Page 88 of The Thinnest Air
“We’re talking millions, Ronan.” The name that used to give me butterflies now makes my blood heat. “We’d be set for life.”
Exhaling, he leans close again, lifting his hand to my cheek. “I don’t need millions, Meredith. I only need you.”
I’m hitting brick wall after brick wall with him, treading water.
“You’re right,” I lie. “I’ve always kind of wanted a simple life anyway. I’m going to look at this as an adventure.”
“That’s the spirit.” He rises, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box and leaning against the kitchen counter as he takes a bite. Dabbing his mouth with a crumpled napkin a moment later, he points at me. “Attitude is everything, Meredith. Energy follows thought. If you believe everything’s going to work out, eventually it will. It’s like the first day I saw you ... I knew I had to have you. Those thoughts consumed me, woke me up in the middle of the night. I couldn’t get you out of my head no matter how hard I tried.”
My skin tingles, stippled with gooseflesh, but I smile through it, pretending I find it endearing.
“When was the first time you saw me?” I ask.
His full mouth draws into a slow curl, his gaze lifting toward the ceiling. “You were leaving a restaurant—Blanca’s on Locust, I believe it was. Your husband was at the valet stand, and you were waiting next to him in a little blue dress, a satin clutch under your arm. There was something strange and beautiful about you, and I couldn’t stop staring. I was walking by, and we locked eyes. You smiled. And I swear, Meredith, in that moment, an entire lifetime with you flashed before me.”
I don’t recall any of this.
Lifting my brows, I dab a falling tear with the back of my hand. I’m not touched.
I’m disgusted.
And he’s delusional.
“I could see right away that you weren’t happy,” he continues. “You were just some pretty little thing on his arm. An accessory.”
I nod, biting my lip. “You’re right, Ronan. You’re absolutely right. He never loved me. It was all for show.”
“A woman like you deserves to be happy, Meredith. And I’m going to spend the rest of my days making sure of that.”
“That’s really sweet, Ronan. I want to be happy. And I want to be happy withyou,” I say, hoping he buys what I’m selling. “We were destined to meet, I suppose.”
“I looked and looked and looked for you after that.” Shaking his head, he says, “Never saw you again. Not until a few months later. You were going into yoga with your friend. That’s when I ran your plates and got your name so I could leave the note on your car. It was the only way I could bring us together, face-to-face. I knew you’d come into the station and report it.”
I force a laugh. “That’s ... really sweet, Ronan. I can’t believe you went to all that trouble.”
His expression darkens, his thick brows centering. “No, Meredith. It wasn’t sweet. It’s a fucked-up story.”
Glancing away, I brace myself as he charges toward me. Moving my chair so I’m facing him again, he lowers his stare to mine.
“If you want to convince me you’re on board with all of this, you’re doing one hell of a shitty job.” There’s a slight clench in his perfect teeth when he speaks. A second later, his eyes soften, and he rises, drawing in a slow breath. “This is going to take time. I don’t expect to pluck you out of that fantasyland you were living in and have you immediately on board with this.”
Ronan takes a seat across from me, crossing his arms, head tilted as he studies me.
“It’s going to be a process. Maybe painful at times,” he continues. “But one of these days, you’re going to thank me.”
Glancing into my lap so he doesn’t see the dampness filling my eyes, I say a silent prayer, willing anyone who’s listening to help me.
“You need a hot drink,” he says. I realize I’m shivering, but I’m not cold. “I’ll add some logs to the fire before I go.”
With his back to me, he fills a kettle with water and places it on a burner. He’s making me another London Fog. The soft shake of a pill bottle follows the shrill whistle of the teapot a few minutes later.
Bringing the finished product toward me, he places it in my hands, wrapping my palms around the mug.
“Drink this,” he says. “When you’re done, I’ll take you back to bed.”
“I’m not tired.” I lift the mug to my lips, pretending to take a sip.
“It’s safer for you this way.” Ronan’s hands hook at his hips. He won’t leave until every last drop of this cup resides in my belly. “I don’t want you ... getting yourself hurt while I’m gone.”
