A Hand to Hold

Chapter thirty

~ Natalie

*

Before opening my eyes, I knew it was well past the time I normally woke up. Due to the sudden arrival of houseguests, I’d gotten very little sleep the night before. However, after drifting off in the master bedroom, I slept more soundly than I had in weeks. The quality of Ronan’s furnishings never ceased to amaze me. His mattress was even more comfortable than the one in my room, a room I had every intention of returning to. But when I did, I would assuredly pine for his bed.

*

Upon opening my eyes, I seized my first real opportunity to get a good look at Ronan’s bedroom. The layout was similar to mine, only larger and more masculine. I’d slept on the right side of the bed, with Ronan on my left and the bedroom door to my right. The bed was a thick four-poster frame and dominated much of the room. I assumed his dresser was in the closet, same as mine, because the only other furniture in the room were the two nightstands and an overstuffed lounge chair by the bay windows.

*

The room’s focal point was the cozy fireplace directly opposite the foot of the bed. Apart from the flatscreen TV mounted above the mantel, the walls were depressingly void of decor. I wondered if Ronan would be interested in adding a few of my paintings, but I dismissed the thought. After all, it was not my room.

*

I glanced over at Ronan, who was still sound asleep on his back. His right arm was draped above his head, revealing yet another tattoo, some words in what I assumed to be Irish. ~Is fearr a bheith i do phearsa ná mar fhear acmhainne.~

*

Having seen Ronan at work, day after day for over a year, in his outrageously expensive, perfectly tailored suits… I never would’ve suspected so much artwork lay beneath. Upon closer inspection of the tree on his chest, I realized what I’d previously thought were leaves were actually tiny clovers. Obviously, his homeland was near and dear to his heart. I imagined him taking me there, surprised by how much I desired to see where my husband came from.

*

As I breathed in the new day, I considered venturing downstairs. My stomach was empty, and I wanted to check to ensure Desmond’s wounds hadn’t reopened in his sleep. It was fortunate the day was Sunday and, therefore, Marie’s day off. I cringed at picturing her walking in to find a blood-soaked man on the sofa.

*

My memory drudged up images from the night before. Everything was perfectly clear up till getting the news about The Golden Spoon. I became overwhelmed with sadness, remembering the fate of the two men I once knew. My mind flooded with questions. What, or who, caused the fire? Who sent me the text, and for what purpose? Had Alexi found a way to get to me through people I knew? Was the fire a result of him looking for me?

*

Deep in the trenches of my mind, I’d forgotten I wasn’t alone until my husband spoke. “You cannot dwell on things you cannot control, a ghrá.”

“Of course I can,” I insisted. “I just realized… what happened at the diner… was my fault.” Ronan rolled toward me, propping himself up on his elbow as he asked, “However did you come to that conclusion?” I did my best to ignore how delectable he looked— lounging in bed first thing in the morning with sleepy eyes, messy hair, and half a day’s stubble.

*

I cleared my throat and said, “If Alexi remembered seeing me there last year—”

“I seriously doubt that, lass. Don’t take credit for all the misfortunes that befall anyone who’s ever had contact with you.”

“Don’t you think it’s a pretty big coincidence?”

“You said yourself the owner was in debt to the Russians. I think it’s much more likely that his debt caught up with him.” After a pause, I admitted, “I suppose there’s a chance you may be right.”

“I know I’m right.” My husband had no lack of ego, that was for sure. I only hoped it didn’t come back to bite us in the ass.

*

“I’m much more interested in who sent you the message,” Ronan expressed.

“So am I, but the number was blocked.”

“I’ll have Callum look into it. Computers are his thing. If it can be traced, he will find a way.” Ronan leaned over, gave me a peck on my forehead, and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”

“Worried? Who’s worried?” I asked casually. “The people who murdered my parents for stealing their money believe they can reclaim it from me. No big deal.” I shrugged unconvincingly.

