Page 60 of Claiming Genevieve

“Why are they here?” she asks, and I chuckle, opening the car door for her.

“Security detail. There’s a gang back in Manhattan that does…business for us. The Sons of Hell. They have a chapter out here, and they do some business for us as well, and handle security if any of the Gallagher family are in residence at the estate. There’ll be some more guys at the estate, trading off shifts, and some other hired security as well.”

Genevieve glances at them once more, then slips into the car. She’s sitting very still when I slide in on the other side, and I tense when I see her reach into her purse.

“Your phone isn’t there,” I tell her quietly, and she shoots me a piercing look.

“Why?”

“Because we can’t risk Chris tracing it—if he does have any kind of connections capable of doing that. Evelyn and Dahlia are aware that you’re safe,” I add, before she can say anything else. “They know you’re here in Galway with me. I’ll make sure you can update them on things once we’re settled and I can get you a clean phone.”

Genevieve presses her lips together. “I should have known better,” she mutters, looking out of the window, and I don’t have the heart to ask her what she means by that.

Most likely, she meansbetter than to have accepted that marriage proposal.Better than to have ever gotten involved with me. And it would hurt too much to hear her say that out loud.

Instead, I remain silent as the driver takes us to the estate.

I can see the expression on Genevieve’s face as we approach, her eyes widening as she takes in the verdant green all around us, the rolling hills and low, shambling stone fences, with stately manors and old-architecture houses sprinkled throughout. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask finally, breaking the silence between us, and she nods.

“It really is. I can see why you didn’t want to leave.”

“It’s a bit chilly this time of year still, even in early summer—and windy. We can go and buy some clothes for you,” I suggest. “The estate staff might not be prepared for us yet, so we could give them some relief from having to feed us tonight and go out to the pub for dinner. Do a little shopping, have dinner and drinks, and come back.”

Genevieve looks at me sideways. “That sounds like you’re asking me on a date, Rowan.”

“Would that be so bad?” There’s more vulnerability in the question than I want there to be, more of my naked, unending need for her than I want her to hear right now. But with her, I can’t seem to keep up the same walls that I’m used to.

She presses her lips together, and I can tell that she’s still upset with me. For what, I’m not exactly sure—maybe for all of it. For the obsession that started that night at the party that’s gotten us here. For not leaving her alone when she asked. For coming to see her before the show, for convincing her to marry me, for taking her away from what remains of her life that’s familiar while so much of it is upended—and sweeping her away to another country.

“I would have liked to bring you here under different circumstances,” I say quietly. “Ones where we’re not running from something. I’d have liked to bring you here to just… be.”

Genevieve’s look turns sharp. “Why?”

“Because—” I hesitate, struggling for an answer that will make sense to her. Everything I can think of to say seems to reveal the things that I feel that I know will only make her shut down further. Things that have no place in this arrangement of ours.

“This isn’t real, Rowan.” Her voice is a knife to the heart, as if she heard everything I was just thinking. “None of it is.”

She turns away again, her eyes fixed on the view passing us by, and I swallow hard—past the lump in my throat and the fist in my chest, squeezing my heart until it hurts.

The car pulls up into the circular, cobblestone courtyard in front of the estate house. I see Genevieve’s eyes widen as she sees it, her lips parting slightly, and I can’t help the small smile that tilts my lips at her reaction.

The house is stunning, I know that. Even as many times as I’ve seen it, even after living here for years, I’m always struck anew by how beautiful it is. It’s an old-fashioned manor house, made of aged gray stone, with large arched wooden doors at the entrance and arched panel windows evenly spaced along the rest of the front of the house. Ivy and roses climb over the stone without any real symmetry, allowed to grow to some extent as they please. It’s wild and beautiful, and the moment I step out of the car and take a breath, I feel like I’m coming home.

It’s the same feeling I have every time I kiss Genevieve. And when I turn to look at her, it takes everything in me not to pull her into my arms.

“This is incredible,” she breathes, looking around. A moment later, she shivers, and I quickly gesture toward the front door.

“Let’s get you inside. I’ll show you around, and then we’ll go out in a few hours to get you some clothes and go out to dinner. How does that sound?”

She bites her lip, but nods, and follows me inside.

That same expression is on her face as we walk into the manor. Inside, it feels warm and homey despite the luxurious furnishings—all old, well-kept dark wood and rich dark flooring, with wallpaper in deep greens and lavender throughout the house, often with dark, subtle floral patterns. Every textile in the house is made of natural fibers—linen, wool, and cashmere, and the house itself smells richly of wood and furniture polish and that particular warm, smoky scent of an old house with a working fireplace.

“It’s like something out of a fantasy,” Genevieve murmurs, looking all around. “This is your home?” Her lips twitch slightly, as if a smile is trying to break free. “It doesn’t exactly fit the playboy persona I’m always being told about.”

I chuckle, although it doesn’t have much humor. I enjoyed my reputation once, but since I’ve met Genevieve, I’ve wished time and again that I could shed it, like an old coat that no longer fits. “I have an apartment in Galway,” I inform her. “A bachelor pad of sorts. I rarely spent the night there, to be honest.” Swallowing hard, I drum my fingers against the wood of the staircase as we pause next to it. “I’ve never brought a woman here, Genevieve. To my family home. Never.”

I see her go very still, working through what this might mean to me. Her chin tips up, her lips thinning, and she gives a small nod. “Well. Maybe I won’t be here long, either.”

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