a week.”
“I can’t believe you asked my brother to marry you.” She shudders. “And Paddy of all people. Why couldn’t it have been Nathan? At least he doesn’t have shit-for-brains and isn’t an insufferable ass.”
I’ve never understood her and Padraig’s love-hate relationship. “Because you’re the person who told me Nathan actually wouldn’t mind getting married one day. I couldn’t do that to him. What if he fell in love with someone and wanted to marry her? I’d feel terrible. Paddy, on the other hand, has no interest in love. Or finding a wife. It makes him perfect.” And safe.
Caitlín sighs. “I’ll be so glad to have you as a sister-in-law, but I feel bad that you’re stuck with Paddy as your only option. You know he’s going to be miserable to live with, right? He leaves the toilet seat up all the time. I even caught him using my toothbrush once. Said it was because the bristles on mine were softer.”
“I supposed you went out and bought hard bristle toothbrushes after that?”
She widens her eyes. “Of course, I did. But not before I bought a bunch of soft-bristled ones and dipped them in the toilet reservoir’s water before putting them in a separate holder for him.”
My mouth drops in shock. “You did not?”
Caitlín’s smile turns devious. “I absolutely did. He shouldn’t have started using my toothbrush.”
“You are terrible.” I can’t stop my giggles, though. “That is so evil. The toilet reservoir? Disgusting.”
She shrugs. “What? It’s clean-ish water.”
“Remind me to never get on your bad side.”
“As if you could ever,” she scoffs. Then she bites her lower lip as though she wants to say more but isn’t sure she should. Which is so unlike her.
“Spit it out,” I say.
Caitlín’s gaze meets mine. Her expression turns worrisome. “All joking aside, and entirely disregarding the fact that it’s Paddy, are you sure this is something you want to do? I mean…getting married? That’s huge.”
“It’s not as though it’s going to be a real marriage. Besides, it’s the only thing I can think of to get Mila to stop introducing men to me. Even coming right out and asking her only lasts for a short time. Then, it’s as though she forgets, or willfully chooses to ignore, my request.” I twist my fingers in my lap, sudden indecision filling me. Is Caitlín right? Am I making a mistake?
She jumps up from the floor, sits next to me, and reaches for my hands. I glance up at her from where I’d been studying them.
“I just don’t want you to regret doing this,” Caitlín says fiercely. “What if you marry Paddy and he, god forbid, somehow manages to get some poor woman to fall in love with him and he with her? I also know you say you’ll never fall in love with anyone, but what if you do? What if you end up meeting a man you fall desperately in love with? What happens then?”
Since the latter will never occur, I’m not too worried about it. “Then I guess we’ll get divorced. It’s not like that’s some taboo thing.” Is it? Do mafia marriages never end in divorce? I hadn’t considered that.
“I suppose you could. It’s not really heard of, but it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibilities. Mostly, men just discreetly hide their affairs, and the women accept it. You know Paddy is a man-whore, right?” She squeezes my hand. “But think about this for a second. As much as I can’t even possibly fathom how you could, and it literally pains me to even ask this, but, what if you fall in love with Paddy?”
My heart skips a beat. An instant denial rises to my lips. “There’s no chance of that happening.”
“But what if it does?” Caitlín insists.
Then I’ll deal with the problem then. “It won’t,” I say firmly. “Can we talk about something different now? Please?”
Her gaze remains intense before she finally sends me a small smile. “Of course.” She releases my hands and bounces a little on the bed. “How about we talk about the fact that Da is considering letting me visit our relatives in Ireland for the summer? Although I’m going to miss you terribly if he says yes.”
A sick sensation fills my belly at the thought of Caitlín leaving for so long, but I don’t want to be selfish just because she’s my only friend. “That’s so exciting. I’m happy for you. And you know you’re going to have too much fun over there to miss me. You’ll have to tell me all about it while you’re gone. How green it is over there. Send me pictures. Oh, and make sure you get some videos of people talking so I can ooh and ahh over their lovely accent.”
“Are you kidding?” Caitlín exclaims. “I’ll text you every day and send so many pictures you’ll be sick of me before the first day is over. And I’ll never have too much fun to miss my best friend.”
I throw my arms around her, trying not to cry. “All right,” I say, finally pulling away. “Let me get back to this dress while you continue trying to suffocate yourself with those crazy yoga poses you do.”
“You really should try some of them. They’re great to work on balance and core strength. Plus, they keep me limber. One of these days, I’m going to convince Jack to let me go on a raid with him. If not, then who knows what might happen over in Ireland? Maybe I can sweet talk one of my cousins into letting me go with them.” Caitlín waggles her eyes mischievously.
“I still don’t understand what the appeal of going on one is. It’s dangerous.”
She waves her hands at me. “But that’s the exciting part. The danger of it all. I’m bored and need something to do. I want the adrenaline rush of being out there fighting our enemies. I’ve been taking shooting lessons for the last three years. I’m good, if I do say so myself.”
