Page 18 of Ireland

“Maybe we could schedule a lunch or a quick drink?” Eva pressed. “You’ve met his friends. Introduce him to us.”

“Um. Well… he doesn’t know who I am,” Ireland confessed, rubbing her thigh absently.

“Huh?”

“When I realized I was just a random woman to him, I gave him my middle name. I didn’t want to ruin it by being me. You know what I mean?”

It took Eva a long moment to process what she’d heard. “Oh, Ireland.”

Ireland looked down at her clasped fingers.

The slump of her shoulders pained Eva. With a deep sigh, she reached forward to set her hand over her sister-in-law’s. “I get it. You come into a relationship with a big, wonderful package of protective family members and a high-powered career, and you need to be wanted despite those things, not because of them. But how far can you go pretending to be someone else before you’ve gonetoofar?”

“I’m not sure.” Ireland shrugged awkwardly. “I’m just counting on intuitively knowing when.”

“Your latest ads will be plastered all over the city starting Monday,” she warned, “when the body lotion campaign kicks off.”

“Crap. I forgot about that.” Ireland groaned. “If I could go back and do it differently, I would. I just didn’t want to be used again, but in hindsight, I realize he’s taking on that same risk himself. He’s wealthy, and for all he knows, I could be eyeing him as a sugar daddy.”

“Have you looked him up?”

“As soon as I got in the cab home last night, but nothing came up. There are other men with his name, but I couldn’t find any information specifically about him. But then, not everyone names their companies after themselves, like our family tends to do.”

“True.” Even the ECRA+ line was eponymous, with the EC standing for Eva Cross. “How did you get the picture you showed me?”

Ireland’s smile was both fond and sheepish. “We traded cat photos.”

“What’s his last name?”

Pausing, she wet her lips. “You know, I think I’ll keep him to myself for now.”

“You’re protective.”

“Not of Ronan. My sense is that he can take care of himself just fine. But of this thing we’re doing? Yeah. I want to let it breathe and give it a chance to grow.”

Eva nodded, then smiled for good measure. Ireland had enough meddlers in her life and didn’t need another one. Then again, there were ways to pick up information without necessarily meddling… “When are you seeing him again?”

“Today.” Ireland’s expression brightened. “A picnic in Central Park. Can you believe I’ve never done that? I’m looking forward to it.”

“Well, keep me posted, will you? He sounds very exciting.”

“Oh my god, yes! I’ve been dying to talk about him. If Alina were in town, I’d’ve been at her door in the wee hours of this morning. Ronan’s just… He’s raised the bar.Andmy expectations. I want someone whoseesme, who wants toknowme. Someone who asks questions and cares about my answers. You have that with Gideon.”

“I do. And it’s life-changing and wonderful to be someone’s priority. I want that for you more than anything.” But Eva was very protective of the ones she loved and knew all too well that sometimes, when something—or someone—seemed too good to be true, it was because they were.

Ireland turned back and forth in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, examining the white linen romper she considered wearing. It was a warm day in the city, in the mid-eighties and moderately humid. She’d tried a half-dozen outfits so far, but the romper looked like the winner since she would worry less about giving someone a view while sitting and possibly lying on a blanket in the grass. Suspended from thin straps on her shoulders, it hung loosely—like a shift dress—to the tops of her thighs.

“What do you think, Bliz?” She looked at her cat’s reflection in the mirror. “You’re going to say white, aren’t you? You know I can’t wear white exclusively like you do, right? I’ve got to switch it up sometimes.”

Blizzard gave her a bored stare, then began cleaning his right front paw.

Ireland’s phone began ringing, and she dived for the bed where she’d tossed it. She was slightly disappointed that it wasn’t Ronan.

“Hello, brother,” she greeted Christopher as she returned to the mirror. “How’s it going?”

“Good—soon to be great once we herd the hellions.” The exasperation in his voice was partially explained by the sound of her niece and nephew’s excited voices in the background. “We’re heading to the Museum of Ice Cream.”

“Ice cream!” the kids screamed with joy.

---