A Hand to Hold

Chapter thirty-one

~ Ronan

*

After several hours, Natalie still hadn’t emerged from her art room. I needed to speak with her but didn’t dare invade her space during an emotional hurricane. I was well-accustomed to being in the public eye and having untrue, sometimes cruel, things said about me on a regular basis. Natalie was not.

*

Outside by the pool, I drew in puffs from a savory cigar. Between what Callum had destroyed and what he and Desmond had consumed, my house was entirely void of whiskey. I was forced to settle for alternate means of easing my stress. The earthy tobacco, combined with the bracing cold air, effectively alleviated tension.

*

As I savored the premium cigar, I contemplated my life over the past two weeks, specifically the past two days. I’d somehow become attached to my wife. I’d married Natalie with the promise of protection, but it came as a surprise how personally I took her being threatened.

*

With nothing to do about the Russian problem at the moment, my priority became sending David a very direct message. I’d already begun the process of officially and legally severing all business associations between Ó Ceallaigh Enterprises and Price Development.

*

As for the mob, I instructed Desmond to put the word out that I wanted a meeting with Alexi. Unfortunately, I had no choice but to wait for him to approach me. There was bravery and then there was stupidity, and I wasn’t stupid enough to go wandering into Alexi’s territory uninvited and unexpected. In the meantime, I had to do something to pull Natalie out of her hopeless frame of mind.

*

I finished my cigar and returned indoors. It was nearly dinnertime, and I knew for a fact Natalie hadn’t eaten all day. I was all for giving her space and time, but when she began to neglect herself, that’s where I drew the line. I would drag her out of that room and force-feed her sustenance if necessary.

*

Approaching Natalie’s art room, I stopped myself from barging in and knocked softly, half-prepared for her to tell me to go away. She didn’t, though. She came to the door and opened it slowly. “Hi,” she said meekly. It took a lot of effort on my part not to smile. She wouldn’t welcome being teased. But she looked adorable with paint smudged on her cheek.

*

Natalie sent me an odd look, crinkled her nose, and said, “You smell weird.”

“Cigar.”

“Oh.”

“May I come in?” She backed away from the door, replying, “It’s your house.” I moved into the room and said, “I thought I’d made it clear. It’s our house, and this room is your territory.”

*

My thoughts instantly vanished, and words failed me as I laid eyes on what my wife had been busy creating. On the wall hung two completed canvasses. The third and final piece of the set rested unfinished upon her easel. A single scene spanned the three canvasses. Unlike what she ordinarily painted, the landscape was not random mountains, rivers, and trees. It was a place, a real place— one that I would recognize anywhere.

*

“Inistioge,” I breathed out, unable to shift my eyes from the masterpieces.

“I figured,” Natalie said, moving to my side, “since you gave me an early Christmas present, I could do the same for you.”

“H-how? How did you do this?” I asked in admiration of her remarkable talent.

“Google images,” she explained as though it was a cinch to manufacture incredibly detailed artwork from nothing but a few internet images. The scene was so vividly familiar that I almost believed if I stepped through, I would instantly be transported to Ireland. With nothing but a bit of paint and canvas, Natalie had created a window into my childhood.

*

“Is it true to life?” Natalie’s voice held an eagerness for my approval, and I was damn well going to give it to her. “Natalie, it’s perfect. I’m floored. You must’ve been working on this for ages.” It suddenly occurred to me, in all the time I’d been sneaking into that room to admire her work, I’d not laid eyes on that one. It was impossible to overlook.

*

“Oh, um… no,” she answered timidly. “I didn’t get the idea for it until this morning.”

“You did all this today?!” She avoided my gaze, busying herself with completing the final canvas, when she replied, “I didn’t know you liked my work until you hung it in your office. Then this morning, when I woke up in your room, I noticed how little you had on the walls, and well…” she hesitated.

“And what?” I encouraged.

“Your tattoo. The one on your back.” I nodded in understanding.

*

The Inistioge design on my back had been the first of my tattoos. I was eighteen and terribly homesick. A part of me was always homesick.

*

“Baby, this is the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me,” I said sincerely.

“Really?” Natalie looked up at me with a hopeful smile. I grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled her in for a fierce but tender kiss. Her lips were the sweetest I’d tasted. When I pulled back and looked her in the eyes, I replied, “Really, a ghrá.”

*

“Okay, I have to ask,” Natalie said with a creased brow. “Does that mean woman?”

“What? A ghrá?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“You’re not going to tell me what it means?”

“Not today,” I answered, earning me an exaggerated look of disappointment. I pulled her toward me again and said, “If you insist on pouting like that, I’m liable to kiss you until you stop.” But my wife was constantly surprising me, and that moment was no different. “Mr. Ó Ceallaigh,” she responded flirtatiously, “that… is not the threat you think it is.”

