Chapter 5

Feeling crampy, bloated, and cranky, Eva leaned her head against the headrest of the Bentayga and closed her eyes. She hated menstruating, and that hate was making her bitter. Or was she just moody? The way her emotions shifted lately, she couldn’t say for sure.

If she’d referenced her period calendar, she would’ve scheduled lunch with her best friend on a different day and stayed home, curled up with her husband and a bottle of wine. But the thought hadn’t entered her mind until now. Irrational wishfulness, maybe? Or just negligence.

So here she was, in the back of the Bentley while Gideon was probably working in his home office, although she hoped he’d take her advice and invite Ireland over for breakfast. Her sister-in-law craved Gideon’s personal and private attention but rarely initiated getting it.

“Hey, sweetheart…? You okay? You look pale.”

The concern in her father’s voice opened her eyes, and she met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. She sighed. “Time of the month.”

Victor winced. “Ah. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah…” She looked out the window. “Me, too.”

Was he regretful for the same reason she was? Of course, if the person who threatened them were known and imprisoned, there would be no lingering doubts about Gideon’s safety or hers. But she couldn’t put off the passing of time any more than she could stop the hidden yearning that hollowed her. Soon, the choice would be out of her hands. She wasn’t getting any younger.

They pulled up to the valet stand in front of Tableau One, and it was easy to see why there was a crowd in front of the restaurant’s large bay windows. Cary Taylor—former model, entrepreneur, and influencer extraordinaire—was indulging the line of people wanting to take pictures with him. And they wouldn’t be disappointed with what they walked away with. As stunningly beautiful as he was in person, Cary looked even more unreal in photographs, having been blessed with the rare photogenic quality only top-tier models could lay claim to.

Her father rolled down the driver’s side window to speak to the approaching valet. “I’m just dropping off. Won’t be more than a minute.”

Nodding, the valet stepped back. With the car still running, Victor did a thorough visual sweep of their surroundings before opening the door and unfolding his tall frame from behind the wheel.

Everything about him screamed law enforcement, despite having left the job a dozen years prior when her mother was murdered. That was the impetus for him to move to New York and take over the responsibility of keeping his only child safe from the dangers of being married to one of the wealthiest men in the world.

That Gideon was also the child of a notorious Ponzi scheme orchestrator who’d ruined lives only widened the threat. So many of Geoffrey Cross’s victims held Gideon unfairly accountable, believing his present success had to have somehow been built upon their stolen funds, despite the work of the Department of Justice, which recovered a significant amount of the losses, and Gideon’s personal contributions to righting his father’s wrongs.

For some, everyone with the last name Cross should pay the price for Geoffrey’s misdeeds. It was impossible to gauge how many truly dangerous enemies they had, making it imperative to investigate every possible hazard.

Her father came to her door and opened it, his black suit jacket concealing a holstered firearm while still showcasing his broad, muscular shoulders. There were social media accounts dedicated to photos of him, and while he cringed at the avid attention paid to his good looks, Eva was proud of him and found it amusing.

He blocked the door, shielding her from the paparazzi who made it a habit to linger at Tableau One for the many celebrity sightings. They camped out on the other side of the street, but with Cary in fine form, it was likely one or more had taken the opportunity to meld with the crowd.

“What are my chances of running in without being photographed?” she asked.

He gave her a wry smile. “You’re one of the most recognizable women in the world. What do you think?”

Eva sighed and steeled herself, gathering her purse and shifting to make as quick a getaway from the Bentayga as possible. She’d long ago accepted that her marriage weirdly fascinated the world, and people couldn’t seem to stop talking about it. She understood why Gideon was so phenomenally popular—she wasn’t alone in recognizing that he was the handsomest and sexiest man on the planet. And she put up with the intrusive attention because it came with him, and he was hers. All things considered, it was a small price to pay to share her life with him.

But fuck, if it wasn’t a terrible burden some days.

“Ready?” Victor asked, a tremendously supportive presence for her as always.

“As I’ll ever be.” She slid onto her feet into the small space between the shield of the door and her father’s body. That she struggled with him protecting her with his life was something she’d learned to keep to herself because it angered him when she mentioned it.

I go first, he’d once told her bitingly. And if I go keeping you alive, I go happy. Got it?

Tucking her under one arm, her father pushed his way to the entrance with the other, ushering her inside.

