Her Irish Dark Knight – Get Bonus Prologue
Author: Bryce Keene
Her Irish Dark Knight – Bonus Prologue
Olivia
How could he get in the way of my dreams?
I sniff, then wipe my nose with the sleeves of my hoodie, his hoodie. Ronan Gallagher, the Irish boy who stole my heart from the first day he walked into class and somehow became my boyfriend.
There are so many things I cannot wrap my mind around, and Ronan asking me to be his girlfriend tops the list.
I never questioned his loyalty to me as my boyfriend. I never had to second guess his love for me. But today, I’m second-guessing his respect for me.
I stop by the gate of his family estate, and it slides open for me to go in.
I know where to find him on a Saturday morning, so I walk into the large building and head straight for him.
I say hello to the employees. I pass them to go up the short flight of stairs to the foyer—the one that leads straight to the in-house gym, where Ronan will be.
I push the two-way door of the gym and go in to find him lifting weights. I wait patiently until he finishes his reps and sits up from the padded bench.
“Babe,” his husky voice looms first before his height as he stands. “What happened?” He easily, like always, picks up on my mood and comes to me, but I step away from him before he charms me to cave and not say the things I need to say.
“Why did you do it?” I hiccup.
“Do what?” he shrugs, clueless because maybe he thought I would never find out.
“Why did you pay for my full scholarship, Ronan?” I am furious, and as he realizes the reason for my fury, he exhales, “I thought I could trust you. I trusted you, and now I feel humiliated.”
He might think he has done me a favor, but he only showed me how incompetent he thinks I am.
He shouldn’t have gone behind my back. It has always been my dream to be a pastry chef, and I was going to figure that out somehow. And yet, not only did he pay for it, but he also lied about it for a whole semester until I found out today.
He didn’t give me the option to choose. He never asked for my permission.
“Babe, chill,” he chuckles, “No need to overreact, my girl needed a little help, and I…”
“Fuck you, Ronan,” I stab my index finger at him, “Fuck you, and whatever this is, it was fun while it lasted. We are done.” I don’t want to hear him explain anything and make my pitiful status more obvious.
He scoffs, “You can’t be serious.”
“Of course, the poor Olivia would never say no to her rich boyfriend because how then would she ever have a future,” I shove him hard against the chest. “Go to hell and take your money with you,” I turn, my heart breaking, and stomp out.
But in truth, I want him to come after me.
He doesn’t.
Ronan
What do girls want?
I hit the punching bag so hard I almost crack my knuckles. But I don’t stop. I punch and keep punching, taking my frustration out on it.
I did what was right for her. Why does she want to break up with me? Isn’t she supposed to be happy that I helped her?
I have the money to, so why can’t I help her? I know it will take the stress off her so she can focus on learning instead of how to raise the money for it.
She had always wanted to be a pastry chef; it’s all she talks about. So, when she talked about the scholarship program, I knew it was my shot to step in and help her.
I may disagree with my mother on many things, but not when she said a man will take care of what he loves.
I love her, and I took care of her.
Case closed.
***
Me: Why can’t you just be happy to get what you want? You know I did it for you, right?
I hit send, pull my hoodie over my head, and as I’m about to kick off running under the rain, my phone beeps. I quickly look down at it to see that Olivia has texted me back.
Babe: Because I didn’t get what I wanted.
What now?
I shoot another text so quickly that my fingers stumble.
Me: What do you want?
I hold my phone, waiting to see her reply to that question. Whatever she wants, if I can, I will give her. I don’t care if I have to turn the earth upside down to make it happen.
Babe: Fuck you!
Fuck me?
Ok, so even if I was wrong, it’s been a week already, and I cannot believe she is serious about the breakup.
I inhale, then exhale. She will come around. I’ll give her some time.
I hit the road.
***
“Ronan,” Olivia’s mom, identical to her daughter but more mature looking, smiles at me. She has always made me feel welcome, and I appreciate her. She looks like she has just gotten back from her nine-to-five.
“I, huh…” I clear my throat because I’m finally doing this as much as I had said I would not be doing it.
I wanted Olivia to come around herself, but it’s been another week, and she hasn’t sent me any more texts.
She usually cannot stay a day without talking to me.
“Do you want to come in?” Olivia’s mom holds the door out for me, and I shake my head, dropping my eyes to my sneakers on the creaky patio, the one we used to sit on most nights pretending to be studying and kissing in secret, because we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves.
