But Laney wasn’t done. “I didn’t marry your son for his net worth, Mr. Black. I married him because I wanted to. And if you think otherwise, shame on you for not believing your son has more to offer than money.”
For a moment, my father just stared at her. Then he chuffed, like a big cat that was either greeting another similarly equipped predator—or eager to hunt it down. “Well, she’s got a spine, at least. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” Then he turned, addressing the crowd. “A moment of your attention!”
It wasn’t necessary, since everyone was already staring, but he continued, ever the showman.
“My son Ronan has recently married this lovely young woman. They had a small private ‘ceremony,’ but we’re going to celebrate properly next week at The Martin ballroom. You’re all invited.”
Confused applause rippled through the crowd. Now Laney was stepping closer to me, and this time I gave into the urge to tuck her tight against me, as if to protect her from the sudden inspections angling at us from every corner.
When it was clear there were to be no more announcements, the party guests went back to their own conversations, most of which were obviously about us, given the way they kept glancing my way.
So much for a quiet introduction to society.
His work done, my father returned to his seat, cane in hand. “Welcome to the family, Delaney. Let’s hope you’re better prepared than the last addition. I won’t be losing one of my sons again.”
Laney’s brow furrowed. “I—what?”
“Let’s get something to eat,” I said, already eager to pull her away from the poison my father couldn’t help but spew.
But before I could tow her to safety, Niall Black’s voice pulled us back. “Ronan?”
We both turned.
“Yeah?” I gritted through my teeth.
“Next time you bring your wife to a family engagement, make sure she’s dressed properly instead of wearing pebbles around her neck. We’re Blacks, not beggars. She needs to look the part.”
23
THE SNEAK
LANEY
Ronan was quiet when we returned to the little house on Monument Court.
I had learned a lot over the last several hours. For one, these people could drink. I mean, really put it back. It was shocking, really, how much alcohol had been imbibed at the party by his family members, his supposed friends, and the people who claimed to know him the best. I was starting to understand why Ronan had, if not a drinking problem, then at least a solidly unhealthy relationship with the stuff. He’d never been taught otherwise.
The next was that no one in this world ever said what they meant. Whether a compliment, jibe, or just a comment on the weather, every little statement seemed to carry loaded meanings, none of which I could read properly.
Lastly, they could do it forever. We left just after one, and the party was still going strong, and several of its guests were loudly talking about an after party with knowing looks Ronan’s way. It became clear over the course of the evening that our night in Vegas wasn’t a one-off for my husband the way it was for me. Ifound myself wondering just how many nights Ronan had lost to the unknown. How many hours he’d given to self-medication.
“Are you all right?” I finally had to ask when he followed me into the bedroom at the top of the stairs.
“Huh? Oh, sure. Fine.”
I frowned, watching as he yanked his tie loose with harsh, absent-minded movements. Not even so much as a minor quip. Ronan was a lot of things, but vague was never one of them.
“Are you sure? You seem… off.”
He blinked, and a second later, his fatigue disappeared, replaced with the rakish mischief I had come to expect from him. That everyone expected him, I’d also learned.
I was starting to suspect it wasn’t anything more than a well-conceived mask.
“If I’m off,” he said as he padded back toward me, “I’m sure you can turn me back on.”
“That might be the worst joke in human history.”
His dark eyes met mine, and he opened his mouth, clearly ready to fire back another comeback. Ronan, I had also learned this evening, didn’t back down in a fight. He’d implied that in his youth, those fights had been physical, mostly brother pitted against brother. But it was clear that these days, while his father was no less interested in forcing his children to battle it out, Ronan fought more with his wits than his fists.