A Hand to Hold

Chapter thirty-seven (part 1)

~ Natalie

*

The last few days before Christmas flew by in a flash. Ronan worked long hours that week, and I hardly saw him at all until Brigid’s Christmas Eve dinner. He reassured me there was a point to the long hours he’d been working, but I wasn’t so sure.

*

Ronan warned me about Helena’s manipulative nature, and I trusted his judgment. However, her words about Ronan being just like his workaholic father bounced around in my head, and I couldn’t deny they bore a ring of truth.

*

In the first couple weeks after our wedding, I thought I saw Ronan making an effort to break free of his work addiction— he’d been home for dinner more often than he wasn’t. But the past few days seemed like a huge step backward. I knew I shouldn’t let the words of someone I’d just met color my opinion of my husband. But his recent behavior made that difficult.

*

I awoke Christmas morning minutes before sunrise. I’d turned off my alarm the night before but couldn’t reprogram my internal clock. When I thought I heard movement down the hall, I stilled to listen. Was Ronan going downstairs to work out like it was a typical morning? Suddenly struck by the image of his bare tattooed chest, I swallowed hard at the memory of the agreement I’d made with him.

*

The one night I’d spent with Ronan was the first and only occasion I’d slept in the same bed with a member of the opposite s*x. Sharing a room with my husband from that day forward triggered an odd mixture of thrill and apprehension. I feared the consequences of advancing our relationship too fast, too soon. But moving into his bedroom was the only way he’d agree to grant me a divorce if things went south between us. At that point, I could only trust in Ronan’s intentions, that living closer would help bridge the gap between us.

*

I ventured into my bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, but with no need or motivation to get dressed, I climbed back into bed. Reaching for the nightstand, I picked up my phone and dialed my aunt’s number. Like me, Melody rarely slept past sunrise, even on a holiday. This being our first Christmas apart since I was a child, I could hear the disappointment in her voice, though she tried to keep the conversation light. I loved her for not making a big deal about it, and before hanging up, I promised to try and visit her soon. Even though in the back of my mind, I had no idea when that would be.

*

I’d only just hung up the phone when someone tapped on my door. I smiled automatically and realized how significantly our relationship had improved if Ronan’s mere presence generated pleasure. Or maybe it was simply the magic of Christmas.

*

“Come in, Ronan,” I called. When the door opened, the world’s sexiest man entered my bedroom. “Good morning, bean chéile,” he said in his dreamy morning voice. I hadn’t seen him so casually dressed since the one morning we’d woken in the same bed. He wore only cotton sleep pants low on his hips and an unbelted robe— no shirt, which meant I got a good look at his beautifully tattooed chest.

*

“What is all this?” I asked, observing the tray Ronan carried.

“This,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed and carefully placed the tray over my lap, “is your breakfast.” The downside to never living with a boyfriend was I’d never been served breakfast in bed. I smiled broadly as I surveyed the spread Ronan had so thoughtfully prepared for me.

*

On the tray was a plate of buttered toast, orange juice, coffee, a tiny pitcher of creamer, and two other little containers of dressings for my toast. One looked like honey, while the other looked like a spice of some kind. The icing on the cake was the slender silver vase containing a single pink buttercup.

*

“This is wonderful, Ronan,” I expressed with delight. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, lass.” He gently tucked a stray hair behind my ear and explained, “When I woke up, it suddenly occurred to me that if I wanted to be with my wife first thing on Christmas morning, I’d have to come to her. And I couldn’t come empty-handed.” I chuckled softly in response.

*

I reached for the little bowl of spices, asking, “What’s this?”

“Well, I know you normally eat plain buttered toast.” He rolled his eyes at the mention of my typical breakfast before continuing, “But on Christmas, I thought you’d appreciate something a little more special. So, I brought you honey and a mixture of cinnamon-sugar with a pinch of nutmeg. My grandmother used to put it on my toast when I was a boy.” I brought the bowl to my nose, inhaling the scent of Christmas itself. “You’d better be careful, Ronan,” I warned, “a girl could get used to this.”

