Page 55 of An Angel's Share
He shifts his body so his stance is totally domineering. His arms come around me like steel bands. There’s no comfort in steel.
“I don’t know, are you?” His eyes have gone again from molten lava to flints of jet. “I don’t think you are. Not really. Although it does look like you might be.” His angelic face hides the darkness well, but I see it now, how serious he really is. The depths are fathomless. “Someone has gone to great lengths to make it look like you.” I gasp at his words. “Evie told me you don’t have a middle name. Is that true?”
Of all the questions he could ask, I did not expect that. And Evie must have been straight on the phone today, as we only just spoke about that this morning. I thought I heard Evie chatting to her brothers about names later in the day. Followed by lots of hand touching.
Oh mother of God. The lights finally come on in my clearly pea-size brain. They’ve all been interrogating me. He really has been watching me from the off. Him and her, now another two have turned up. I’m being watched, assessed. Assimilated.
Well, I’m not having it. They can all go and jump in The River Liffey. How dare they? How dare he? I backed down before when I thought he might be considering me. Was sidetracked by his celebrity cock. I couldn’t live with him, his distraction techniques are amazing. But I will not have it. They will not sit in judgement of me. I have done nothing other than try and sort this heap of shit out.
They are the set of liars. Backstabbing, two-faced criminals. Not me. I’ve watched them all today. I know without a shadow of a doubt there’s nothing they won’t do to protect each other. No low is too low. Whatever murky depths need to be plundered, whatever needs to be done, they’re prepared to go there for each other. And whilst in certain circumstances that may be admirable, not today. Not when he thinks I am a fucking thief.
The man I love thinks so little of me he thinks I am a thief. Well, I think he is a liar. In fact, I don’t think—I know he is a liar. He’s lied to me from the off. Set me up. Taken advantage of my vulnerable state. My hormonal overload. Well, no more. It ends now, before I’m totally crushed by them. By him.
I step back from his arms and push him off. His face is now a mask. Mine, god knows what he sees, but my distressmust be clear, as he tries to hang onto me. A noise that sounds like a man in pain escapes from his lips.
“Stay away from me. I don’t want you near me. How could you? How the fuck could you think that?” I hiss out at him. I don’t fully say the word ‘thief’ out loud. I don’t have to.
“Aoife.” The tone of voice is one I have never heard from him. Cold, hard, sharp. It stabs at my heart and makes my ears bleed.
But then how foolish a woman I’ve been. I hardly know the man. I’ve entirely been fantasising him into something he isn’t. Placing him in a little box, all convenient. Probably half of what I thought he’s said, he hasn’t actually said it. Or meant it.
I will definitely have taken it the way I wanted to. I’ve had so many conversations in my head, me making up his answers. I’ve been in an echo chamber for one. And it’s all of my own making. He’s just gone along with it. Probably laughing his head off at my patheticness. Said he forgave me for not taking the pill. Or did he? He hasn’t actually said he did. Oh God, what a fool I am.
“Don’t shut me out. We need to talk. This is not the time or place to do it. Aoife, it’s not what you think.” His voice is sharp and commanding.
I look up into his beautiful face. The façade of the century. An angelic assassin, a heavenly-looking hit man has killed my heart today. Bullseyes, dead centre. Obliterated it. And I let him, I didn’t even put up a fight. I rolled the red carpet out and placed signs for him to follow. It’s all my own fault. Soooo desperate, when all I did was spout a load of bullshit about how I did not want a man, did not need one. And then the first ridiculously good-looking one camealong, and poof, my principles disappeared as fast as my knickers.
Well, no more. I push back and away.
“Stay away from me, Jonno. Keep away from me. Don’t touch me, us. I have business to attend to. I’ll let you know about the baby, but nothing else. Stay away fromme.”
I go to walk away, my movements jerky, as I feel my legs won’t hold me up. I stumble a bit and he tries to grab me to hold me. I push him off again, harder this time.
“Away.” My heart is bleeding out, I need to not let him see how much he’s hurt me. How much I feel for him. He’s betrayed me. And far more than Liam, because I loved him.
His face is totally blank. His eyes, though? They’re burning into me. Oh god, I need to get away from him, and stay away, far away. NOW.
26
Jonno
Couldthis fucking shit show get any worse. Well, apparently the answer is absolutely yes. The woman I have finally found and fallen in love with is a thief. Just when I have come to terms with it and thought bollocks to it, I don’t care, she dumps me. For thinking she is a thief.
What the hell was I supposed to do? Not think it? When every shred of evidence is pointing to her. The only small glimmer is the name. If she really only has one name and no middle, that is a weird one. Why would anyone write it?
A.N O’Clery - the Signature.
Name printed under the signature.
Dated five years ago.
We know the thefts started around then. She was out of sight and out of mind, in America doing her degree and doctorate. Exactly where the damn thefts started. The origin being traced straight back to New York. A nice web of deceit with no one looking at her. Telling her family, ‘I’m too busy for business, I’m doing my doctorate.’ Hermantra then and even now. She’s tried to make it really clear that New York was not much to do with her. She was too busy. Yeah? Doing what. Thieving.
I throw my hands in the air as Evie spins and glares at me. Aoife stumbles past everyone and into the house.
Jackson and Jude are battling the twins but still manage to glare at me. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Lie again and say, “No Aoife, I know you’re not the thief,” when that isn’t the truth. At least, I don’t know, not for definite. I think it.
My gut is screaming at me that it’s not her. My heart is backing up my gut. But my head is holding out on me. Logic, proof, cold hard facts—all the things that keep my business ticking, my life ticking over.