He paused in the vestibule, holding the inner door open for her. “Text me when you’re ready.”

“You should be home sleeping in with Shelley!” she shot back, unable to resist.

The level look he gave her before exiting to the street said a dozen things at once. He used to take the weekends off, working as a team with the other members of their security detail. That he hadn’t yet returned to that schedule was probably the most significant indicator that her security was still elevated.

“Your table’s ready,” the hostess said with a bright smile, gesturing for Eva to follow her. The restaurant was co-owned by Gideon and the flagship for one of his oldest and closest friends, celebrity chef Arnoldo Ricci. The brightly lit interior was a haven, and Eva breathed a sigh of relief.

It was probably too much to hope she hadn’t been captured in a salable photograph. Even if a paparazzo hadn’t been lucky enough to snap one, someone waiting for a picture with Cary might have. When they saw him in public, it was expected that she wouldn’t be too far away. Cary could go unnoticed when he wished to. When he was seen, it was because he was with her.

She could write the ledes and comments that would accompany that photo because she’d seen them regurgitated countless times.

Is that a baby bump?

She’s getting fat because her marriage is over. She doesn’t want a baby, so Gideon Cross is ready to move on.

She’s had some work done. Look how swollen her face is.

She’s definitely putting on weight.

Whoa! Someone went overboard on fillers.

She’s finally pregnant!

Eva had read it all, and it never stopped. The fascination with whether she was pregnant, whether childlessness was negatively impacting her marriage, whether Gideon was cheating on her or unhappy, whether she had an overreliance on cosmetic procedures… The surgeons who weighed in on what work she’d had done were so ridiculous she couldn’t believe the press amplified their bullshit. Gossip sites and tabloids posted lies constantly. And photographs of her and Gideon graced covers on every magazine rack everywhere all the time. Not every cover, but at least a couple. All. The. Time.

Sliding into her usual booth in the back, Eva released her breath in a rush, relaxing the stomach muscles she’d pulled in, which had only aggravated the cramping of her uterus. She wished she genuinely didn’t care what people said about her, but of course, it affected her. And she felt a responsibility as Gideon’s wife to do him proud, not that he ever held her to any standard. He genuinely found no flaws in her. Still, she knew he hated how the public picked her apart, that he couldn’t understand it, and felt helpless to stop it.

It was another ten minutes or so before Cary extricated himself from his fans and made his way to their booth. Eva took advantage of the time to order a bottle of crisp white wine and their favorite brunch dishes. Then she texted her husband.

She was surprised when he didn’t reply with his usual alacrity, her brows pinching together. Hopefully, he was too busy with his sister and not something unexpected with work. Gideon managed his conglomerate with a chess master’s acumen, always dozens of moves ahead of everyone else with the endgame already in mind. When something caught him off guard, it was trouble on an unforeseeable and significant scale.

“Hey, baby girl!” Cary leaned into her side of the booth and pressed a quick kiss to her temple before taking the seat across from her. He was an exceptionally handsome man, his glossy sable hair precisely cut in his preferred style: trimmed on the sides and nape, longer and artfully mussed on top. He was carelessly elegant in a simple black crew neck T-shirt, tailored slacks in tan, and cognac loafers.

He studied her for a heartbeat before his megawatt smile twisted into sympathetic ruefulness. “You plugging?”

“My god, Cary!” she protested. Groaning her frustration, Eva shoved her phone back into her purse. “Is it that obvious?”

He shrugged. “Not really. I just know what it means when your chin breaks out, and you wear a shift dress. Your face is a little puffy, too.”

“Great.” She took another sip and shook her head, remembering how her husband had come up behind her while she was slathering serum over her face and said in all seriousness, How you become more gorgeous by the day never ceases to amaze me. “You, however, look drop-dead gorgeous, as always. I can’t believe you were able to get through all those people outside.”

While most male models never stepped out of obscurity, he’d been thrust into the tabloid spotlight overnight when she pulled him into Gideon Cross’s orbit with her.

“I didn’t.” The sparkling mischief in his emerald eyes was trademark Cary Taylor. “I begged off on your behalf and told them if they came to Trey’s adoption drive this weekend, they could get their photo with me plus swag and maybe a new best friend as awesome as mine—but with a tail!”

A laugh burst out of her, breaking through all the bullshit that had been floating around in her head. “No one can spin a situation around to best advantage better than you.”