*

Without wasting a second, I pulled her flush against my body, one hand on her waist and the other securely supporting the back of her head. I’d suppressed fervent kisses in the past for fear of unnerving her, but not this time. She was going to learn the consequences of teasing me.

*

I kissed Natalie breathlessly, not bothering to keep my tongue to myself. She purred with pleasure. I slowed to a stop and whispered against her lips, “You really know how to inflate a man’s ego with noises like that.”

“Good thing your ego can’t get any bigger,” she responded.

*

I leaned back to gauge her face, saying, “I beg your pardon.” But she took one look at me and burst into a fit of giggles. I thought for a second, then realized what she was laughing at. “I have paint on my face now, don’t I?” I suspected. She nodded through her laughter.

*

Once Natalie caught her breath, she said, “Serves you right for not telling me I had paint on mine.”

“You look adorable with paint on your face.”

“Mmm, I could say the same about you.”

“Well, now that I’ve already gotten messy, how about you teach me something?” I suggested it on a whim, but it seemed like an effective way to take her mind off everything. “What? Really? You want to learn to paint?”

“More like, I want you to teach me how to paint. If you insist on spending every waking moment in here, it’s the only way I’ll ever see you.”

“I’m sorry about that. I needed an escape.”

“And what better escape than teaching your husband to paint?”

“You’re serious?”

“I always say what I mean, remember?”

“Very well. Here,” she said, passing me a brush.

“Do I get to work on Inistioge?”

“Hell no… I mean, no.”

*

Natalie took the canvas off the easel, replacing it with a fresh one. “Alright, first, wet the canvas,” she instructed. “Dip the brush in liquid white and cover the surface in a very thin layer. If it’s too wet, the colors will run together.” As I followed her instructions, I began to understand why she found painting relaxing, as I took pleasure in gliding the wet brush over the canvas.

*

“Do you have an idea of the scene you want to create?” Natalie asked.

“I think so.”

“Okay, start by blocking in color. You’re creating the shadows first. Here, I’ll show you.” She picked up what looked like a dull knife, scooped up a roll of dark paint, and pressed it into the canvas. Within seconds, the outline of a mountain began to materialize. I watched as Natalie worked and directed. She was in her element, and the result was mesmerizing.

*

“Ronan, are you even paying attention?” my wife asked, snapping me out of my trance.

“Of course I am.” I copied what she showed me step by step. Half an hour later, there was a crude mountain scene on the canvas that looked like it’d been painted by a child.

*

“I don’t understand it,” I complained, “I did everything the same way you did. Why does mine not look like yours?”

“Learning to manipulate the brushes and paint on the canvas takes practice. Yours is considerably better than my first painting.” I looked at her skeptically and said, “That’s very kind of you to say, but I find it hard to believe.”

“I’ll have my aunt send a picture.”

*

Natalie turned and began cleaning up the tray table. “Wait, a minute,” I said.

“What is it?”

“I haven’t finished painting.” Before she could wonder what I meant, I booped her nose with my brush, leaving behind a smudge of green paint. “Ronan!” she exclaimed.

“What? You look beautiful in Irish green.” She scowled at me, but her eyes were playful. Faster than I could blink, she put her hand on the palette and pressed it against my cheek. “And you look quite handsome in every color.”

*

“I cannot believe you just did that,” I uttered.

“What’s the saying? One good turn deserves another.” Natalie smiled mischievously.

“You are correct. Now… how about a kiss for your husband, darling wife?” She started backing away, saying. “No, Ronan. You got me, and I got you back. We’re even.”

“I don’t think so, a ghrá. I’m wearing considerably more paint than you. But… I’m willing to share.”

*

I lunged for Natalie, but she was quicker, and she slipped out of my reach. “Ronan, stop it!” She squealed, trying to elude me. I chased her around the room. When she rounded the easel, I cut her off, wrapping my arms around her. I kissed her fiercely before rubbing the side of my face into hers. I could feel her laughing joyfully in my arms, and it was infectious.

*

When our laughter abated, I gazed down at her paint-stained face. “Since you’re to blame for staining my good looks,” I said, “I think it’s only fair you shower me off.”

“YOU started it,” she argued.

“And I’d be more than happy to shower you off,” I replied with a wink.

*

Natalie’s countenance instantly shifted from playful to nervous. “Hey, don’t do that,” I whispered.

“Do what?”

“Get into your head. You know I’m only teasing you.”

“I know,” she nodded.

“Then why do you look like I’ve caught you in my web.”

“Because you look like you’re about to eat me.” I leaned my forehead against hers and replied, “I intend to… one day. Just not today.”

*

The room was dead silent… until her stomach let out a long, loud growl. She covered her face in embarrassment, but I could feel her laughing. “Speaking of eating,” I pointed out, “That was my original reason for interrupting you.”

“I suppose I could eat,” she said casually.

“Come on, bean chéile. Get cleaned up and meet me in the kitchen. I’ll order us some food.”

