A Hand to Hold

Chapter twenty-eight

~ Natalie

*

Who was this man I’d married? I’d seen more sides to Ronan in one night than I had the entire year we’d worked together. I still got butterflies remembering our last dance, not to mention the earth-shattering kiss. It had been so unexpectedly pure. I had to wonder if, even with all his experience, he’d ever felt anything like it.

*

When I’d overheard his words to Cynthia, my emotions took over, and I couldn’t fight the urge to flee. However, even in my distressed state, my inner voice told me something wasn’t right. The way he'd interacted with me all evening had been so attentive, in a way I was sure no one could fake. I knew Ronan cared for me. And his tender expression of that care, from the moment he found me in the rain, reinforced my faith in his character and diffused the cynicism brought on by the words I heard him speak to Cynthia. Ronan began to reveal a side of himself I doubt even she ever got a peek at. Because of this, hope took root in my heart.

*

“Ronan, I can walk just fine, I promise,” I told my husband as he carried me into our house.

“I didn’t want to risk it,” he replied. “You may not need a doctor, but I still think it’s best you rest that ankle.” I was too fatigued to argue. I let him transport me to my bedroom, enjoying the contact between us along the way.

*

Inside my room, Ronan carefully placed me on the edge of the bed. He gazed down at me, cupped my cheek, and said, “You should take a bath to get warm. When you’ve dressed, meet me in the den. I have something I want to show you.”

“Okay,” came my quiet reply. He dropped a kiss on my forehead and left my room.

*

I hobbled into my bathroom and cringed at the sight of my reflection. If only poor Seymour could see me now. What would he say if he knew all his hard work had been washed away with the rain? I shed my clothes and sat in the deep tub while the hot water filled in around me.

*

After I was clean and warmed to my core, I braided my long, wet hair. Then, I donned a cozy red sweater, my thickest yoga pants, and finished it off with a pair of fuzzy pink socks. Satisfied I no longer looked like a drowned rat, I left my room to meet Ronan.

*

My husband had a fire going in the living room, which felt almost as soothing as the hot bath. He stood from the sofa when he saw me and approached. “Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“You look it.” He stared at me, and I stared back. We were looking at each other in an entirely new light that had nothing to do with the glow of the flames beyond the hearth. I never knew his cobalt eyes could feel so warm. Yet, in that moment, they sent heat through my veins.

*

The tension must’ve been too much for him to bear because the next thing I knew, Ronan’s lips were colliding with mine. This kiss was nothing like our first, but it was just as life-changing. His hands found their way around my waist, pulling me firmly against him. My heart pounded wildly within my chest, and I audibly hummed with enjoyment, which only encouraged his efforts.

*

I gripped Ronan’s shirt for dear life as my legs went weak. He had complete support of me, and fear of falling never entered my consciousness. Before I realized we had moved, he had me backed into the nearest wall. He broke contact to whisper against my lips, “Let me hear that pretty noise again, baby, please.”

“What noise?”

“You moaned.”

“I did not,” I insisted. It was most definitely not a moan. “You did, lass, and I’m going to make you do it again. Otherwise, we are never leaving this room.”

“Didn’t you say you had something you wanted to show me?”

“F*ck. Yes, I did.” He promptly loosened his grip on me and stroked my cheek with one finger before saying, “Come with me.”

*

I curiously followed him down the hall to his office door. “What are we doing here, Ronan?” I asked eagerly.

“You’ll see, a ghrá.” That was the third time I’d heard him use this new word on me. I was afraid to ask what it meant. Foreign languages were much more romantic untranslated. I once heard my aunt say ‘Where is the bathroom’ in French and thought it was the title of a love song before she explained. So, I decided ignorance was bliss when it came to Ronan’s pet names.

*

Ronan pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter first. I looked at him suspiciously as he followed me into the room. “Okay…” I said skeptically. “Are you going to explain why you brought me to your office in the middle of the night?”

“Take a look around,” he suggested with a knowing smile.

“I’ve seen your office before, Ronan. Nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing? Are you sure about that?” I scanned the room and answered, “Yes. Your desk in front of the bookcase is the same. The pillows on the window seat— the same. The brown leather couch under the Robert Rosston painting—” I suddenly gasped as my hands flew over my mouth in surprise.

“Not the same, is it, lass?”