“Is Olivia inside? I need to talk to her, please,” I ask. Her face drops before a sorry smile comes up next.
“She left a day ago for Paris,” she squints. “She didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head. “We had a disagreement.”
“Oh, it’s like that sometimes,” she offers. “I can let her know you want to talk or let her granny know.” She shrugs, and I know why Olivia will call her abuela and not her. Her parents do not approve of her dream.
“No. It’s fine,” I step down from the porch. “Thank you.”
“Take care,” she waves at me.
I could take her offer and try to contact Olivia, although I know I have lost my chance. But why should I?
She left. After everything is said and done, she left without telling me.
So, fuck it.
Like my mom always says: I have my whole life ahead of me. I should focus on that.
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Her Irish Dark Knight – Extended Epilogue
Ronan
One Month Later
This is my definition of a good life.
I signal the DJ to change the song. He changes the playlist, and my eyes wander to the small crowd of family and friends to find my wife, Olivia, in the distance, talking to some friends she met during her time in Paris.
Her eyes shoot open, and I smile, knowing I’m hitting her just how she likes it. Firm and fast.
It’s my definition of a good life.
This app is genius.
“Hey,” Liam comes before my view, and while I want to knee him in the crotch, I accept his intrusion as politely as I can.
“Hey,” I clear my throat and push the filthiness of thinking about Olivia’s wet pussy swollen around the pink vibrator. I love how no one can see that through the simple stone-embedded sapphire blue dress she changed into for our reception.
“Congratulations,” he smiles at me, and I smile back, still very distracted.
“Thank you,” I try to look past him to search for Olivia, but she is gone.
“What ever happened to Ruth Davis, what’s her situation?”
“She will be out in a few weeks, if not sooner,” Liam seems a little on edge with that one, “I’m doing everything I can to get her out. I told her I…” he clears his throat, “That we will do whatever it takes to get her back on her feet and away from the Bratva.”
I nod, “Well done.” I stalk past him, searching for Olivia, and I get a little worried when I can’t find her in the glittering hall or the sea of glamorous guests.
I feel someone coming behind me and then something moving underneath my suit jacket. I laugh as I clap the hand, trying to take my phone out of my inner pocket.
“Not so fast,” I turn, and kiss her, then lift her hand above her head to spin her so her plump ass presses into my stiff cock, “If you behave, I will do that thing of writing the alphabet with my tongue on your clit,” I whisper in her ear. I feel her shiver under my touch, “I know you like the letter R more than the others.”
“In that case,” she flips, “time to cut our cake,” she points with her eyes and I see our wedding cake, almost the same color as her dress.
She leads me on shaky legs, and the guests gather around us to cheer as we cut the first slice. She feeds me a piece, and I’m stunned to see that the stones on the cake are edible.
I cut a piece and feed it to her, then she lingers, licking every crumb off my fingers. My cock ticks, and I chuckle, masking my need to be buried inside of her for the entire night.
I reach for my phone in my inner pocket while she is busy chewing the cake and increase the vibrator to the max.
She screams but quickly clamps her mouth with her hand, then grips my suit with one hand for balance as she comes from the force.
I grin. ” It must be a very good cake,” I purr into her ear. She tries to steady her breathing, then very quickly reaches for the cake, sinks her fingers into it, pulls a chunk of it, and slaps it on my face. “I love you too, babe,” I laugh, but I don’t let her get away as I pull her into a kiss, making sure to get the cake all over her face, too.
What can I say?
I never thought I could be this happy. I never thought life could get this good.
And then there was Olivia Delgado.
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Her Irish Dark Knight (Preview)
Chapter 1
Ronan
After losing my father in a gunfight, I knew I had to step up. I also knew marriage was at the top of the list, but I was busy doing a lot of other things until my mother got in the fucking way.
“Do you really expect to marry for love?” My mother’s words the night she got me to agree to this, sealing my fate with the Ferreri as their son-in-law replay in my head.
“I know what I must do.” And I did. I’m on it.
My mother has driven me nuts in more ways than I care to remember. Going out of her way to play fucking matchmaker for me to marry Barbara Ferreri is just the cherry on top.
My father would be proud of my fiancée and irritated by my trying to dodge this wedding. He was my mentor. My mother is my nemesis, and my sister… well, my sister is my heartbeat.