*

After we left the art room, I walked Natalie to her bedroom door, where she turned to me and said, “Thank you, Ronan.”

“For what, lass?”

“You have a knack for making me smile.”

“I also have a knack for pissing you off, so I’m glad there’s a balance.”

“True. But I meant, thanks for the distraction.” I leaned toward her and said, “I’ll paint with you anytime.”

*

As I entered my bedroom, I considered what I could do about getting Natalie to move into the master with me. The previous night had been the best sleep I’d had in years. What I initially believed would be an annoyance, sharing my bed with another person, turned out to be a comfort I’d never known until spending an innocent night with Natalie.

*

Half an hour later, I’d removed most of the paint from my face and ordered enough Chinese food to feed twice as many people. I was setting out plates and utensils when Natalie entered the kitchen. Her long hair was wet, and her face flushed from the heat of a steamy shower.

*

“I see you got all your paint off,” I said.

“I see you haven’t,” she giggled as she took a seat at the island.

“I ordered Chinese. Hope that’s okay.”

“That’s perfect. I’m so hungry I’d eat anything.”

“And whose fault is that?” I asked rhetorically.

“Yours. You really should take better care of your wife, Ronan.”

“Excuse me? I was trying to give you your space.”

“I know, and I appreciate it.”

*

I reached for her hand across the island. “Natalie, I know it was distressing to hear a bunch of journalists picking you apart and getting everything all wrong, but you can’t let it get to you.”

“I know logically you’re right, but it’s not that easy for me.”

“I understand.” With no other way of comforting her, I rubbed my thumbs over her knuckles.

*

When the dinner arrived, we wasted no time in stuffing our faces. “Hey, quit hogging the chow mein,” I protested.

“Well, you should’ve gotten more. It’s my favorite.”

“More? I got enough to feed an army.”

“Not of the chow mein you didn’t.”

“Sorry, bean chéile. I only know your Mexican food preferences.” My comment made her smile at the reminder of our one and only date.

*

“Do I need to take you out more?” I asked, reaching for my wine glass. Natalie swallowed a bite and replied, “The last time you took me out, the press labeled me as a home-wrecker.”

“It’ll all go away soon.”

“I hope you’re right. I had to call my aunt to warn her.”

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth, like you told me to.”

“And? Is she planning to come to Chicago?”

“As expected, she was furious with me for not telling her the truth from the beginning. But I convinced her not to come.” Natalie sipped her wine and added, “She wants you to call her, though.” I put down my chopsticks, asking, “Is that what you want?”

“I think it would put her mind at ease.”

“Alright, then. Consider it done.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

*

We continued our meal in companionable silence. When we’d finished, Natalie put away the leftovers while I wiped down the countertop. The evening was still early, but I could tell she was tired.

*

We walked out of the kitchen together, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. As I laced my arms around Natalie’s waist, she rested her hands comfortably on my chest. I savored the closeness and asked, “Any chance I could convince you to sleep in my room tonight, a ghrá?” She sighed and responded, “Two weeks ago, I was your assistant, Ronan.”

“What’s your point?”

“You offered to marry me on a whim.”

“Not a whim,” I corrected.

“It certainly felt like a whim from my perspective.”

“I told you; I’ve been attracted to you since the day we met.”

“Yesterday.”

“What?” I replied, puzzled.

“You told me that yesterday. Up till then, I believed this to be nothing more than an arrangement. Now, you’ve suddenly flipped a switch. You’re being sweet, romantic even, and suddenly you’re calling me baby—”

“Ah, but admit it… you like that, don’t you, baby?”

“I’m not saying I don’t,” she acknowledged with a blush.

“Then what are you saying?”

“We got off to a rocky start, and I need some time to recover from the whiplash.”

*

One of the reasons I was drawn to Natalie was due to the lack of awkward silences between us. But in that moment, the awkwardness descended. It was disconcerting to know that I was the one who wanted to move forward while she insisted on remaining in limbo. I hated it. But at the same time, I knew pushing her would have the opposite effect. She would pull away from me even more.

*

“Alright, I understand,” I told Natalie, even though I didn’t. “I’ll give you all the time you need… if you do something for me.”

“What?” she questioned.

“You need to give us a chance.” She bit her lip hesitantly, and I gingerly asked, “What is it you are so afraid of?”

“I’ve always been able to keep men at arm’s length because there were none I’d crossed paths with that were worth taking a risk for.”

“Are you saying I’m not worth taking a risk for?” Merely speaking those words sent a pang through my chest. What was this feeling? Rejection? It was awful.

*

“No, Ronan,” Natalie said, “Just the opposite. You’re the first person worth taking a risk for. That is what scares me. I’m worried if I take a leap of faith, you won’t be there to catch me. Or worse… you won’t want to.” I pulled her into a tender hug and stroked her back as I replied, “I’ve told you, lass— what makes you think I would ever let you fall?”

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