“My girl should get used to this,” he responded with a wink.

*

“I half expected you to be on your way to the office when I came downstairs for breakfast,” I admitted. “I’ve hardly seen you since Sheila’s party.”

“I know, I’m sorry about that,” he responded, running his hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to get as much off my plate as possible. I didn’t want there to be any distractions on our first Christmas together.”

*

A warm feeling washed over me and settled within my chest. Ronan hadn’t been working so much lately because he was addicted. He’d done it for my benefit, to give me his undivided attention for the holiday. I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed him by the neck, pulled his face to mine, and kissed him with an enthusiasm he happily reciprocated.

*

With a content smile, Ronan said, “I would’ve brought you breakfast in bed every morning… if I knew this is how you’d react.”

“Today is special,” I pointed out. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yes, it is. So eat up because I have a few more surprises in store for you, a ghrá.” I licked the butter from my fingers and said, “I hope one of them is telling me what that word means.”

“Nope.”

“You know I could probably just Google it, right?”

“I know. But I also know you won’t. You want me to tell you. Which is why you haven’t asked Melody.”

“I’m not sure she knows much Irish, actually.”

“How many languages does she speak?”

“At least half a dozen that I know of. Besides English, there’s Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, and, of course, Russian. Oh, and French. What about you?”

“Aside from Irish and Russian, I’m fluent in Italian, French, and I know a decent amount of German.”

“You know, your Wikipedia page claims you speak seven languages.”

“Oh, and the internet is the most reliable source,” he said sarcastically. I giggled and sipped my coffee.

*

The sight of Ronan sitting opposite me in bed as I ate breakfast made me giddy. He rested his back against the footboard with his legs outstretched toward me. We chatted casually about our favorite childhood Christmases. Given the man he was, it was easy to forget he came from such humble beginnings, but it was one of the things I liked most about him. His childhood gave him a profound appreciation for his current lifestyle and financial freedom.

*

After breakfast, we made our way downstairs and into the living room. As I happily claimed the seat on the sofa nearest to the Christmas tree, Ronan switched on the electric fireplace. When he joined me on the sofa, he leaned in close and rested a hand on my knee, sending tingles up my leg. I swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice the embarrassing way in which my body reacted to his touch. If he did, he gave no indication.

*

“What would you like to do first?” Ronan asked me.

“My favorite part of Christmas is giving presents,” I replied. “I know you’ve already seen the paintings I made you, but I have a little something else.” I bent over, reaching for the small wrapped package under the tree, and placed it on his lap. Ronan eyed his gift suspiciously and said, “I hope you didn’t spend your own money on this.”

“You want me to spend your money on your own gifts?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Well, I didn’t. I made it.”

“I’m intrigued,” he admitted as he opened the present and pulled out the Irish-green scarf, knitted by my own two hands.

*

“Natalie, you made this?” Ronan asked in admiration.

“I did,” I assured him with a proud smile as I watched him examine the details of my craftsmanship in appreciation. “There’s something special about the design,” I told him.

“Is there?” he asked curiously. “What is it?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but certain Irish surnames, such as Ó Ceallaigh, have their own unique patterns. I contacted a*****e in Dublin and purchased this pattern, which is unique to your name.” He gazed at me in awe and said, “Wow, Natalie, I am touched you went through all that trouble.” He returned to admiring the scarf as he added, “Now that you mention it, my grandmother used to wear a shawl with this same pattern.”

*

Ronan showed enthusiasm for his gift by wrapping it around his neck. The tail end rested against his bare chest, and my mouth began watering again at the sight of him. He definitely noticed my reaction that time, leading him to say, “Do you like what you see, lass?”

“You look like the December page of a male model calendar,” I answered. He responded by pulling me in for a searing kiss.

*

Ronan’s soft lips molded to mine so perfectly, urging me to open to him. I let him take the lead but engaged as much as he did. When we pulled apart for air, his eyes were dilated and held a hint of lust in their depths. I welcomed his intense stare that would’ve overwhelmed me a week ago.