“Gotta hustle. You taught me that.” He tipped his wine glass toward her in a silent toast. “And I’ve got a husband who wants to save the world’s animals—or at least the ones in the Greater Five Boroughs. Anything I can do to help him with that keeps him happy, which keeps me happy.”

“That is how marriage works,” she agreed, her smile reflecting her joy at seeing him so happy and healthy.

Cary radiated a vitality that made her memories of the sullen, self-destructive teenager she’d first met seem like a completely different person. Where once, most people would’ve considered them both destined for failure—in work, in love, and in life—they’d managed to hold each other up and drag each other through rough spots that might’ve undone years of intense and painful therapy. Together, they’d found the soulmates who helped heal them, but while they both had spouses now, there were still things they shared only with each other. That was the nature of best friendship—nothing could replace it.

“You’re both coming to the masquerade on Friday?” she queried, sitting back as the runner set their meals in front of them. She thanked her with a smile.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Cary snapped his napkin open with panache and draped it over his lap. “You know I never skip a chance to see Trey in a tux—or strip him out of one.”

She laughed, her body incrementally relaxing with each passing moment. “We still haven’t found a bachelor who can draw the high bids you did.”

Their annual fall masquerade and bachelor auction was the largest fundraising event of the year for the Crossroads Foundation, which Gideon had established to help other sexual abuse survivors via advocacy, shelters, and legal support. While their personal experiences with childhood trauma were known only to each other, their therapists, and select family members, the foundation’s work was covered extensively by the press, and their events of all sizes and persuasions always sold out.

“I’d say I’m sorry,” Cary replied between bites, “but I’m too damned happy being married to sound genuine about it. You know, you could switch it up to a bachelorette auction and put Ireland up there. She’d bring in Fort Knox level bids and could probably wheedle more out of the winning bidder during their date.”

She snorted, her fork hovering over her baked eggs and sausage. “As if Gideon would ever. In his mind, every man her age is as debauched as you two were. I told him the winning bidder would likely be Richard’s age, considering how high the bidding would go, but he doesn’t like that idea, either. And really, since she’s taken over emceeing the auction, it’s never been more fun, so I’d hate to lose her.”

“Has your man never seen that girl spar on the mat at Parker’s studio?” He shook his head. “I’ve seen her rock the clock in guys twice her size.”

“That’s a good idea, actually.” She made a mental note of it. “I should bring him with me sometime when I know she’ll be there. Still, I think he’s more concerned with her poor choices than he is about her ability to defend herself physically. I worry about the same thing, to be honest.”

And Ireland’s new infatuation, whose phenomenal attractiveness was the kind that screwed with a woman’s common sense, was a threat to take seriously. Eva trusted her instincts. She was seriously debating whether to set Angus on the hunt for information but felt hypocritical after the hard time she’d given Gideon.

Angus had been with her husband since childhood, serving as both chauffeur and security, as her father did presently. The wily Scot had made the transition from day-to-day security to top-level investigations years back. He’d said retirement wasn’t for him, and she and Gideon were both grateful to have him on hand whenever the need arose. She especially appreciated that Angus trusted her when she asked for his discretion, knowing she would only keep something from Gideon for the best of reasons.

“Another thought,” Cary went on, swallowing hurriedly, “would be changing it from a bachelor auction to a ‘Hot Lunch’ and throwing your man into the mix. He’d rake in truckloads of moola. Think of how many would bid for the chance to present their big idea to Gideon Cross while he’s a captive audience. Sure, a hopeful lady might shell out and get her heart broken, but it could just as soon be an entrepreneur with a great idea.”

“Cary!” She stared at him with wide, delighted eyes, her thoughts racing. “That’s genius. We could tease it a bit in conversation during the event and see what the initial reaction is. We really have to think of something new. We had so many hot bachelors to choose from when we started, but most everyone’s off the market now.”

“Time’s a-changin’!” he singsonged while digging into his pocket. He pulled out his phone and began swiping. Then he held it out to her.

She took it and looked at the picture he presented. A strange chill swept through her body, countered by the sudden heat in her face. There was a violent recoiling deep inside her, in a place she avoided looking because it was too dark. Too cruel. Too ugly.

Her voice shook as she asked, “Why are you showing me a pregnancy test?”