*

“Natalie,” Ronan said with a sigh. “I know you’re overwhelmed with everything we discovered last night, but I promise you, we will find answers as well as a solution. Let’s get dressed and go downstairs to talk to Desmond.”

“Oh, you mean about his investigation into my parents… at your request?” I asked, annoyed.

“I knew you wouldn’t let that go,” he muttered in reply.

“I just thought you weren’t keeping anything from me anymore, Ronan.” I knew why he did it, and I understood. My upset stemmed from the secrecy of it all.

*

“I’m sorry, baby,” Ronan said, his tone genuine. “I thought it best to wait until I had more information.” Damn him for using that term of endearment against me. I melted every time he called me that. What kind of relationship could we have moving forward, if I was continuously at his mercy. And judging by the look he was giving me, he knew my anger had waned. “You can’t seem to stay mad at me, can you?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, yes, I can.”

*

I threw the covers off and quickly got out of bed. I moved to leave the room but was suddenly whipped around and pressed against the wall. “Where do you think you are going, lass?” Ronan asked in a deep, sensual voice. My breath hitched as a powerful force washed over me and settled in my lady parts. I wanted him. And worse than that— he knew it.

*

I attempted to compose myself as I said, “I’m going to my room to get dressed.”

“I told you,” Ronan replied, “this is your room now.”

“Whether or not that’s true—”

“It is.”

“—doesn’t change the fact that I have nothing of mine in here.”

“I can rectify that real quick.” He gazed down at me with smoldering eyes, deliberately trying to worm his way under my skin and stoke my desire. I could affect him, too, though. And as much as I hated revealing any amount of vulnerability, it felt necessary to get him to back off.

*

I knew if I expressed any distress, Ronan’s gentlemanly nature couldn’t resist coming to my rescue. “Ronan, please,” I muttered meekly. His grip immediately loosened, his seductive expression transformed into concern, and his voice softened. “You know I just want you close to me, Nat. I didn’t mean to make you feel cornered.”

“I know. I just …” As my words trailed off, he touched my face and tucked a hair behind my ear. “Just what, baby? Tell me,” he urged.

“I’m not ready for this.”

*

Ronan cupped my face and brought me in for a long, tender kiss. After a final quick peck, he said, “I know you’re not. But if I don’t push you a little from time to time, you never will be.”

“You’re probably right. But for now… I need my space.”

“Understood.”

*

It was a little surprising to see genuine disappointment on Ronan’s face. Was he falling for me the way I was falling for him? I remembered what John told me at the gala, and I desperately wanted to believe it was possible. But I was too scared. At some point, I knew I had to take a leap of faith… or walk away.

*

Looking for a way to lighten the mood, I said, “I had no idea your skin bore so much artwork.” I traced my fingers across my husband’s chest tattoo. That was a mistake. The feel of his muscles under my fingertips gave me chills and the look of desire returned to his eyes at full force.

*

“Baby…” Ronan whispered breathlessly, “If you don’t wish to lose your virginity up against this wall, I’d refrain from teasing your husband in such a way.”

“Sorry,” I said, jerking my hand away. “I was just admiring your tattoo.”

“I’m glad you like it. It took three sessions to complete.”

“Sounds painful,” I commented. He shrugged and said, “It wasn’t that bad. It didn’t hurt as much as this one.” He stepped back and presented the Irish phrase on the inside of his bicep. “The more sensitive the location, the more painful the tattoo,” he pointed out.

“What does it say?”

“Is fearr a bheith i do phearsa ná mar fhear acmhainne,” he read in his delectable Irish accent.

“In English?”

“Better to be a man of character than a man of means.” I raised my eyebrows, causing him to chuckle as he said, “Not what you expected from a billionaire?” I shook my head in response.

*

Ronan brushed the hair out of his face as he explained, “It’s a phrase my grandmother used to say a lot when I was growing up. Especially when my da began to grow his net worth. I got the tattoo when I made it into the top one percent— as a reminder of her words. There are more important things in life than money, such as a person’s character.”

*

I must’ve worn an indiscernible expression because Ronan asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just when I think I’ve seen every side of you… you reveal something else entirely.”