*

Ronan’s high-dollar, one-of-a-kind painting by a famous artist had been replaced by one of mine, expertly framed. “I wanted to wait until Christmas to show you,” he said, “but I’ve never been particularly good at waiting.” I was so moved by his thoughtfulness, yet another side of Ronan I’d yet to see… until now. And the fact that he reserved this side of himself for me made it all the more meaningful.

*

“Say something, Natalie.” A well of emotion caught in my throat, and I couldn’t get any words out. I could only stare at my work, hanging so elegantly in my husband’s territory. I felt his warm hand on my back. “Natalie?” In the blink of an eye, I turned and flung my arms around his neck. “Oof, damn. You’ve got a good grip.” I laughed at his comment.

*

When I withdrew my arms and pulled back to look at Ronan, I hadn’t noticed my own tears until he softly said, “Baby, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His new term of endearment sent tingles all over me, and I hoped to hear him call me that for the rest of my life.

*

I looked back at my artwork and said, “It was inevitable; tears fall when words fail me. Ronan, I’m speechless. Seeing my work on your wall, that you put there yourself and framed… I’m honored, I’m touched… I…” A few more tears escaped. He wiped them away with his thumbs before cupping my face and pulling me in for a tender kiss.

*

“I’m so glad you’re pleased,” Ronan said with a wide grin. “After hanging it, I worried you’d be angry I did so without your approval or that I invaded your art room.”

“Ronan, it’s your house; you have the right to enter any room.”

“It’s not my house, though, Natalie. It’s ours. And you staked a claim on that room. It’s more yours than it ever was mine.”

“Thank you.”

*

“Although…” I bit my bottom lip in hesitation.

“What is it?” Ronan asked in concern.

“You do realize this is the painting I created in the midst of my rage toward you, don’t you? The day I found out about the conditions of your father’s will.”

“Ah, yes, I did know that.”

*

Ronan grasped my shoulders, turned me to face him directly, and said, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that day.”

“What specifically?” I asked cautiously.

“I know I made a huge mistake, withholding information from you… but when I couldn’t find you… Natalie, I don’t want to ever feel like that again. I know what Alexi is capable of. And knowing you’ve already been threatened by him once, it’s just… I never would’ve forgiven myself if anything had happened to you that day because you were angry with me.”

*

I was so moved by Ronan’s confession. “I didn’t realize you were that worried about me,” I murmured. He wrapped his arms around me, holding my head against his chest as he whispered,” I was.” He kissed the top of my head, and I completely melted. That was it; I was done for. I could no longer tell myself that there was nothing but a partnership between us. Ronan had earned his own room in my heart.

*

After one last glance at my painting on his wall, I let Ronan lead me out of the room. “I could get used to this,” he admitted as we climbed the stairs.

“Used to what?”

“Being the reason you smile. I think I’ve had my fill of your ire for a while.” I giggled at his comment.

*

When we arrived at my bedroom door, I said, “Ronan, I truly appreciate all your effort. It means more to me than words can say, but…”

“But?” he encouraged questioningly.

“We’re still overdue a really big conversation.”

“I understand. I promise we will discuss my father’s conditions. And soon. But can you promise me you won’t stress in the meantime? I’m not putting any pressure on you, a ghrá.”

“The pressure is already there,” I argued, and he nodded in understanding.

*

Ronan massaged my upper arms and said, “I’ll be ready to ease all your concerns and have as many conversations as you need… just as soon as you’ve gotten some rest. You’ve been working yourself to the bone for the past week. Now that the gala is over, I want you to relax for a few days, alright?”

“I will… if you agree to be home for dinner during those days.”

“Would that make you happy, lass?”

“It would.”

“It’s a deal then.” He leaned closer and added, “And just so you know, I plan to do everything in my power to restore your trust.”

*

Beguiled by my husband’s declaration, I merely stared at him. It was one thing to go out of his way to earn a smile from me, but was he serious about my trust? Was it that important to him? By the way he looked into my eyes, I knew the answer— yes.