I look at her in the rearview mirror, watching her look at something on her phone. She is wearing a simple denim skirt and a stylish bright blue blouse that compliments her gray eyes. Without her dark irises, she could easily pass for a ghost.
She lifts her eyes to meet mine, catching me watching her. She manages a small smile but I know her well enough to know something is making her uncomfortable.
I focus on the deep breath she takes, then her fidgeting, and then her pretending to be too involved in what she looks at on her phone. “Riley…”
“What do you think of this track, sweet pea?” Barbara slips herself into the moment as if her presence is not enough of a pain in the fucking ass.
I say nothing to her. I detest that stupid pet name. I have warned her more than once, but she’s decided to keep it since she thinks it’s getting under my skin.
“Babe?” She cocks her head to look at me from her seat next to me.
I don’t hate her. I hate the situation I’m in and the fact that she is using every opportunity she gets to aggravate me, spoiled brat that she is.
She knows she is in a powerful position and she knows why I’m doing this, we both do. But I stand to gain more, so she is taking advantage of that.
“I want to make a video so the publicist will have something to post.” She waits for me to answer, but all she gets is fucking silence. I’m everywhere in the media because of her. I’m sleeping, she takes pictures. I’m eating, she makes videos. Everything is for show. Once, Riley showed me the page, and even I almost believed we were in love.
Her team had planned everything to perfection. It was shocking.
“Ronan?” She snorts. “It was the pet name, wasn’t it?” She chuckles dryly. “Okay, what do you want me to call you, and what will you be calling me? Because we have to agree on something here.”
“Barbara, that’s what I will be calling you,” I reiterate like I have done every single time she brings up this issue. “Find something you want me to call you,” I breathe quietly as I feel her smiling beside me.
“I already have something I think will be the perfect…” Riley giggles from the backseat and I catch her staring at me through the rearview mirror. Every single thing is funny, amusing, and intriguing to her.
I screw my brows at her, and she shrugs.
“I never thought the day would come when I would see my big brother using a pet name for a lady,” she shakes her head, clamping her lower lips to tamp her smile.
“You owe me one then for making that day come,” Barbara lifts her phone, and my teeth clench when I realize she is making a video.
“Take the next turn,” Riley points at a turn, and I nod.
I’m trying to remember who convinced me to join them for this damn cake tasting. Barbara or my mother?
“That one,” Barbara stops recording and gestures toward a three-story pastry store, and I pull up in front of it.
I can taste the sweetness they whisk up in there simply by looking at the colorful building. I pull up next to a sedan, and a customer emerges, grinning and clutching a brown carry-home bag with the store’s logo printed on it.
However, Riley’s fidgeting again, so I corner her once she climbs out of the car.
“I’m fine,” she answers before I start, which means she is not.
“Who said I was going to ask that?” I slip one hand into the pocket of my jeans and puff my chest.
“You have that look, big brother,” she swings her eyes. “But I’m fine.”
“Riley, tell me why you are nervous,” I rest one hand on the car to trap her, and she folds her arms across her chest.
“It’s not me I am worried about,” she huffs. “It’s you.”
I know I live my life on the fucking edge, and I’ve heard her express her worry more times than I care to keep count of. But this time seems different.
“Why?” If she tells me it’s because of the marriage, I’ll know she’s lying. They should be worried for Barbara. I don’t give a fuck about anything. When we get married, she won’t force me to do anything.
Barbara is still attempting to salvage her dream marriage from this ordeal. I feel sorry for her, which is why I sometimes let her. She just won’t let go.
I’ve given up on mine. I know that the people I lost will never return to me, and that’s okay.
Well, perhaps not okay. Living in such a harsh reality is difficult. A fucking painful wound to heal from, I will strive for the remainder of my life to stop it from spilling all the blood out of me. But I will go ahead and do it for the benefit of everyone and everything involved.
“I’m waiting,” I snap my fingers in her face.
“It’s…”
“Don’t fuck around with me, Riley; tell me what is getting you this worked…”
She interrupts me by pointing with her eyes in Barbara’s direction. I grudgingly turn to glare at her, but as soon as I focus on the person next to my fiancée, I am taken aback.