“Don’t give me so much credit, lass. There may be a few things about me you didn’t already know, but for the most part, what you see is what you get, and I am unlikely to ever change.”

“I don’t believe that,” I replied. “In fact, I’d wager you already have.” I surprised him with a flirty wink before I left the room.

~~~

Ronan made me feel all sorts of things I never had before— special, desirable, and important. All of which led to unprecedented confidence in me. I was Natalie Ó Ceallaigh, wife of the Irish billionaire, and Ronan had been right when he told me he could make me feel more like it. I could see myself happy sharing a life with him if only I could dissolve the dark cloud hanging over my head. I needed to learn what else Desmond knew. But not in my pajamas.

*

In my bathroom, I undid my braid and combed through my hair. It fell in soft waves as a result of being damp when I’d braided it. After washing my face and applying a bit of makeup, I moved into the closet. I shed my sleep clothes and dressed in a comfy pair of jeans and a wine-red, short-sleeved shirt. Eager to get downstairs, I didn’t bother with a final look-over in the mirror before I left.

*

I heard the guys’ voices as I came down the stairs. When I entered the den, I expected morning greetings. Instead, I received the alarmed stares of three grown men. Each one looked at me as though I had a ferret on my head.

*

Before I could ask what the problem was, Ronan instantly appeared at my side, “What the f*****g hell, Natalie?!”

“What’s the matter with you?” I demanded to know. He very tenderly took my elbow in hand and lifted my arm. It was then I saw what they’d been starting at. David’s vice grip on me the evening before had left bruises behind.

*

“Oh, damn,” I said under my breath.

“Oh, damn?” Ronan repeated. “That’s all you have to say? How the hell did this happen? You didn’t have these bruises yesterday.” I pulled my arm away and stepped back, mumbling, “I’m going to get a sweater.”

*

When I turned to leave, my husband quickly stepped into my path, saying, “Not before you explain.”

“No,” I said defiantly. “You’ll only get more upset than you already are.”

“Someone grabbed her with great force,” Desmond pointed out. I could see on Ronan’s face the moment realization hit him.

*

“That son of a b***h!” Ronan barked. “I’ll bash his face in!”

“Ronan, please calm down,” I pleaded.

“Who’re we beating senseless, Ro?”

“Please, don’t encourage him, Callum,” I said.

“Natalie, this cannot stand!” Ronan exclaimed. “I will not sit by and do nothing while that bastard, David Price, puts bruises on you. I’m going to put more than a few bruises on him.”

“Ronan, it’s not worth losing a business associate over,” I tried to reason with him.

“Natalie, our association was on life support the moment he threatened you. And now I find out he assaulted you! He’ll be lucky I don’t put him in the f*****g ground!”

*

Ronan began pacing angrily as I looked to Callum pleadingly, hoping he could get through to his best friend. Instead, he defended Ronan’s reaction. “Natalie,” Callum said, “for a man to put his hands on another man’s wife, it’s one of the greatest offenses they can commit.”

“But it’s different with us. Our marriage is only on paper. I’m not his real wife.” My words stopped Ronan in his tracks.

*

In a split-second, my husband had me by the wrist, firmly but not uncomfortably, as he led me out of the room, down the hall, and into his office. “Sit!” he ordered. I did as he said but stated, “You know I don’t like commands, Ronan.” He paced back and forth for a moment, trying to calm himself.

*

Finally, Ronan took a deep breath, knelt in front of me, and said, “I don’t ever want to hear the words, you’re not my real wife, come out of your mouth again.” I was confused by his reaction. He seemed … insulted.

*

“Obviously, I didn’t mean legally,” I said. “But we didn’t marry under normal circumstances. You’re not obligated to defend my honor.”

“Obligated?” he replied in disbelief. “You think my reaction is out of obligation?! When are you going to understand that I care about you? And David f*****g Price hurt someone that I care about! I absolutely will not let this go!”

*

I knew Ronan cared. I simply didn’t want him ending a lifelong relationship over me. I didn’t know how to react. I tried to appreciate the fact my husband put my well-being above that of the company. But I feared the possible blow black. I couldn’t bear it if he ever looked at me with resentment. That would be far worse than indifference.

