Page 23 of Dearest Ronan

Still peeking, I see Maury with a female companion, both of them laughing at something Maury said. He’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt with a pop of color in the form of a burgundy tie. Despite his dapper appearance, it’s his radiant grin that truly defines his handsomeness.

It’s cute. So much so that I find myself smiling along with them.

“Anika,” Ronan spits through clenched teeth. “Turn around.”

I whip back to glare at my former guardian. Maury is busy with his own date, as we should be, too.

I clench my fingers on my lap. “Why?” It’s a loaded question.

Infuriatingly, he picks up a menu and places it directly over his face. “Because he might see us.”

“Why does that bother you?” It’s a simple question, but I’m asking a million more underneath it. Why aren’t I good enough? Am I too young for you, too weird, hair too curly, not sophisticated enough?

Thick with regret, Ronan says, “Anika, I’m not ready.”

“Not ready?” I mimic. Then why promise me otherwise? He’s given me false promises that mean nothing in the end. I don’t want Ronan to whisper beautiful words born in deceit. I want his love, his possession, his passion.

He doesn’t answer my rhetorical, and I can’t see his facial expression because he still hasn’t lowered that stupid menu.

“You’re the one that said you’d ease up on keeping us a secret!” I exclaim.

“I know.” Does he? Does he truly understand how devastated I am?

“When you told Maury that dating me would be repulsive, I let it go, even though it hurt.” I fist the fabric resting against my hip, fingernails digging deep into my dress. “So, giving me false hope only to venomously deny what we have is a level of cruelty I never imagined you capable of.” While Ronan hasn’t been as kind as a fairytale bunny, he’s also never been so callous.

His shoulders slouch in chagrin, and he slowly lowers the menu until his eyes are visible. “Please, Anika. I’m sorry.” There’s a vulnerability in his voice that resonates with me.

My chest aches. We’re at a crossroads together. Turn left and we’ll never make it as a couple. Turn right and we’ll grow together.

I also imagine that Ronan’s conflicted. When we’re alone, he’s everything I want in a man. He’s all that I’ve known him to be. But here, on the edge of being discovered, he’s literally hiding us.

It makes me feel inadequate.

Sighing, I realize our night has ended.

I grab my clutch from the table and stand. “Come on,” I mutter. Relief flashes through his eyes, which only sends an ache straight through mine. We slip out the back door and return to his car.

Our night is ruined, and Maury hasn’t even seen us. Once we’re both safely inside the car, Ronan swivels in the driver’s seat to face me. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“So you’ve said.” I can’t help but snap. I’m not mad, only disappointed.

“I’m not divorced yet, butterfly.”

Since we’re now alone, I feel brave in speaking my mind. “Answer me then. Why did you promise to try when you didn’t mean it?” I leave out how I haven’t complained about going out of town for our hockey and dinner date. I suspect it was still hisway of hiding us, but I respected his feelings enough to not bring it up. I kept my end of the bargain, but he broke his.

He fiddles with the heat setting, no doubt giving himself a few extra seconds to form his thoughts. Finally, when he has nothing else to occupy his hands, he rolls his shoulders in a show of tension. “I don’t want to lose you.” There’s shame in his voice. “I want to give you everything you want, but I also need to protect you.”

“Breaking promises hurts me, Ronan.” He must have lost his mind to think that hurting me somehow protects me.

But then he says something that changes mine. “What do you think people will say about you when they learn about us? Especially before my divorce is final.”

I’ve never thought about what people will think, because I don’t care. I tell him so.

“You deserve more.”

Suddenly chilly, I lift my arms and brace my hands directly over the car’s heating vent. “I understand where you’re coming from, but I’m more hurt with you hiding us.”

In the darkness, I avoid his gaze. My skin prickles with his attention, but I’m too upset to return his stare. I sense his hands moving towards mine, and I do nothing to prevent his touch. Gently, he covers the tops of my hands with his palms and holds me. “Carolyn and I were married for fifteen years. Her love language was material objects.” Cars, houses, decor, I know exactly what he’s talking about. Weakened by his rawness, I finally meet his soft brown eyes. “Because I loved her, I always gave in, ignoring our miscommunicated love langues.” I’m aware of what he means because I witnessed it in my later teen years.

---