His laughter was as bright and happy as the sun. “Trey and I are pregnant!”

Her thoughts scattered into incoherence. “Huh?”

“Our surrogate is having our baby, silly.”

The entire room tilted. Her eyes widened as she looked at him, her emotions rioting. A million thoughts and words spun through her mind and filled her mouth, but she couldn’t give voice to any of them. Tears stung the backs of her eyes.

“Isn’t it the craziest, most wonderful thing?” He sat back, beaming. “I’m so fucking relieved to tell you finally. Trey was all twisted up about letting anyone know that we were even hoping. He said women keep pregnancy news to themselves for several weeks, so we should do the same.” His laugh was threaded with wondrous delight. “Whatever. Happy hubby, happy chubby.”

Eva’s hand trembled so badly that she dropped the phone as she attempted to set it down. The abrupt thud rattled her already shaken nerves. How she managed to curve her lips into a wide, watery smile was a goddamned miracle. “I’m so thrilled for you, Cary. Thrilled for you both. Congratulations! You have to catch me up on everything.”

Grabbing his phone back, Cary started swiping again. “I’ve actually kept notes, so I don’t leave anything out.” He paused, his happiness dimming along with his smile. “I haven’t told Tatiana yet. I don’t know how to have that conversation.”

“You should call Dr. Travis.” She dug deep for composure. “But I’d say how you handled telling her about your engagement is worth repeating. Just give her a call, tell her you have something serious to discuss—so she’s mentally prepared—and then go to her place and give her the time with you to process it.”

“Yeah, well…” His shoulders drooped. “That was before she asked me to be a sperm donor, and I turned her down. It’s been really awkward between us ever since.”

Leaning forward, Eva set her hand over his. “Building a family with your husband is your right. You’re kind to think of her and her feelings but didn’t let her—or anyone—steal your joy.”

Not even me. And it killed her to have that concern. She couldn’t stand the thought of being the kind of person whose misery tainted the happiness of her loved ones.

“How’s everything so far?” their server asked as he stopped by their table. “How are we doing on drinks?”

Looking up at him, Eva saw how his smile tightened at the edges and knew her face revealed too much. “We need a bottle of champagne!” she pronounced too loudly. “We’re celebrating!”

“That’s great!” He looked relieved. “I’ll grab the wine menu.”

Ireland froze as the ringing of her doorbell reverberated, her body stiffening.

Ronan’s forehead rested against hers, his eyes squeezed shut. His big body was taut and quivering, fighting against his abrupt restraint.

Or was she the one trembling?

“Maudit!” he growled.

She didn’t need to know the curse he’d uttered to understand what it meant. Unwrapping her legs from around his waist, she tried to separate, but he held her securely. Her blood was so hot she felt feverish, and her pulse raced at a gallop. Their panting breaths mingled between them, both hovering on the precipice between control and abandon.

The doorbell rang again, and she jolted, her nerves stretched to the limit.

Was it Eva?

God help them both if it was Gideon.

She debated ignoring whoever was out there. But if it was her brother or sister-in-law, they knew she was home. The family location sharing app they all used would betray her.

Ronan set her down and away from him, his face flushed and eyes dark as coal. “Are you worried it’s the guy from Friday night? Does the desk downstairs still have his name?”

Blinking in confusion, Ireland tried to puzzle out what he was saying. “The guy from—Oh, Graham? No, he was never on the permanent list.” She ran trembling hands over her hair, then her clothes. “And I’d fuck him up if he showed his face here.”

He huffed out a laugh and raked both hands through his hair. “Of course you would.”

What the hell was she going to do with him? Eva showing up wouldn’t be so bad, but Gideon would take one look at both of them and see that they’d been fooling around. Knowing her brother, the interrogation would begin immediately. Hell, he’d even grilled Alina when they first met, albeit charmingly and to the director’s delight.

“I’m going to need a minute,” Ronan said as knocking commenced.

She seized that opportunity. “You can go in my room through that door over there. My bathroom’s in the back. Could you take my bra with you, please? Just leave it on my bed.”

He arched a brow, then reached forward and cupped her jaw, his fingers resting lightly on her pulse. “You good, cher?”

Setting her hand over his, Ireland forced herself to focus on him alone and give him a genuine smile. “Yes. Frustrated. Maybe a little irritated. But I’m happy with you.”