Wearing a pair of blue jeans and a simple white blouse, bluish-black hair flowing on her shoulders, cherry-colored pastel lips and freckles splattered across her cheekbones, those onyx eyes… Olivia.
She meets my eyes, and the shock waves dart between the us.
“You should see your face,” Riley chuckles, then goes over to Olivia to drag her into an embrace.
“Riley,” Olivia stammers. Her voice still has the same hummingbird-like quality as it always did.
“Ollie,” Riley pulls away from the hug. “It’s been forever,” Riley chuckles. “You look so beautiful, so…”
“Huh, excuse me,” Barbara lifts a finger. “Am I missing something?”
“This is…”
“I know who she is.” Barbara sneers at them both. “Olivia Delgado, the chef in charge of my wedding catering. How are you two so friendly?”
“I know Olivia from way back,” Riley shrugs. “She is a family friend. I haven’t seen her since…” She swings her hands in the air to keep that information out. “Huh…” Riley gulps and then chuckles. “It’s been… It’s been a while.”
“Since we broke up,” I say.
Chapter 2
Olivia
Ronan is in my bakery.
Ronan is in my bakery!
I’m clawing into my hair and screaming my mind out at the sight of him. He is here. After so many years. My Ronan.
I have never seen anyone wear such a simple outfit with as much elegance and poise. Black jeans and a gray knitted sweater never looked this good on anyone.
I wasn’t sure when I stepped outside, but I had a gut feeling that no other man had dirty blonde hair with that exact same gold and strawberry tinge.
There was no mistaking his height or the way he hunches his shoulders. Maybe he gained a few inches, and I think age has made him look even more refined. His biceps are more prominent than before.
But I felt it.
I knew it was him.
I nod and take in as much oxygen as I can. Every time he is around, he takes my breath away.
Memories of our past are flooding my mind. My heart is thumping loudly, bouncing off the walls in my chest. I feel like my stomach is spinning. But I sense something, someplace amid this chaos.
I feel this impulse to touch him to make sure what’s in front of me is real. That he is here. That it is truly him.
This moment feels surreal. I’ve given it a lot of thought, but in all the years I’ve spent wondering when and how I would see him again, I never imagined it would be this way.
And this way is painful.
A reminder of my desires, even though I already know too well that I will never be able to fulfill them. It’s not like I ever wanted him back but knowing that I will never have him makes the ache unbearable.
I try to maintain my composure and manage a grin for him and Barbara while maintaining my professionalism. My career is on the line here, and I will not allow Ronan to stand in my way. Then again, he’s staring at me. All of them are. As if I should respond to what he said in some way.
But the stare from those aqua green eyes gives me with a rush. It is the stare from those eyes that is making my stomach churn and my throat flaky.
I have never seen somebody maintain such a constant tilt on one brow. Nobody that I’ve seen twitches the side of their mouth in that way when they face an inconvenience. Nobody I know can keep me ensnared in their spell for so long.
The bride’s family name was the only information provided when I received the bookings on my website. There is no way in hell I would have ever been this excited about this job had I known he would be here, that he’d be the groom.
“Shocking,” Barbara finally says. “It is not every day you run into your fiancé’s ex, who also happens to be the pastry chef meant to bake your wedding cake,” she chuckles, raising her hand to show off her huge diamond ring.
“That’s why we shouldn’t use her,” Ronan says. I’m not sure how I feel about his suggestion, but I understand where he’s coming from.
“Do you want to talk about it in private?” Riley gestures over her shoulder in the direction of the car, but neither Ronan nor Barbara seems to be taking up her offer. “No?” She puffs. “No.”
Barbara creeps toward Ronan and says, “I get your concern, Babe,” giving her hips a little extra swing. “But consider this,” she pauses next to him and, taking advantage of her height, rests an elbow on his shoulder. She gently puts her arm around him possessively and says, “She is the best in Boston, and I want the best for my wedding to you.”
The sight unsettles me.
It should have been me.
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Ronan slants his head to face Barbara, and she sucks in a deep breath like that move affected her in the same way it’s affecting me.
They are so close to kissing. Their lips are only an inch away from coming together, and he is staring into her soul like she is the best thing in the world—the same way he used to stare at me.
“I can issue a complete refund,” I offer with the biggest smile I can muster, watching the only man I have ever truly loved gazing at another woman as though she is his universe, and I can’t help but admit that they belong to each other. “Plus, I might have someone else to recommend so you don’t have to deal with starting a new search over again.”
