A Hand to Hold

Chapter nineteen

~ Natalie

*

My heart pounded like crazy as I stared at my husband in the doorway. How long had he been standing there, watching me? As always, he wore an unreadable expression. The man could be a world-class poker player without even trying.

*

“You scared me,” I told him. His unreadable expression suddenly became readable as anger rose to the surface. “I scared you?” he replied, moving further into the room. “Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through these past few hours trying to find you?” I rolled my eyes and said, “I’m surprised you even noticed my absence, considering all you think about is yourself.” Was it harsh? Maybe. But the truth usually was.

*

Ronan had sold me on marriage under the guise of protecting me, but in truth, he only thought about how he could benefit from my predicament. He had unlimited resources. He could have easily helped me get off Alexi’s radar if he had any inclination. But he didn’t. He shackled me to him, relying on his skills of seduction to get me pregnant and fulfill the conditions of his father’s will. All he wanted was his inheritance. Who knows what he planned to do with me or our child after successfully obtaining his precious company? I was mortified by the realization that I’d fallen for his sales pitch and that I’d been so frightened of the Russian mob I hadn’t the wits or the forethought to ask the right questions. As much as I wanted to place all the blame on Ronan, I knew it was my fault for allowing myself to be used.

*

“That is all you have to say?” Ronan asked coldly. “Everyone we know has been looking for you.”

“I’ve been right here,” I answered unapologetically as I turned my back on him and resumed painting. That didn’t detour him in the slightest. “Why haven’t you been answering your damn phone?” His authoritarian tone made my blood boil, but I remained resolute. I pressed the brush firmly into the canvas and replied, “Because I have no desire to speak to anyone.” I could feel the fury emanating from him. Did I feel guilty for inadvertently causing our friends and family to search for me? Maybe a little, but not enough to apologize to him. He’d put me through much worse in the past three days.

*

Ronan moved toward me. His deep voice penetrated my veins as he said, “Natalie.” His Irish accent was more prominent when agitated. “You cannot just disappear without telling me where you are while refusing to answer your phone.” There he went with the commands again. I avoided his gaze and replied, “Apart from the paint supply shop, I have been home all afternoon. I needed some time to myself. I will not apologize for that.”

“Natalie—”

“I do not want to talk, Ronan,” I said adamantly. Being dismissed was not something he was familiar with. I felt him holding back rage as he uttered, “Call Katrina. She’s worried about you.” Without another word, he stormed out of the room, rattling the windows when he slammed the door.

*

Ronan could slam as many doors as he liked; my resentment and anger toward him would not abate. I would not go to him. I would not apologize. I needed time. I needed space. I needed to think. That was why I’d bought the paint supplies and set up shop in the spare room. Painting helped me clear my mind and decompress. When I went from middle school to junior high, and subjects became more challenging, so did the tests. Test-taking stressed me out to the point where I often failed often despite knowing the material. In search of a solution, my teachers and my aunt helped me discover a way to clear my mind before tests. That was how I first got into painting and ultimately fell in love with the hobby.

*

I unleashed my frustrations as I pressed the brush into the canvas, hoping to find a clear path for myself. I heavily leaned toward getting an annulment. However, a small voice inside told me to wait. While I worked, I tried to pinpoint where that voice stemmed from. Was it my head or my heart? And what emotion was driving it? Where did that spark of hope come from, and why was it impossible for me to eradicate it with sound logic? I saw no redeeming qualities in Ronan. He would never change. And seeking a real marriage with the egomaniac was a fool’s errand.

*

I texted Katrina, reassuring her I was alright. After receiving her confirmation, I resumed painting. Mountains held a special place in my heart and, therefore, were my favorite scenes to paint. Mountains and trees. Sometimes, I threw in a stream or other scenery if I felt like painting longer. And I definitely felt like painting longer.

*

Hours later, my fingers were stained, my back was sore, and I’d used up a fair amount of paint, but I was happy with the result. I set my finished painting aside and began cleaning my mess. By the time I’d finished, the sun had set completely, my feet ached from standing for hours, and my stomach growled in hunger. I hadn’t eaten since the bistro, but I dreaded leaving my sanctuary. Outside that room lay all the problems I didn’t know how to face but knew I had to eventually. Focus on one thing at a time, I told myself. I needed food.

*

When I ventured downstairs, the first thing I noticed was the quiet. Marie had already left for the day, and I hadn’t a clue where Ronan was. Not that I cared, apart from my desire to avoid him. I made myself something to eat and texted with Aunt Mel while I devoured my dinner. I still owed her a more thorough explanation of recent events than the few details I’d given her. But I could keep putting her off so long as I stayed in contact every day. She needed constant reassurance from me that I was alright ever since the day I told her I was suddenly getting married. Today was the first day I had to lie to her. I was definitely not alright.

*

I was cleaning up the kitchen when Ronan walked through the garage door. The entire time I’d been eating, I’d assumed he was hiding in his office. It turned out he hadn’t been home at all. Seemed like a bit of a double standard for him to leave without telling me when he was angry at me for not knowing where I was for half the afternoon, but whatever.