“Okay.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, then strolled away, catching up her bra before entering her bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Thank god she’d straightened up in there, too, and made her bed. She’d been hopeful they’d end up there, naked and sweaty and satisfied.

Rushing to the door, she pasted on a bright smile and pulled it open with a flourish. “What’s the rush on a lovely Sund— Oh my god, Alina!” she squealed, throwing her arms wide with relief and joy. She hugged her best friend hard, possibly too hard. “What are you doing here?”

Alina laughed, and they spun together in a tangled embrace. “I caught an earlier flight. I don’t know what I’ve done to earn such a warm welcome, but hello!”

Ireland whispered in her ear, “I’ve got a man over, and I thought you might be Gideon or Eva.”

“Ah.” Alina pulled back, revealing amused brown eyes. Dressed in an elegant and comfortable lounge suit in green cashmere, she looked fresh for having recently endured a transatlantic flight. Even with the comforts of first class, dry plane air did a number on most people. “So, you’re happier about not seeing them than you are about seeing me. Got it.”

“It’s an equal mixture of both, I promise you.” Ireland shut the door and gave a happy sigh. “And I’m thrilled you’ll get to meet Ronan. I need someone I know and trust to tell me what I’m missing because he’s too perfect to me.”

“No,” Alina scoffed sarcastically.

“You think I have terrible taste, but⁠—”

“I know you have terrible taste. And how that’s possible with Gideon Cross as an examp⁠—”

“Call me Liz,” she hissed urgently as the bedroom door opened behind her, “not Ireland.”

“What?” Alina frowned, then lifted her gaze, and her eyes widened. Her face suddenly softened with something akin to awe and wonder.

Ireland spun on her heel, her long hair swirling around her like a cape. “And there he is! Ronan, this is my best friend and partner in crimes, Alina Rurik. Alina, this is Ronan Boudreaux!”

Ronan approached to greet her, every inch the Southern gentleman but there was no mistaking his vibe. He was so inherently sensual and earthy, with poise that told a woman he knew exactly how to blow her mind in bed.

“Alina, an unexpected delight.”

She watched as her best friend went googly-eyed at the faint drawl.

“Uh, hi.” Alina stretched forward to shake his hand as if she couldn’t wait for him to close the distance. “It’s nice to see you. Um, meet you.”

He smiled, and Ireland felt it low in her belly. Did Alina feel that same simmering response? Or was she uniquely susceptible to his charms?

“I’ll head out and let you two catch up,” he said, moving into her space and taking her hand in his with easy familiarity.

When he took a step toward the door, she held him back. “You don’t have to leave!”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt!” Alina protested. “We weren’t supposed to get together until tomorrow. I should’ve called first.”

“We’ll switch days, then.” His smile was all charm and warmth.

Ireland pouted. “What about breakfast?”

“Are you hungry, Alina?” he queried.

“I could eat.”

“Problem solved.” He gave Ireland’s hand a soft squeeze. “I appreciate the efforts on my behalf, cher, but we’ve agreed that I have travel arrangements to cancel. Walk me out. It was a pleasure, Alina. I look forward to seeing you again the next time.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, grinning. “Same. Do you have any brothers or close cousins you could bring with you?”

Ireland waved that off with a laugh as she followed Ronan into the elevator vestibule. “You’re canceling your flight? Not just postponing it?”

“Does that scare you?” He pushed the call button, then turned into her, unlinking their fingers to pull her into his embrace instead.

“You’re the one who can’t skip out of here fast enough,” she countered, leaning into him so they were pressed together. “Do I scare you?”

Ronan held her with the faintest of curves to his lips. “I’ve already admitted that you do.”

“Alina will want to go home and sleep off her jet lag soon. Will you come back? Or maybe I could come over?”

The rumble of his deep laughter tightened her nipples. “I’m going to enjoy wearing out your inexhaustible energy. The challenge is as tantalizing as you are.”

“That’s not an answer.”

His hand lifted to her face, the backs of his fingers caressing her cheek. “No, we won’t be seeing each other again today.” He pressed the pad of his thumb against her kiss-swollen lips, then stroked the curves, effectively silencing her protest. “Trust me on this, cher.”

She nipped him with her teeth, smiling when he hissed at the sting. “Dinner tomorrow?” she asked, even as she planned to call him later and change his mind about today.

“How about lunch? Do you have time for that?”

