Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
All I can think about is having her alone in here, with me.
Christ, my focus is all over the place.
My phone buzzes. A text from her guard—the one I assigned to shadow her during the day.
Sir, Miss Kavanagh is at the bookshop on Grafton Street. She’s been here forty minutes. Should I be concerned about the duration?
I type back quickly:
No. She likes books. Let her browse.
Then I add:
But keep eyes on her. Report anyone who approaches.
Because that’s not obsessive at all, McCarthy.
There’s a knock at my door.
“Come in.”
Declan enters, followed by Daire. They both look like they’ve been up to something, wearing matching grins that spell trouble.
“What?” I ask, not looking up from the reports I’m pretending to read.
“Heard you’ve been texting your betrothed approximately ninety times a day,” Declan says, dropping into the chair across from me. “Very romantic, that.”
“Piss off.”
“And that you had her guards file hourly reports on her whereabouts,” Daire adds, leaning against the doorframe. “Very normal behavior.”
“It’s for her safety.”
“Right.” Declan grins. “Safety. Not because you’re completely gone on the lass.”
I flip him off, which only makes him laugh.
“So when’s the wedding again?” Daire asks.
“Five weeks.”
“And you’re already this whipped? Jesus, Cavin. What are you going to be like after you marry her?”
“Shut it.”
But they’re not wrong. I am whipped. Completely fucking whipped for a woman who, not long ago, blocked my number and looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe.
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s Erin.
Erin
Just bought nine books. Don’t judge me.
I smile, despite myself, and type back.
What kind? Are there pictures?
Erin
Ha! No. Mystery. Puzzle-based ones. I like solving them before the detective does.
Of course you do.
Erin
What’s that supposed to mean??
Means you can’t resist a challenge, lass. Including me.
Three dots appear, disappear, then appear again. Finally:
Erin
You’re not a challenge. I can read you like a book. Get it?
I actually laugh out loud.
That must mean you like me.
Erin
I tolerate you.
You kissed me.
Erin
That was a moment of weakness.
I’m ignoring you now.
No you’re not. You can’t. You’re gone on me.
Erin
Mm. Aye. Perhaps.
Then stop texting back.
I don’t want her to though.
Another long pause. Then:
Erin
Fine. You win. This time.
I’m still grinning when I look up and realize they’re both staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re smiling at your phone like a feckin’ eejit,” Declan says. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Oh piss off.”
“No, seriously.” He leans forward, genuinely curious now. “What’s she like? The real her, not the version from school.”
I consider not answering. But they’re my family, and if I can’t talk to them about this, who can I talk to?
“She’s…” I search for the right words. “Brilliant. Funny when she’s not overthinking. Honest to a fault. She knits, for fuck’s sake. Sits there with these intricate patterns and makes jumpers while listening to audiobooks.”
“That’s kind of adorable,” Daire says.
“It is, isn’t it?” I realize I’m smiling again and force my face into neutrality. “She’s also stubborn as hell. Doesn’t back down when she thinks she’s right. And she’s terrified of crowds, but she went into The Craic anyway because her sister wanted to.”
“Sounds like you’re actually into her,” Declan observes.
I grunt and rub my chin. “Suppose I am.”
“Good.” He stands, then claps me on the shoulder. “You deserve someone good, Cav. Someone who’s not in this life by choice. Someone who can remind you there’s more to the world than blood and business.”
After they leave, I try to focus on work, I really do.
But my mind keeps drifting back to her. The way she smelled—something floral and clean. I bet it’s just her soap. She isn’t the perfume or body-spray type.
The way she fit against me in that driveway. The way she looked at me when I apologized at St. Albert’s, like she was seeing me for the first time.
There’s another knock at my door. Ashland, looking uncomfortable.
“What?” I ask.
“Need to talk to you about something.” He closes the door behind him, which immediately puts me on edge. Ashland doesn’t do private conversations unless it’s serious.
“Spit it out.”
He shifts his weight. “Look, I don’t like being the bearer of bad news, but I heard something at the club last night. About your girl.”
My blood goes cold. “What about her?”
“Couple of drunk eejits talking shite, probably nothing—”
“Ashland. What did they say?”
He meets my eyes. “They said she’s been seen around town with some lad. Someone who’s not you. They were… laughing about it. Saying things.”
“What things?”
“The usual bollocks. That maybe she’s not as innocent as she seems.” He stops, clearly uncomfortable.
I’m out of my chair so fast it nearly tips over. “Who said this?”
“I don’t know. Bar talk. I shut it down, told them they were full of shite. But, Cavin…” He pauses. “I thought you should know. In case there’s truth to it.”
“There’s not.”
“But you don’t really know her, do you? I mean, you knew her in school, but that was years ago. People change. And she’s been forced into this marriage. Maybe she’s got someone she actually wanted, someone—”