“It’s still scary to think about. Look at how many men you guys have lost. Didn’t Nathan just lose a friend recently?”
Caitlín’s excitement dims. “Yeah, Eoin. He and Nathan grew up together. They all know going in that something could happen to one of them, but it doesn’t make it any easier when it does. Which is why I want to help. We lost two men during the last raid, which means we’re two men short.”
“I’m just worried about you. The men have more experience with that sort of thing.”
“I’d get experience, too, if Jack would just let me go,” she grumbles.
“Please be careful,” I tell her. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
She slides off the bed to the floor and glances up at me with that cheeky grin of hers. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine.”
Caitlín twists herself in another crazy pose. I pick up the dress, needle, and thread and go back to sewing. Only it doesn’t help me relax like usual. Tension radiates from me. I glance down at the row of stitches I’ve been making. Crap. They’re crooked and sloppy. I let out a sigh and grab the stitch ripper from my sewing kit.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call out.
It opens, and Mila stands there with a confused expression on her face. She glances between Caitlín and me before clearing her throat. “You have a visitor.”
“Who does?” I ask. Aside from my friend currently sitting on my floor, no one ever visits me specifically. Francesca and Brenna come over all the time, but they’re here to see Mila.
“You,” she says with a weird tone to her voice. One I’ve never heard before.
“Send them in, I guess.”
“Um.” She shifts nervously. “You should probably come out to the living room for this particular guest.”
She’s got me nervous. My gaze bounces between her and Caitlín. “You’re freaking me out here. Why don’t you just tell me who it is?”
There’s a brief hesitation before she finally opens her mouth. “It’s Paddy.”
My stomach drops. He’s here?
Chapter 5
Paddy
* * *
I purposely waited to come over until I was sure Pierce wouldn’t be here. The awkward encounter with Mila at the front door has me kicking myself that I didn’t make sure she was absent, as well. It’s too late for that.
While it’s nice of Anya to move back temporarily to help out with Milana, I wish she still lived at the women’s community house. At least Francesca wouldn’t ask any questions about why I was there.
I glance around. There are feminine touches everywhere. Pops of color in the large area rug that spreads across the living room floor. The throw pillows on the black leather couch match it. An abstract painting hangs on two of the four walls. I’m not an art connoisseur, so I have no idea who the artist is. Pictures of Mila and Anya with their matching blonde heads and smiles, although the latter’s is far more reserved, also decorate the walls.
The mantle above the fireplace built into the third wall showcases pictures of Pierce and Mila. I head across the room and focus on the large frame in the middle. It’s their wedding photo. The two of them face each other with their chests nearly touching and their arms wrapped around each other’s waist. Mila’s head is tilted back, and she’s staring up at Pierce. But what truly draws my attention is his expression as he towers over her.
It’s soft and gentle. Relaxed. The photographer captured a side of him I’m not sure anyone but his wife has seen. Even through the two-dimensional picture, I can tell Pierce’s shoulders are loose. Hell, his whole body is. He only has eyes for Mila. Emotion shines from them. I quickly turn from the picture, uncomfortable with the intimate glimpse it provides into their lives.
I freeze. Anya stands at the threshold of the living room with her arms wrapped around herself. Her gaze flits around until it finally meets mine. I glance over her shoulder, expecting to find Mila hovering, but she’s absent.
The silence grows. I should break it, but I’m at a loss as to what to say. I need to get this over and done with.
“Did you decide?” Anya finally speaks up.
Do it. Tell her this isn’t a good idea and you’re going to have to decline her offer. Except, standing in front of her, I can’t make the words come. They’re stuck.
“It’s a no, isn’t it? Just say it, and put me out of my misery, please.”
“I’ll do it.” Wait. What the feck was that?
She jerks her head back and widens her eyes. Then a tiny smile forms. “You will?”
No. You were supposed to say no. “Yes.”
Anya covers her mouth. “You have no idea—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “I have conditions.”
Her expression shifts from astounded to guarded in a second. “What sort of conditions?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking of.” I manage not to snap. If we’re doing this, and it seems as though we are, biting my future wife’s head off for asking a reasonable question is not the way to start.
Anya crosses her arms. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”
I stare at her as though the answer is obvious. “Because I can see it in your eyes. I have no interest in making a marriage between us more than in name only, so you can set your worries aside. Now, my conditions include this: We’ll live entirely separate lives. I’ll find us a house, and we’ll stay there together, but I do what I want with whomever I want. I also go where I want with no questions asked. No nagging me about never being home or asking me where I’ve been. Or who I’ve been with.”
Anya’s expression relaxes with each item I lay out. It’s much better than the leery one.
“I won’t bring any women into the house,” I continue, gaining more confidence that maybe this could work. “I’ll escort you to family functions, but once we’re there, you’re on your own. Don’t expect me to hover around you or play the doting husband. Are we on the same page so far?”