*

Hovering near my ear, Ronan whispered, “As much as I would enjoy spending Christmas kissing you, I am eager to give you your gifts.”

“Gifts?” I clarified. “As in plural?”

“Yes, gifts plural.”

“Ronan—” He pressed his lips to mine, shutting me up in the process. His fingers softly held my jaw, stroking my cheek with his thumb. As he slowly pulled away, he said, “Don’t protest, baby. You deserve everything I can give you and more.” I was sure he could feel the flush in my cheek under his fingertips. With one last quick kiss, he stood.

*

I watched as Ronan retrieved two envelopes off the mantel and returned to his seat beside me. He placed one envelope in my hands and said, “Open it.” I looked at him questionably but did as instructed. I unfolded a slip of paper, and my brows creased in confusion. “What is this?” I asked.

“If I were an ordinary man, it would be a plane ticket. But I’m not. You are lucky enough to be married to a man in possession of his own private airline. This little piece of paper will take you to Dallas anytime you want.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course, and I’m going with you. Melody insists she needs to meet me.”

“Ronan, this is the perfect gift!” I threw my arms around his neck and said into his ear, “Thank you so much!”

*

“That’s not all, baby,” Ronan said, causing me to lean back just as he passed me a second envelope. “This one’s for the first of the year. I’ve already cleared my work schedule.” Intrigued by his statement, I eagerly opened my second gift to find nearly the exact same voucher, but my eyes grew wide when I read the destination.

*

“Vienna?!” My heart thumped rapidly, and my stomach flipped in sheer elation. My head whipped toward Ronan, who grinned back at me in satisfaction. “Are you really taking me to Austria next week?!” He caressed my head and casually answered, “We’re overdue for a honeymoon, don’t you think?”

*

Completely speechless, I practically vibrated with excitement over the opportunity to visit one of the most beautiful places on earth. I stared at the page in my hands in disbelief until Ronan’s laughter caught my attention. “Just what is so funny?” I asked, unable to hide my own broad smile.

“You. You’re enthusiasm is adorable.”

*

My eyes fell on the scarf my husband wore, which now seemed like a silly gift compared to what he’d given me. He was fulfilling a lifelong dream of mine, whereas all I gave him was some bits of yarn. “Baby, what is it?” Ronan asked in concern, my face having reflected my inner thoughts.

“Nothing… it’s just …”

“Tell me,” he urged.

“All I gave you was a scarf.”

*

Ronan instantly pulled me against his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around me. “Natalie, your gifts are priceless and incredibly thoughtful, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. You poured your talent and time into them, making them all the more special.” My head was tucked under his jaw, but I raised my chin and said, “You’re sweet for saying that.”

“Call it whatever you want, but it’s the truth.” My heart fluttered in response.

*

“I actually have more to show you,” Ronan admitted. I leaned back to better look at him as I said, “How could there possibly be more?” He stood and held a hand out for me as he replied, “It’s nothing you couldn’t guess. I just want to show you what I did to our bedroom.” I hesitantly took his hand, allowing him to lead me up the stairs and into the master bedroom.

*

Ronan covered my eyes with a single hand as he guided me into the room. I felt him turn me around to face the wall the door was on. When he pulled his hand away, I immediately saw where he’d hung the paintings of Inistioge. Expertly framed in sleek natural wood, my artwork brought life and color to the wall near the bed, giving the room precisely what it’d been missing.

*

“Are you happy?” Ronan asked eagerly.

“Me?” I responded. “Of course, but shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

“Baby, I already told you, this is the most meaningful gift I’ve ever received. But this is our room now, and I want you to be comfortable here.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m the artist.”

“I’m glad you said that… because there’s more I want to show you.”

*

Ronan took hold of my shoulders and spun me around to face the opposite wall. Hanging unframed near the large windows was the painting I’d been working on most recently. I’d been adding finishing touches to the canvas he’d painted during his one and only lesson.