*

With Ronan’s presence, the tension between us instantly returned. Not in the mood to interact with my lying husband, I turned to leave the room when he tossed a thick envelope onto the counter in front of me. “What’s this?” I asked curiously, without picking it up. He removed his coat and casually replied, “It’s yours.” I peeked inside the envelope to find a stack of hundreds that must have added up to about five grand. My eyes widened in surprise, and I said, “Mine? I don’t understand.”

“I sold your car,” he admitted coolly, promptly leaving the room as if the discussion was over. “What?!” I shrieked, charging after him into the den.

*

“What the hell, Ronan?!” I spat. “Did you really sell my car?”

“You don’t need it anymore,” he had the nerve to say to me.

“How… how did you even manage to sell it without me?”

“I took the keys out of your purse and the title out of my safe. No problem.”

*

Frozen with rage, I watched Ronan calmly and collectedly pour himself a drink as if nothing at all was the matter. Meanwhile, I seriously contemplated strangling him. I couldn’t find the words to convey my outrage over yet another breach of trust. The day I retrieved my documents from my safety deposit box, I’d let him talk me into putting them in his home office safe, where they would be just as safe but more accessible to me… and him, too, apparently. He took advantage of that, the bastard!

*

Yelling would get me nowhere, and at that point, I was too weary from the emotional merry-go-round we’d been on all day. “How could you?” I whispered. That car had been the last ounce of independence I had from him. It’d been a mere three days since we’d married, and I already felt like I was losing myself. I was more hurt by his actions than angry. I didn’t see a way I could ever forgive him. We were at an impasse. I believed our relationship could not get any worse. But, of course, Ronan loved to prove me wrong.

*

“I told you,” Ronan said, “I didn’t want you going anywhere without me or Harrison until we had more information about Alexi. You didn’t listen.” He drained his glass of whiskey and set down the empty vessel as he added, “So… I made sure you can’t run away anymore… Natasha.”

*

Ronan’s use of my birth name triggered something dark inside of me. My self-control slipped. It stung like hell when my hand made contact with my husband’s face. His head snapped to the side, and the room fell deathly quiet. His hand cradled his cheek where I’d slapped him as I spoke tremulously, “Do not EVER call me that again.” I fled Ronan’s presence before he could witness the tears in my eyes.

*

I paced my bedroom like a caged animal, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat. I was too tired to do anything and too angry to sleep. I was stuck in more ways than one. I looked at my phone. I had several texts from Katrina telling me to call her, but I was reluctant. Since becoming Ronan’s assistant, there was a possibility she would defend him. I set my phone on the wireless charger on the nightstand and told myself I’d call her in the morning. I ran a scalding hot bath, tossing in a lavender bath bomb for good measure.

*

As I let the hot, foamy water soothe the tension leftover from emotional distress, I mentally replayed the day’s events. I cringed at the memory of abandoning Brigid at the restaurant without so much as a farewell. I hoped she understood, but just in case, I added her to my mental list of people to call the next morning. Ronan said everyone we knew had been searching for me that afternoon. Surely that didn’t include his grandmother, too… did it?

*

After my bath, I brushed my teeth, braided my hair, and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. While waiting for sleep to overtake me, my thoughts relentlessly dwelled on Ronan. My emotionless husband seemed genuinely fearful over my disappearance that afternoon. I couldn’t make sense of the man. He was the one who’d driven me away by his reaction to my s****l history, or lack thereof. What hurt more than his silence was that he hadn’t bothered to come after me.

*

I wanted to hold on to my anger toward him because it was a reprieve from the unbearable self-consciousness brought on by the confession of my virginity. I’d never been abashed by my purity before, so why did the discussion with Ronan made me feel this way? Because no matter how hard I tried, I simply could not read him. Did he wonder why I’d never been with anyone? Did he find me weird or believe something must be wrong with me? I tossed and turned for over an hour as these thoughts swam around in my head.

*

I didn’t know what to do, but the more I considered the events of the past few days, the more I felt marrying Ronan was a colossal mistake. I needed to get out of this marriage. It was never going to amount to anything but bitterness and heartache. I needed to break free. Yet every time I came to that conclusion, an annoying little voice pipped up and urged me to wait. The same voice I kept hearing as I painted. The one I never determined the source of. There was a part of me, deep down, that wanted to push forward in blind faith that things with Ronan would eventually work out for the best. Though, I couldn’t see that happening in my current position.

*

I ran through my limited options. Lack of options was precisely how I’d found myself married to an Irish billionaire in the first place. I could pack up my necessities and buy a bus ticket to Texas. But I worried about the danger that would inevitably follow. As angry as I was with Ronan, it didn’t come close to outweighing my fear of Alexi. I still had nightmares featuring his sleazy smile. He would follow me to Texas, of that I was certain, and my aunt would also be in danger. I couldn’t let that happen. Ronan was right when he said we needed more information. I will give him until Christmas, I told myself, letting my inner voice have her way. I will wait… for now.

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