They fit together. Barbara is a few inches shorter than Ronan, who is over six feet –definitely somewhere between six feet four and five.
Being the model she is, she has the most perfect body I’ve ever seen—a dream girl. Barbara is stunning, amazing waves of raven black hair and brown eyes the color of coffee. She also knows how to accentuate each of her features. She is wearing a deep green jumpsuit, accessorized with a gold belt that matches her clutch and gold stilettos.
And then her social status. Although I am aware that Ronan is not the kind to obsess over things like that or let them influence his choices, I also know that his mother clings to it tightly.
They are both up there.
“She said she can do a refund,” Riley repeats my words since Barbara and Ronan stare at each other as if they are having some encoded conversation.
“That won’t be necessary,” Barbara breaks the eye contact to smile at me. “Babe,” she says as she tilts her head, facing Ronan again. “You know how my father gets, and he already paid for this. How would I justify it?” She shrugs. “And I want her to do this,” she leans in and presses a soft kiss on his lips.
I quickly drop my eyes to the floor and close my mouth as Riley looks from them to me. I gulp, taking the sting like a big girl.
When I hear Barbara clap her hands enthusiastically, I know Ronan must have said something to her with his expression or the same eye-encoded discourse.
“Thank you, Babe,” Barbara turns to face me. “Shall we?”
I nod a little too quickly. “Sure,” I go ahead so they can follow me.
I shouldn’t care about what Ronan thinks of this arrangement since it means I’m keeping my client, which should be the major focus of every business owner. But I find that I care. I care about how he feels. I know I’m grateful that Barbara wants to work with me, but Ronan shouldn’t have to suffer. Both of us shouldn’t be subjected to suffering.
As Barbara slings her arm to hook with his, guiding them into the store where Ruth, my apprentice, smiles, defusing the tension in the air, I try to get a reaction from him. As usual, he is devoid of any emotion that reveals how he feels.
I used to be able to slip through and bring it out of him, but I’ve lost that ability. I have lost much more than that.
“Hey,” Riley comes to my side and runs her hand up and down my back. “Are you good?” She whispers, and I nod.
“Thank you,” I whisper back. “It’s good to see you again, Riley.”
She smiles affectionately, as she has always done, and follows Ronan and Barbara into my store.
The cake samples are already lined up on a table in the corner. My store doesn’t have a sit-in but for cases like this, I have a few round tables and comfortable chairs.
I keep trying to read Ronan’s body language as Ruth leads them to the table with the cakes on display. But now, I’m trying to see if he is impressed with my store or not.
I never thought about it before now, but now that he is actually here, I want to know what Ronan thinks of my business.
I wonder if he finds the name as confusing as most people do or if he remembers that it was my grandma’s name.
Amalia.
Named after my grandma from my father’s side of the family, who passed away while I was in culinary school in France. She was the one who encouraged me to pursue my dreams. Sadly, I never had the opportunity to bake her anything after graduating or give her one of the gourmet dishes I created for my final year project.
I miss her.
“Welcome to Amalia,” Ruth gives her welcome speech a little late as they sit down in front of the table with the mini-cakes. Ruth smiles at me and pulls a puppy face to show she’s sorry.
“Go on,” I tell her, anchoring her to serve the cakes on the white saucers on the table. Both Riley and Barbara start to smile and adjust with excitement, like they have been waiting for this moment.
Ruth serves the first cake, which is a lemon cake with chocolate chips inside. Ronan shakes his head at Ruth when she offers him some and both Barbara and Riley reach out at the same time to grab the saucer. Barbara pouts and lets go of it but Riley hands it back to her.
Ronan leans to the side, disappearing mentally from the scene as Ruth keeps serving the cakes, from the red velvet with strawberry syrup filling, to the banana cake with vanilla cream, and the white chocolate cake with dark chocolate filling.
I’m swelling with pride, explaining all the ingredients I used. I confirm that neither the bride nor groom have any allergy to the ingredients used or dietary restrictions as Barbara keeps eating them all with a heightened level of excitement.
“I’m good with everything,” Barbara shrugs, munching on the white chocolate cake.
“I’m good,” Ronan answers, although he hasn’t tasted a single thing we served.