*

I spared Ronan a sheepish look and asked, “Are you upset with me?” He rolled his eyes and answered, “For taking my second-grade-looking monstrosity and turning it into a work of art? Hell no! When I went into your art room this morning, looking for the hooks, I saw your improvements to my painting. What struck me was how you didn’t simply paint over it, and I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had. But you added to it, refining it until it resembled something that would hang in a gallery instead of an elementary school.”

*

“The reason that I brought it in here,” Ronan continued, taking my hands in his, “was because it’s the only painting in existence you and I created together.”

“Boy, you are sentimental on Christmas, aren’t you?” I teased while doing my utmost not to get teary-eyed at his words. An effort made futile by his response. “Maybe you just bring it out in me.”

*

I was relieved by the distraction when my phone chimed from my robe pocket. “Is that your aunt?” Ronan inquired. “I bet she misses you today.”

“No,” I replied, looking at my phone and typing an automatic response. “It’s Grant wishing me a Merry Christmas.” I slipped my phone back into my pocket and looked at Ronan, only to be met with a stern expression.

*

“What?” I asked. Ronan sighed in frustration, battling between speaking his mind and avoiding an argument. Speaking his mind won out as he stated bluntly, “Nat, I don’t like the idea of him in contact with you.” I couldn’t comprehend why Ronan viewed Grant as a threat when he was the furthest thing from one imaginable.

*

“Why?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Because I don’t trust him.”

“Well, I do. Grant’s been a friend since long before I met you.”

“An acquaintance,” Ronan corrected. “By the way you’ve described him, you only knew each other through a coworker and only interacted with him at the diner. Have you ever spent time with him outside that environment?”

“No, but—”

“Then he’s merely an acquaintance. I would think you’d trust your husband’s judgment.”

“How about you trust your wife’s judgment?” He rubbed the back of his neck hesitantly and replied, “My wife’s judgment is … skewed.”

“Skewed?” I asked in disbelief.

“You don’t see him clearly.”

*

I looked at Ronan suspiciously, sensing there was more he wanted to say. Eventually, he sighed and finished, “He’s got a thing for you, Nat.”

“A thing?” I repeated. “And you’ve reached this conclusion based on what? You’ve spoken to him for all of thirty seconds.”

“It took me less than ten to notice the way he looked at you. And he had no qualms about hugging you despite you being in the presence of another man.”

“You’re being irrational, Ronan.”

“Am I? Then why is he texting you this early?”

“Because it’s Christmas.”

“So? I haven’t texted any of my friends or family yet this morning. Have you even talked to Katrina? He wants you to be thinking of him, Natalie. That’s why he sent the message.”

“You’ve put an awful lot of thought into an innocent text,” I pointed out.

“That’s what I am trying to tell you, lass. It is anything but innocent.”

*

Annoyed as I was with Ronan, there was a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me he might be right. I never did ask Grant what he’d been doing outside Antonio’s that day we’d reconnected. It definitely wasn’t his usual part of town, and I couldn’t think of any reason that would draw him to such an upscale area. And Ronan wasn’t off base in pointing out Grant was more of an acquaintance than a true friend. The few things I knew about him mostly came from Greg, and I hadn’t spoken to him in well over a year, making his son practically a stranger to me. To top it all off, I’d seen for myself Ronan’s astute sense about people. It’s what made him so successful in business.

*

Ronan, picking up on my distress, tenderly rubbed my arms and pulled me against him. “I’m sorry, bean chéile. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t apologize for giving me your honest opinion, even if it’s something I don’t want to hear. I admit there’s a chance you might be right about him.” He exhaled and reluctantly replied, “Then, I suppose I can admit… I may be a wee bit… jealous.” He could hardly get the word out, and I knew the pains it took to confess such an irrational emotion.

*

I tilted my head toward Ronan and said, “Thanks for admitting that, but it doesn’t mean you aren’t right. And besides,” I pulled back and added, “you have no reason to be jealous. That boy’s got nothing on my husband.” I raised up on my tip-toes and kissed his cheek. “I’m going downstairs to get another cup of coffee.” Before leaving the room, I spared one last look at the artwork adorning the walls of our bedroom.

~*~