*

Ronan took advantage of my speechlessness by giving me a swift but firm kiss, then sweetly said, “Good night, bean chéile.” As he walked away, I called after him, “Spokoynoy nochi, muzh.” (Good night, husband.) He stopped in his tracks for a split second before continuing toward the master bedroom. Was it possible to see someone smile from the back? Because I swear, I did.

~~~

Falling asleep that night was difficult. I replayed Ronan’s kisses over and over again in my mind. I may not have been particularly experienced, but I’d kissed my fair share of guys. And Ronan’s kisses were in an entirely different league. I flip-flopped in my bed for a long while, reeling from all the changes in my life that had taken place in such short time.

*

I finally drifted off, only to be ripped out of my unconsciousness by a slamming door. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening through the night. All was quiet again. Thinking I’d dreamed up the noise, I turned over to resume sleeping. Then, shattering glass instantly startled me into a seated position. Someone was downstairs. Could it be Ronan? If so, why would he be making so much noise? I’d always been a huge critic of those dumb girls in horror flicks who thought walking toward danger was a good idea. But, in that moment, I became tempted by the same foolish idea as curiosity overpowered fear.

*

My sprained ankle protested with a dull ache when my feet hit the floor. I still wore my fuzzy pink socks, so I didn’t bother with slippers. I did, however, grab my cotton robe, slipping my arms inside but leaving the belt undone. I swiftly crept out of my room and down the hall, inching my way down the stairs.

*

As I reached the first floor, I heard movement in the living room; too much to have been made by a single person. The crashing sound of Ronan’s drink cart hitting the floor jolted through me. “Damn it, Cal!” my husband’s hushed voice sniped. “Are you trying to break all of my possessions?!”

“Sorry. I can’t say I have all that much experience moving a body.”

*

Did he say a body? What the hell was going on? “Just be more careful,” Ronan told his best friend. “Here, lay him on the sofa.” I listened to more movement before Ronan spoke again, “You should’ve taken him to a hospital. He needs more medical attention than what I can give him with nothing but a first aid kit.”

“You got any more whiskey in this house? I don’t think I’ve ever needed a drink more in my life.”

“Focus, Callum!”

“Chill, would you? I stopped most of the bleeding before bringing him here. And I didn’t take him to the hospital because he insisted on coming here… just before he passed out.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No, man. You know Desmond, he plays things close to the chest.”

*

Desmond? They were talking about Ronan’s private investigator. “The only other thing I could get out of him,” Callum told Ronan, “was your wife’s name. I think he dug up the information you were after. Maybe you should go get her.”

“I don’t want to wake her,” Ronan replied.

“It’s too late for that,” I said as I joined them in the living room.

*

I took a moment to absorb the scene before me. Callum stood behind the sofa where a dark-haired man lay unconscious. Ronan knelt beside the man until he saw me and immediately stood. I was momentarily stunned by the image before me, not of the disheveled state of the room or even the injured man. What stole my attention was the sight of my husband… shirtless.

*

I’d never seen Ronan so exposed. He was glorious. I knew working out was a part of his morning routine, but damn, his muscles appeared carved from stone. In addition to his chiseled physique, Ronan sported an expansive tattoo covering the entire left side of his chest. From his clavicle to hip, black and grey ink formed a beautifully ornate tree, with a Celtic cross woven into the center of its trunk, making Ronan appear mouthwateringly sexy.

*

“Good evening, Mrs. Ó Ceallaigh,” Callum spoke casually. “You’re looking well.” Ronan rolled his eyes at Callum and stepped toward me as he said, “I’m sorry we woke you, bean chéile. Someone here couldn’t stop breaking things.”

“I can see that,” I replied, surveying the damage.

*

I approached the unconscious man and asked, “Can I help?”

“Depends,” Callum answered, “how much experience do you have stitching up knife wounds?”

“None whatsoever. But I know how to use a needle and thread, and I’m not squeamish.” I took a closer look at Desmond’s injuries and pointed out, “It looks like something is wrong with his shoulder.”

“It’s dislocated,” Ronan answered.

“Ah, see, I knew Ronan could fix that,” Callum interjected.

“Can you?” I asked my husband.

“Yes. Step away, lass.”

*

When Ronan moved between me and the couch, turning his back in my direction, I discovered more ink on his body. Another Celtic design spanned across his upper back from one shoulder blade to the other. A single word was camouflaged amidst the pattern. I would’ve overlooked it had I not been standing so close. I read, ‘Inistioge’ and recognized it as Ronan’s birthplace.

