“He treated Cara like crap for years,” he continues. “Still does actually. That’s what sorta man my father is—he’s even like that with my mother. They’ve never been lovey dovey. You’ve probably noticed how she’s always gone on spa retreats?”
“Um… yeah…” I murmur. “I think I’ve seen her twice in the last month since we’ve married.”
Ronan shrugs. “He’s old school. Thinks women should be seen, not heard. Sometimes he doesn’t even think they should be seen.”
“That’s… reassuring…”
My sarcasm is followed by a pit sensation in my stomach.
I’ve already figured these things out, but hearing Ronan acknowledge them adds a new depressing layer.
I’ve married into a horribly misogynistic, patriarchal family. Even worse than my own. The men absolutely run things in the Langston family, but at least Dad has always made me and Mom feel valuable and protected.
It seems Seamus Callahan doesn’t even think women like me are worth the scum on his shoe.
The thoughts spiral, infecting my brain like poison. I’m so lost in them that it takes me half a second to recognize the warmth of Ronan’s touch.
His hand has covered mine.
My gaze drops. I look down at our hands then up at his face and find him watching me with an intensity that makes my heart flutter.
His stare is unblinking and certain and piercing. As if he sees right through me and knows exactly what’s on my mind.
“Remember what I told you, princess,” he says. “Nobody’s gonna fuck with you. That includes my father.”
I draw a startled, sputtering breath, both brows rising high. “Oh… um… I…”
“You’re right to be concerned,” he admits. “But take me at my word. I’ve got you.”
“You proved that tonight. You took those bullets. You pushed me out of the way. If you hadn’t…”
I trail off, allowing the insinuation to speak for me.
He squeezes my hand, his lips quirking into a familiar darkly amused grin. “Look, I might be a fucking asshole. You might hate my guts. But I’m still your husband, princess. And you’re still my wife.”
My heart gives another flutter as our gazes hold, his hand still covering mine.
“I’d take a hundred bullets for you if I had to,” he finishes. “Know that.”
His declaration is spoken in earnest. He’s completely serious, making me feel safer than I’ve ever felt before.
…which is strange considering I was shot at only an hour ago.
I can’t bring myself to answer him as I shyly glance down at our hands and then give another little nod.
We fall silent, the two of us sitting on the dusty couch in the apartment above a laundromat. The sounds of the city play out for our ears, filling the blank space with the honking horns of traffic and drunken screams from the streets below.
I’m caught up in my head, processing what’s happened.
I don’t know what any of this means. Everything feels so overwhelming it’s impossible to sort through it all.
But as Ronan’s hand stays warm over mine and my heart flutters inside my chest, one truth emerges above the rest.
I don’t hate him. Not entirely. Not anymore.
In fact, my feelings for him have become so complex it’s the most terrifying thing of all.
SEVENTEEN