Her gaze narrowed. “Why do I think you’re trying to avoid the possibility of hitting the sheets together?”

Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he tugged her up against the length of his cock. The feel of his arousal reignited her own. She rubbed shamelessly against him.

“There’s no avoiding it,” he said, his gruff voice exciting her. “We just have some things to discuss first, and you’ll need to behave.”

“What things? And yes, to lunch. And to dinner. I’ll bring an overnight bag to work with me.”

Ronan was laughing when the elevator dinged its arrival. Cupping her nape, he folded over her, kissing her with such savage intensity she felt dizzy with it. His lips were so firm yet soft, the stroke of his tongue silky yet dominant. That he could make such a simple act so searingly erotic made her weak in the knees.

And then he straightened, releasing her and backing into the elevator. “Have a good day, tigress.”

How she wasn’t puddled on the floor confounded her. “What things?” she repeated. “Just tell me now. And we’re on for dinner, too, right?”

His wink was the last thing she saw as the doors slid closed. She tried to thrust her hand between them, but not in time. She slapped at her frustrated reflection in the outer brass doors. “Damn it.”

Instantly, Ireland felt drained, sapped of all the energy Ronan brought with him. She heaved a frustrated sigh and returned to her apartment, typing her code in the numerical lock. It whirred open, and she stepped inside, finding Alina sitting on the couch with Blizzard and a mimosa in hand.

“Holy fucking sexy beast!” her best friend exclaimed, twisting to look over the back of the sofa at her. “I leave for a few weeks, and you somehow find good taste in men!”

“Gee, thanks.” Ireland went to the kitchen to retrieve her flute.

“That guy is the ooey gooey caramel version of the Gideon Cross hot fudge sundae.”

“Please,” Ireland groaned, “do not compare Ronan’s sex appeal to my brother’s. Ick.”

Alina laughed. “Catch me up. Spare me no details. And for god’s sake, tell me he’s a maestro in bed.”

“I wish I knew,” she lamented, settling into the couch.

“What? What?”

Ireland sighed. “Buckle up, buttercup. I’ve got a story for you.”

It was nearing three o’clock before Alina started yawning. “I’m going to hit the bathroom, then head home. I’m dead on my feet.”

“I’m surprised you lasted this long.” After changing into a tank top and shorts, Ireland had brought out a couple of ECRA+ skincare masks, and they’d finished the bottle of champagne while catching up on the episodes of their favorite shows that they had fallen behind on.

“It’s only eight in the evening in London,” Alina grumbled. “I shouldn’t be this wiped, but flying isn’t what it used to be, or so I’m told. It’s been shitty as long as I’ve been alive.” She disappeared into Ireland’s bedroom.

There was a half-bath off the living room, but the litter box was in there, so Alina used the master bath to avoid the shock of Blizzard slinking through the cat-shaped cutout in the door while she was in the middle of relieving herself.

“Hey!” Alina called out. “When did you take this picture, and can I have a copy?”

“Huh?” Ireland unfolded from her cross-legged position on the couch and went to her room.

Alina stood in the hallway that led to Ireland’s closet on one side and the bathroom on the other. Ireland came to a stop behind her, easily looking over her best friend’s shoulder because she was six inches taller. On the wall was a collection of framed photos showcasing what she held most dear: past trips with Alina, Blizzard looking majestic, and group shots with her brothers and parents.

Her best friend pointed to one of her and Gideon at a Vidal party taken in the last year. “That is a prime shot of your brother, and since you’re in the picture, too, it wouldn’t be at all weird for me to frame it by my bedside.”

“Oh, stop already.” Shaking her head, Ireland headed back the way she came. She stopped so abruptly she tripped over her own feet. “Shit. Damn it.”

“Come on. It’s a harmless crush.”

“Not that.” Ireland turned around and stared, horrified, at the artfully designed gallery wall. She’d spent a whole weekend arranging the matching gold frames into the perfect configuration, which made it even crazier that she’d forgotten all about them. “Ronan was in here. He could’ve seen these.”

“Shit,” Alina agreed, her nose scrunched.

Wouldn’t he have said something if he’d seen them? Maybe he didn’t because Alina was here. But then they’d been alone for a bit while they waited for the elevator. Was seeing her with the ultra-recognizable Gideon Cross why he’d rushed to leave? He’d recognize them as siblings. Everyone did.