*

Ronan sat on the edge of the sofa beside Desmond, took a firm hold of his wrist, tucked his heel within the crook of the man’s armpit, and yanked swiftly. I could hear the audible sound of the humerus bone returning to its socket.

*

Desmond abruptly returned to consciousness, yelling, “Ahh, f*****g hell!” as he grasped his injured arm. “Can’t a man die in peace?”

“You aren’t dying, mo chara. Not yet, at least,” Ronan informed him. “We do need to address your other wounds though. Where’s the worst of it?”

“My left leg and my other shoulder,” he grunted.

*

Ronan lifted Desmond’s coat to examine the damage to his right shoulder. There, he found a bloodstained dish towel held in place by duct tape. Desmond’s leg looked the same. Ronan looked over at Callum. “What? I told you I stopped the bleeding,” Callum said defensively. “Don’t look at me like that, Ro. I work with computers. I’m not equipped to handle flesh and blood.”

*

“Natalie,” Ronan addressed me, “go to the kitchen. Inside the cabinet closest to the garage door, you’ll find Marie’s sewing stuff. Get what you need to stitch him up. Before you return, go to the basement and get another bottle of whiskey.”

“We have a basement?” I asked in surprise.

“I’ll get the whiskey,” Callum offered, and we both set off in separate directions.

*

On my way back from the kitchen, I detoured through the downstairs bathroom, where I retrieved antiseptic and bandages from under the sink.

*

Back in the den, Desmond and Ronan were deep in conversation. “You were right when you said Alexi wouldn’t appreciate being looked into,” Desmond told Ronan.

“Did he do this to you personally?” my husband asked.

“Nah. A couple of his goons jumped me on my way home from Frederick’s.” I knew Frederick’s; it was a bar. “So, that’s why you went to Callum’s,” Ronan stated in observation. “His place is nearby.”

“That, and I knew he could get me past your security gate.”

“But why forgo the hospital?” I wanted to know.

*

Desmond’s eyes assessed me as he said, “Is this the infamous Natalie Norris I’ve heard so much about?”

“Infamous?” I repeated. “What on earth has Ronan told you?”

“Ronan? Nothing. Everything I know about you I learned from Russians.”

“Des,” Ronan warned. “Kindly refrain from frightening my wife.”

“Your wife? Huh. I guess that explains why they were so baffled by your sudden and effective disappearance. At least, they were until tonight.” I cut away his pant leg to better access his wound. “Tonight?” I asked. “What’s significant about tonight?”

*

Callum reappeared, passing Ronan a freshly opened bottle of whiskey. He looked at Callum suspiciously upon noticing a healthy portion already missing. “I told you I was in desperate need,” Callum justified as Ronan handed the bottle to Desmond. The investigator took a long draft and said, “Ah, trust you to have the good stuff. Much obliged.”

*

I poured antiseptic on Desmond’s wound. He sharply sucked in air through his teeth before gulping down more whiskey. “Before you get completely soused,” I said to him, “can you please explain to me what about tonight put me back on their radar?”

“We came out tonight, bean chéile… as husband and wife,” Ronan clarified.

“Bingo,” Desmond confirmed.

“Oh, I see,” I responded nervously. “So, they know where to find me again.”

*

I focused on my efforts, stitching up Desmond’s flesh to the best of my ability. I’d claimed I wasn’t squeamish, but the feeling of passing a needle repeatedly through human flesh was not a pleasant experience and one I hoped never to repeat.

*

No one said anything as I completed my task. After washing up, I rejoined the guys in the den as Ronan sat on the edge of the coffee table and said, “Tell us what you learned, Des.” The private investigator must’ve had a high alcohol tolerance because despite drinking nearly half the bottle, minus what Callum had consumed, Desmond still seemed completely coherent.

*

“Well, they definitely want her,” Desmond said. “That much is clear.”

“But why?” I desperately wanted to know. “I haven’t done anything to them.”

“No, but your parents did.”

“My parents? How do you know that?”

“Ronan asked me to look into their background. Turns out, there’s more than a few connections between them and the Russian mob.”

*

I stared at Ronan in disapproval. “Nat, I—”

“Save it, Ronan. We can discuss that later.” I returned my focus to Desmond, saying, “The Russians already got their revenge on my parents. They killed them almost twenty years ago.”

“Russians carry long grudges, doll-face.”

“Any chance they can be persuaded to let go of their grudge?” Ronan inquired.

“Could you so easily let go of ten million dollars?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note:

Irish:

mo chara = my friend