Page 112 of Stolen Rival
“So, mister, what’s this secret you’ve chosen to share?”
I brush my lips against the shell of her ear, reveling in how she shivers at my touch. Whereas once she flinched in fear or disgust, now she and I can’t get enough of one another.
“When I was a child, I used to have this ratty, old teddy bear that I took everywhere with me. I couldn’t sleep without him, and he came on all our family trips when my father had to travel for business. One day, I fell in the stream because I was dicking around on the way home from school, and poor old ted slipped out of my backpack, never to be seen again.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” Her eyes are far too sparkly for her to feel sorry for me, but I go along with it anyway.
“I cried myself to sleep that night.”
This time, she shows a modicum of sorrow. “How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“Aww. That’s so sweet. I wasn’t sure you had tear ducts.”
And… my witty wife is back in the room.
The song ends, and I beckon to the rest of the wedding guests to join us. Except as soon as the dance floor is packed, I take my wife’s hand, drape a warm coat I arranged to have waiting around her shoulders, and lead her from the room and out into the expansive gardens.
As requested, the staff have lit a fire, placed rugs on the ground, and left a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. I make sure Sorcha is comfortable and warm, swaddled in two of the blankets, then pour us both a glass of champagne.
“To my beautiful wife, the missing piece in a life that always felt complete until you came along and revealed the gaping hole that only you could fill. Who gives me a reason to wake up in the morning and work as hard as I can to make you proud of me. Who challenges me more than any other living being, and who keeps me on my toes—these days without stomping all over them.”
She giggles and touches her glass to mine. “Thank you for providing a home and the care my brother needs, and for including him in all our family events. He might not be able to vocalize how happy he is living with us, but I can.
“Every day, I see the improvements in him, and how much being surrounded by life and love is making a difference. For eighteen years, he spent his days cooped up in that facility, denied what should have been rightfully his under the guise of keeping him safe. But you have proved that he could have lived with his family all along. Looking back, I think Da was embarrassed to have a son with special needs. He couldn’t see the beauty in him, only the flaws. He missed the strength it takes for my brother to live every day and only saw his weaknesses.”
A tear rolls down her cheek, but I don’t wipe it away. I sense she wouldn’t want me to.
“Our beginning was unconventional and agonizingly painful, but I know the rest of our lives will be filled with love and laughter, help and support, pride and happiness. So much happiness.”
She leans her head on my shoulder, warm and solid, the fire crackling in front of us. For the first time in years,I don’t feel as though I’m chasing anything. Not power, not vengeance, not ghosts. I look up at the stars twinkling in the sky and imagine my parents looking down, proud of the man I’ve become.
“We’ve got a long way to go,” I murmur, brushing my lips against her temple. “But to walk every mile of it with you is my honor, my privilege.”
She doesn’t answer, just nestles closer, and I feel her heartbeat sync with mine.
She was meant to be my enemy, a rival I stole and forced into marriage to further my own ambitions. But somewhere along the line she stopped being my rival and became my reason for living.
Chapter 52
LIAM
“Fancy a drinkbefore you head back to Ireland?”
Shifting the sleeve on my jacket, I check my watch. Three hours before I have to be at the airport. “I’ve got time for a swift one.”
Kai, one of our captains and an old friend from my school days, grins and beelines for the pub across the road. The smell of stale beer hits me in the face the second we enter. Inside, it’s a typical old-fashioned English pub with pint glasses hanging over the bar and horse brasses nailed to the stone walls.
It’s pretty busy considering the time of day, the bar propped up by men stinking of cigarettes and regret. Considering we’re in a run-down part of London, it isn’t all that surprising. The last job most of these guys probably had was a paper round.
I shoulder my way between two men, one of whom glares at me until he cops the vicious scar running from my temple to my lip and the daring in my eyes. Muttering something under his breath, he swipes his pint off the bar and shuffles off to a table in the corner next to two men playingdraughts.
“What’ll you have?” a bartender asks, wiping beer spillage from the weathered wooden bar.
“Pint of lager for me,” Kai says. “Guinness?”
I shake my head. “It’s fucking swill outside of Ireland. I’ll have a whiskey.”