“You really need to tell him who you are,” Alina told her. “Better if you bring it up than wait for him to do so. You’ve got an understandable reason for not telling him. I’m sure he’ll see that.”

“I don’t know. It might not be an issue if we’d just been hanging out for a few days, but we’ve been so honest with each other about so many personal things. He might feel like his trust in me wasn’t reciprocated. Oh, god. That’s probably what he wants to talk about. And he didn’t agree to dinner.” Closing her eyes, she groaned. “I’ve screwed this up already.”

“I’m sure he didn’t see them,” Alina assured her. “He didn’t seem at all turned off by it if he had. I wouldn’t worry about it. Just give him a call and tell him.”

We just have some things to discuss first.

Not worrying was easier said than done.

Ireland’s call to Ronan’s phone went straight to voicemail—again. The first time, she’d merely said, Tag, you’re it. The second time, she told him, I just wanted to hear your sexy voice.

This time, she sighed and bit the bullet. “Hey, you. This is the last time I’m calling, I promise. It’s just that I have a black-tie event on Friday night and was hoping you’d agree to be my plus-one. In the spirit of transparency, you should know my entire family will be there, too, but it’s a party with hundreds of people, games, auctions, and entertainment, so we’d have fun. Anyway, I’m going to be optimistic and put your name on the guest list. Just remind me, if I forget, that it’s one of the things we’re discussing tomorrow. Have a good night, handsome. Sweet dreams.”

She killed the call and clutched her phone, anxious and a little bit scared. Was Ronan avoiding her? He’d never not taken her calls or answered her texts. And getting sent straight to voicemail meant his phone was either off or he was doing it deliberately. He just didn’t strike her as the type to ghost someone. He came at things too directly.

Whimpering, she closed her eyes and let her head fall against the back of the sofa. She hadn’t been twisted up over a man in years, not since she’d fallen for a douchebag in high school. A vibrating alarm inside her made her want to hop in a cab to the Vidal Hotel. Maybe he was in Jazzie’s, dazzling an audience of captivated women like her. She’d love to see him play again, hear him sing again, and yes… feel his hard body plastered to hers again.

“Ugh.” What she should do was take these horrible feelings of unease and inadequacy as a sign to ghost him instead. She could cut him out of her life cleanly if he didn’t know who she was. The doormen could tell him there was no resident named Elizabeth Duffy, and he’d never get past them to prove otherwise. He wouldn’t know where else to look for her if he hadn’t seen the photos in her hallway. And since he wasn’t from New York, he’d have to leave eventually, perhaps even immediately, once he couldn’t reach her.

She’d block and delete his number and eventually get over this silly infatuation.

Her phone rang in her hand, and she was so wound up she dropped it on the floor. Scrambling for it, she shot from the pits of despair to the heights of hope, only to be painfully disappointed when she saw her mother’s face on the screen.

Heaving a forlorn sigh, she answered, “Hey, mom.”

“Hey, back,” Elizabeth Vidal greeted her. “I hope I’m not interrupting a fun night out.”

“No, I’m hanging with Blizzard tonight.”

“How is that gorgeous creature? Please don’t say he’s gotten bigger.”

Ireland laughed, which eased some of her tension. “He’s full grown now, so no. He’s as ginormous as he’ll ever be.”

“Thank god for that. You’d have to move into a house if he got any larger. Listen, I don’t mean to keep you, but you and I need to go over some things. Could we get together for lunch tomorrow?”

More things? Her nose wrinkled.

“Uh… I have plans.” At least she hoped she still had plans. Even though she didn’t know what time or in what place those plans might materialize.

“This is important, Ireland.”

She sighed inwardly and stared up at the ceiling. Of course, wedding planning would be at the top of her mom’s list of immediate tasks, and she wanted to participate as much as possible. “I kept my schedule mostly clear tomorrow because Alina was due back from London. But she got home today and came over so I could stop by in the morning…? Would that work for you? Say nine?”

“Yes, that’s perfect. See you then, darling. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Hanging up, Ireland tossed her phone onto the coffee table. It added insult to injury that her mom had no trouble finding adoring men while Ireland struggled to do the same. She was thrilled for her mother, no question. She just wished she was the same woman who’d so blithely declared on Friday that she was swearing off men. Unfortunately, the woman she was today was stupidly pining for one.

And she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

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