*

“Natalie,” Ronan said, attempting to control his temper. “I would’ve been furious if he’d put his hands on you when you were my assistant. You are my WIFE now. There is no way in hell I will continue any kind of relationship with the man whatsoever, and I don’t want to hear any argument on the matter.”

*

Considering Ronan’s stance would not be budged, carrying on the conversation seemed pointless. “Fine,” I responded. “Whatever you say. Now, can we please go talk to Desmond?” I didn’t wait for an answer before leaving the office.

*

I detoured to my bedroom and grabbed a sweater before returning to the living room. I noticed that Desmond had showered and was now wearing what I assumed were Ronan’s clothes. This was my first chance to get a proper look at the investigator in daylight. His hair, which looked black the night before, was dark brown. He appeared around the age of forty and bore a faint scar on the side of his face near his right eye. Desmond sipped contentedly from a steamy cup of fresh-brewed coffee.

*

When I walked in and sat on the loveseat, Ronan looked me over. His eyes briefly lingered on my arm before returning his attention to his investigator. “Tell her what you told me, Des,” Ronan instructed.

“As you wish.” Desmond took a long drink from the mug and set it on the coffee table. When his light-blue eyes settled on me, he said, “As I told your husband, it took me over a week to gather what little intel I did, and I pretty much told you everything last night. Your parents stole ten million from the Russian mob nearly twenty years ago. The Russians want their money back and expect to get it from you.”

*

After draining what was left in his cup, Desmond continued, “The only other thing I know is that, apparently, when Alexeyev discovered you two weeks ago, he sent the message home to his boss. Word on the street is Konstantin Kalashnik is coming here to deal with you personally.”

“Desmond! You didn’t have to scare her,” Ronan rebuked.

“You told me to tell her what I told you. That is what I told you.”

“It’s okay, Ronan,” I assured him. “I can’t say I’m any more scared than I already was.”

“The head of the entire Russian mob is coming here to pay you a personal visit… and you aren’t any more scared?” Desmond repeated in surprise before finishing, “Damn, Ronan, your wife is one tough bitch.”

“Des!”

“What? I’m just saying.”

*

I stared at the floor, trying but failing to control my rapid heartbeat. There was nothing I could do to stop the coming threat. Despite my irritation with my possessive and controlling husband, I began to feel guilty for bringing this trouble to his door. I sensed someone sit beside me on the loveseat. Ronan rested his large, warm hand on my knee, asking, “Nat, are you alright?” I merely nodded without meeting his eyes.

*

Suddenly, Callum rushed into the room, announcing, “You guys need to see this.” He scooped up the remote from the mantle and switched on the TV. Pictures of Ronan and me from the night before were plastered all over the screen while talk show hosts speculated over our relationship.

*

As I listened to the television, I grew horrified to learn the reporters were spinning a tale in which I, as his assistant, wormed my way into Ronan’s bed and broke up his relationship with Cynthia. She was painted as a victim, and even Ronan wasn’t portrayed nearly as negatively as I was. He was just a man who gave in to temptation while I was labeled a temptress. It was all very similar to what David had accused me of, but ten times worse and much more public.

*

I was mortified. My aunt was going to see this. Everyone I’d ever known was going to see this. My phone rang in my hand. Before I could even look at it, Ronan snatched it away. “You’re not going to want to answer that,” he told me.

“Why not?”

“The press will want a quote from you, and if they get one, they’ll twist it to fit their story. Trust me.”

*

After hearing more fiction from the TV, I couldn’t take anymore. I ignored Ronan calling after me as I left the room and ran up the stairs. I walked past his room, my room, and Callum’s, pushing open the door to my art room. The moment I slammed the door, I let hot tears fall. I retrieved a blank canvas and went to work— painting through the tears.

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