Page 105 of After Indigo Irish Nights
She rubbed at her nose, which was running with feeling. “You have your ideas about how things should be, and you decide them without talking to me. You kept something important from me. And you know Axl cheated on me. Declan, I told you before. I don’t want to be with someone like that.”
“But that’s done now. The fight is over. I’mneverfacing Jimmy or taking the ring professionally again. I can give you that ticket to Boston I promised you—”
“Those are things, Declan. Things! I don’t want that. I want you to share yourself with me—how you think, how you feel—even when it’s hard.”
He took a deep inhale and nodded. “I’ll try, Kathleen. I promise you.”
She rubbed her eyes this time. “I don’t know how I can trust you again. I need more than that.”
“Then I’ll give it to you.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Tell me what I can do to make you trust me again.”
“I don’t know.” She pulled away again, her brown eyes wet. “I really don’t, Ace.”
She might as well have tapped a chisel to his heart and watched it shatter. He hung his hands at his sides at the use of that name. She wanted distance, and the chasm opened wider between them.
She started to walk back to the cottage, gravel crunching like eggshells under her shoes. He took a step after her and said the only truth he knew might reach her.
“I love you, Kathleen.”
She turned and gripped the necklace around her throat. “It’s not enough.”
When she closed the door on him, he stayed out there in the darkness.
He would have to figure out what would be enough because he couldn’t lose her like this.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
They had planning permission!
Just. Like. That.
For Kathleen’s grandiose sculptureandfor the new museum—with Sophie Giombetti’s installation as well. Hot dog!
Bets sunk into one of her squeaky parlor chairs and stared at the two men who’d made it possible—the two men she was in love with, God help her.
“I still can’t believe it.” She put her hand to her forehead and hoped blood would flow back in.
“They were all wound up after the fight,” Linc said, grinning from ear to ear, “and eager to hear our proposal. Money always talks, Bets, and the potential tourism revenue we could rake in with the statue alone had everyone’s mouths watering—”
“Except Tom,” Donal added.
“By the time I got to the museum and its benefits to the community, they were all in. Tom Sarkesian’s portfolio was mere icing on the cake.”
“Linc has figures in his pocket like some men have handkerchiefs.” Donal nudged the other man companionably. “Tom didn’t know what hit him. He had no witty arguments at hand.”
“We have some financing to nail down,” Linc said, “but it’s a sure thing with the kind of artists who are interested in joining us. Sophie’s ready to put out a press release once I call her. Expect to be called for interviews, Madame President. This is a big coup.”
She patted her hair. “Interviews!”
“Next up, I’m going to work on the proposal for a hotel,” Linc continued, not taking a breath. “That will be done with a different cast of characters and money, separate from the arts center, of course. There’s no reason not to move on it soon. We’ll have the two built at the same time. Open at the same time. Makes sense.”
“Even an eejit could see that.” Donal gave a short laugh. “We’ll need to add a few people’s names and faces to our list of nonvoting members.”
“I’ll get right on that,” she said as he dug out a list from his jacket and handed it to her.
He grinned at her. “My dear Bets, you have your center, the one you always hoped for.”
Donal had called hermy dear. Notmo ghrá. She met his green eyes. Her throat caught. He’d come back from Dublin different. Although he’d arrived right before the fight, they had yet to be alone. She made herself smile. “Thank you, Donal. Thank you both.”
