Page 89 of Ruthless Savior
“We all have our flaws.” My mom chuckles. “A mafia boss.” She presses her lips together, a small smirk on her mouth as she looks back at me. “It’s kind of hot.”
“Mom.” I look at her, aghast, and she laughs.
“What? You’re a married woman now, we can talk about this. So it’s an arrangement for your safety. Which is in question, obviously, after what happened at the church. And that’s why we’re here.”
“That’s pretty much the sum of it.” I stare at my fingernails for a moment. “You figured it all out,” I tease lightly, and she laughs.
“Well, I was a professor. I’m not stupid, and neither are you. And I don’t think Ronan is the worst thing that could have happened to you. Clearly, the worst thing is what he saved you from. That counts for something.”
“The marriage is temporary.” It spills out of my lips before I can stop it, and I look at my mom for a long beat before I speak again. “Just until Rocco… the boss who bought me… is…”
“Dead,” my mom supplies, and I stare at her, shocked at the simple way she says it.
“Mom—”
“If he trafficks women, he deserves it,” she says flatly. “And I’m glad that your husband is the kind of man who would do that to a man like the one who stole my daughter.”
I blink, looking at my mom with new eyes. This is a more fierce side of her, something I’ve never seen before, and it startles me. “Anyway,” I manage finally, “the marriage isn’t going to last. We’re going to get a divorce after this is all over. Which is why…” I blow out a breath. “It’s not exactly playing out like a traditional marriage, if you get my meaning. Ronan doesn’t want any complications, and neither do I. But you’re the only one who knows,” I add. “The security, Mrs. O’Brien, they all think this is real, and it needs to stay that way.”
“Of course,” my mom agrees. “But I think you should reconsider divorcing him.”
“What?” I stare at her. “Mom, I… that was never in the cards. That’s not possible.”
“Why not?” she argues. “I see how the two of you look at each other, we’ve already addressed this. It’s clear you both want something you’re not giving each other. Why not try? He wants you, and you want him. He’s handsome and kind and giving, and you’re beautiful and smart and capable. There have been much worse marriages made with far less.”
She’s not wrong, but… my chest tightens. “Even if there was something more there, which thereisn’t,” I add, “it doesn’t matter. Ronan would never act on it. He’s too closed off, too controlled. He’s not going to love me—this isn’t about love. And Idowant love, in a real marriage. I want a husband who adores and cherishes me, if I ever were to get married. And anyway… I don’t want to be a mob boss’s wife! I don’t want violence and fear, and always spending my life wondering if he's coming home, wondering if someone's going to try to hurt him or use me to get to him. I can't live in that world."
“You’re in it now,” my mom points out. “Maybe something good has come of it. If it’s a moral thing, then yes, I understand, but if it’s about living in fear…”
“It’s not the morals, so much,” I admit, feeling my cheeks burn. “I think Ronan tries to do good, as much as he can. I know there’s crime, and that kind of thing, but… I don’t care about that as much as I probably should.” I bite my lip. “But it isn’t about living in fear, either…”
"It's entirely about fear, then." Her voice is firm but not unkind. "You're afraid of getting hurt, afraid of caring about someone whose life is dangerous, afraid of not being enough for him. But honey, life is dangerous for everyone. I have cancer. You could get hit by a bus tomorrow. There are no guarantees."
I stare at her. “Are you actually saying I should consider staying married to an Irish mafia kingpin? If we both wanted to?”
"I'm saying that boy has moved heaven and earth to keep you safe, to make me comfortable, to give us both hope when we didn't have any. I'm saying he looks at you like you hung the moon, and you look at him the same way when you think no one's watching." She gives me a soft, sad smile. "I'm saying life is short, Leila. Too short to waste it on fear."
“That’s true,” I say quietly. “But this is all really complicated, Mom. More complicated than even I know how to explain. And I don’t think that’s in the cards for us. From the very beginning, we agreed this was temporary. He hasn’t given me any reason to think that’s changed… and I really don’t know if I want it to. I’d barely been out on a date before this. Deciding to stay married to a man I barely know is…”
“I’m not saying you should do that,” my mom agrees hurriedly. “I’m just saying that maybe the two of you shouldn’t fight what’s going on between you quite so hard.”
I think about that, long after my mom leaves me there in the library. I know Ronan wants me—his desire is impossible to hide. And I’ve felt it, when we were together on our wedding night, and those brief moments after on the jet. But I can’t fathom that it’s more than just that… more than just sexual. And as for everything he’s done for me and for my mom…
Guilt. Obligation. Those two words come to mind every time, and I can’t see how it’s anything more than that.
Ronan comes back to the manor three days later. He arrives in the evening, just after we’ve finished dinner, and I hear the sound of him going upstairs. I force myself to finish my food, feeling my mom’s knowing eyes on me, and I wait on pins and needles to see if he comes down. When he doesn’t, I forego dessert to go up and see what he’s doing.
I open the bedroom door to the warmth of the humidity from the shower seeping out into the large room, and the scent of Ronan’s pine soap. I close the door carefully behind me, fighting the urge to go in and join him in the shower. A second later, the water turns off, and I freeze, wondering if he’s going to be upset that I didn’t wait for him to come find me.
The bathroom door opens before I can decide whether to leave or stay, and every thought flees my head as Ronan fills the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel.
22
LEILA
He’s still damp. That’s the first thing I think as I stare at him, shirtless, with the white towel wrapped low around his hips, low enough that I can see those cuts of muscle dipping beneath it. His abdomen is still shining with damp droplets of water clinging to his chest hair, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him.
He goes very still, his gaze locked on mine. I can’t imagine what my facial expression must be right now, but I can feel the air thicken between us, and I see his jaw tighten, the muscle in his cheek leaping.
