Page 82 of Iron Cross

Oh, I was bitter. Men in the Mafia, regardless of origins, all felt that they were allowed their way with women. A mistress for fun, a wife for family. I had seen it play out a million times. So why was I pretending it was new to me?

“No,” he said, his hands squeezing my wrists, pulling them so that my hands lay flat on his chest. “It’s for both. Any woman who tries to come between a handfasted couple is likely to vanish into thin air.”

“Vanish, huh?” I lifted my brow.

“Aye,a chuisle,” he said, taking a strand of my hair and pulling it behind my ear. “The vow goes both ways.”

Everything was happening too easily. We were reconciling too fast. The whiplash of it was disorienting, but it was too good to pass up. It was too sweet to question. I wanted him so badly, I wasn’t sure it was in my power to say no.

He kissed my shoulder, his sweet lips grazing my skin, eliciting a tender moan from me.

“A handfast is committing one’s soul to another, and it requires honesty,” he said, and I quietly vowed with my groan of pleasure that I would tell him everything and anything he wanted. I’d give him everything if he never left me. “We must be joined, of one mind. Can we do that, sweet Muse?”

“Yes!” I cried out, as his arms encircled my waist, pulling me up against him.

He kissed my throat, then my cheek.

I was loved. I was forgiven. I had never felt something so unconditional. Not since I lost my family. And now, here he was - my constant star, never wavering, never dimming.

I couldn’t give this up again. I’d never be able to leave him.

And our son would pay the price. My poor, sweet Cillian.

Then he lightly bumped his nose against mine, a small smirk on his lips. I couldn’t help but return his expression, as an unfamiliar joy swept over me. Contentment. Hope. Love.

Things that I had not thought could ever be mine.

“Then tell me, darling,” he said, quietly, “why do you know how to shoot the way you do?”

Chapter twenty-four

Unwanted Guests

Eoghan

My question was cut off, when an incessant knocking pounded the front door, so loud that it echoed up the halls to our room.

“Bloody hell,” I said, letting go of my Muse to fumble for my phone that had been discarded in the flannel. I brought the phone to my ear to call the security detail and they answered. “Who the hell is it?” I whisper-shouted, as I stared at my son in the next room, still napping on the bed.

“Sir, it’s Mr. and Mrs. Vasiliev,” he said.

“Jesus, did they fucking fly here?”

They had gotten here from their mansion in record time.

Another hard knock echoed through the house.

“Jesus!” I whisper-shouted even louder, “Tell him to quit that racket before they wake the fucking baby!”

I looked at my naked wife - my glorious, lovely, naked wife - and broke my own heart as I found the loosest green dress from the hanger, and began the task of dressing her.

Could she have done this herself? Sure, of course. She had dressed herself her entire life. But there wassomethingabout the intimacy of dressing my wife. It wasn’t about sex or about lust. It wasn’t about power, either. It was about watching the glide of soft fabric against her skin, and the thought it took to find things that she would like. To find things that made her feel beautiful.

The green dress had the pattern of holly on a darker backdrop. The waistline was high, an empire cut, with a modest bosom. The sleeves had a gentle taper, and gave her an almost Grecian silhouette, as it cascaded down to her rounded calves. Then I knelt down, to place little black flats on her feet because I had not seen her wear heels the entire time she was Anna Jones. I wasn't sure if that was by choice or if something in bearing our son had changed her, but until I knew I would try to respect her.

She watched me all the while, her eyes dazed and overwhelmed.

“I’ll help you through this, sweet Muse,” I said, kissing her lips. “I’ll do better this time, than I did in the past. I’ll walk through this with you.”

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