Page 108 of Iron Rose

I reclined in the bed, and I felt a bandage on my abdomen. It felt like a corset.

“You opened your wound, they said.” LeBlanc explained. “I guess you had aggravated something, and caused some internal damage they had to go in and fix.”

“Well, I was never good at taking rest breaks.” I laughed.

LeBlanc stood up, and without warning, flopped on top of me for a hug.

Bringing his lips near my ear, he asked, “So, what do we think of this Irish guy? Do we like him? How long have you been together?”

“Since the victory in France.” I whispered to him.

I blushed. Just in time to hear the door swing open and closed, and for the subject of our gossip to come in. Jericho was close behind him, and the two of them stood, shoulder to shoulder, stunned and staring at us.

Alastair stared daggers at LeBlanc, who pulled back and put his weight on his cane resuming his seat.

“So this is averynew thing.” LeBlanc scratched his head, then looked at Jericho. “I am not feeling great about the agreement with the Irish now. They don’t even know each other.”

“He’s Irish?” I teased with a smile.

“Aye, I am.” Alastair smiled at me, speaking with the musical baritone voice of an Irishman. And holy fuck, it was sexy. “My Da was Irish. My Ma was British. You’ve only known one side of me.”

Alastair came and held my hand, pulling it to his lips. He placed my fingers on his cheek, leaning into it as though he needed it for comfort.

“And now I have to tell you something…” Alastair whispered, his eyes looking at me with regret.

“Really? Right now?” Jericho interrupted, looking like he wanted to slit Alastair’s throat.

“No, I don’t think it’s the time,” LeBlanc said. “Try again in a few months when you’ve actually spoken to one another.”

“I agree. Now is not the time.” Jericho echoed the sentiment.

“Time for what?” I asked, my eyes darting from one man to the other, looking for answers.

“The Irish would only help go to war against the bratva if there was an alliance. Do you understand?” Alastair put my hands on his chest, bringing his face close to mine to command my attention.

“Okay, I understand. What were the terms of the alliance?” I really should have questioned Hugo more about all this mafia stuff.

“Marriage,” Alastair said.

“Between…?” I looked at Jericho and wondered what woman he would marry. Or maybe the head of the Irish would marry Jericho’s sister? I hadn’t met her yet, but I assumed she was younger than him. It always sounded like she was a younger sister, not an older one. “Do I get to be a bridesmaid?”

Alastair shut his eyes for a moment and shook his head, exasperated.

“You get to be a bride.” When I turned back to Alastair, he had put on enormous ruby ring on my finger. It was the shape of a drop of blood. It was beautiful, polished and glinting in the fluorescent hospital lights.

I looked at Alastair’s face, and there was lust there. It was so forceful that I would have leaned away had I thought he would let me go. But I knew he wouldn’t.

“That wasn’t a proposal, lover boy.” Jericho broke into our moment. His face was disapproving, staring at me from over Alastair’s shoulder.

Alastair rolled his eyes. Then looked at me again. His voice became tender.

“Will you marry me, Rose Marie Vasilieva?” He gently asked, his other hand coming to cup my face.

“Get on one knee, asshole,” LeBlanc growled.

Alastair’s smile didn’t falter as he started to drop to a knee beside the bed.

“Vasilieva?” I asked.

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