“In that case,” I exhale, “Let me get more samples, including the curated menu for the big day.” I slap my hands together. “And we have something for the bride, a special treat packed just for you.” As expected, Barbara’s brown eyes light up, and my heart swells some more.
I love what I do. But I love it a little extra when the people I do it for love it.
“Take care of it, please,” I give Ruth the order, and she nods eagerly.
I then whirl away and vanish into the little passageway next to the counter leading to the pantry. I enter the pantry and take a long breath.
Ronan is getting married. Ronan is out there and this is the first time in over a decade that we have seen each other. Ronan is in love with another woman. Ronan is…
“What are you planning, Olivia?”
My blood turns cold in my veins as I recognize Ronan’s familiar husky baritone. I clear my throat and stand straight.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, facing him. He is standing beside the now-closed door, his eyes fixed on me.
“Trying to find out what you are planning, Olivia, because I know you know. Barbara is my fiancée and you…”
“Oh please,” I chuckle, finding the courage to stay brave even though I’m shrinking from him being in this enclosed space with me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ronan. I didn’t know, and I won’t have you mess this up for me. The Ferreris are important clients for my career and that thing you were trying to do out there…” I get closer to him for effect but quickly shrink as it affects me instead, sending torrents of heat through me, “Stop it. Stop trying to sabotage me.” I stand in front of him, knowing I should step back but staying still.
He holds my gaze, and I see the exact moment he softens.
Then he nods. “Whatever happens, be on your best behavior.” He closes the distance, and my body fires up as his body brushes mine. “Behave yourself, Olivia.” It’s a breath, and it brushes against my temple.
“Or what?” I puff, standing on my toes so as not to make myself look so small before him. Then he dips his head, reminding me how small I am and for many reasons other than the difference in our sizes.
His eyes drift to my lips, and mine instinctively look at his mouth. His lush mouth, his rich, vibrant lips–like hot, melted strawberries.
He swallows, continuing to stare at my lips. I can think about only one thing. Later, I will kick myself, but for now, in this moment, it doesn’t feel all that bad.
He chuckles, and the little puff of air from his mouth caresses my lips, making me close my eyes and tilt my head. His body presses flat against mine, and he plants a single finger in the middle of my lower back, scorching me there like a hot coal.
He can see right through my trembling. He can feel it. I open my eyes to see the cloudiness in his gaze, but he is staring at my lips with his long, curly lashes covering his hooded eyes.
I shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be doing this.
“Or else,” he bites his lower lip. “You won’t like what I would do to you and your…” He lifts his eyes back to mine. “… pretty little dream,” he takes a step back, opens the door, steps out of the pantry, and slams the door.
Chapter 3
Olivia
One Week Later
Tension.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve been doing this for years. When it’s time to deliver, the tension is always on high speed.
Today is the day. I woke up with mixed feelings of wanting everything to go perfectly and praying for it all to just not be true.
I’m trying as hard as I can to ease some of the tension, but the screwing of my stomach walls around my shrinking organs seems to be happening at the speed of lightning every time I stare at the people present.
Ronan and Barbara’s wedding reception.
The hall, the music, the people, everything is evocative.
The theme color is black and cream, and the fashion trend is reminiscent of the Hollywood nineties. I was expecting nothing less from Barbara.
The media is everywhere, taking shots of every single thing and every single person. It looks straight out of a top bridal magazine—the wedding of the year.
One of Boston’s most eligible bachelors and one of the city’s most stunning women decided to unite, leaving everyone wishing and daydreaming.
Working on their wedding cake and getting the food ready for this big day has not been easy.
It wasn’t easy when she showed up again without him to taste the gourmet dishes and approve each one. As much as I wanted to find something to hate about Barbara, I couldn’t.
She is very decent and hasn’t held my past against me in any way. She was never rude.
I smooth my hands over my ponytail and manage to regain my smile.
While we were dating, Ronan was lovely and kind to me. His assertiveness aside, which I never had a problem with.
I slip my hand into the pocket of my black jumpsuit, which allows me to blend into the elegance needed for an occasion like this one but be comfortable as well. I take out the little finger-size jotter I take with me everywhere to make notes and to-do lists.
On my part, I check my list, and things seem to be going according to plan.
So far, even better than I had planned.
I lift my eyes from my list, and my gaze ends up on someone from the Ferreri table picking up hors d’oeuvres from the platter set on their table. My eyes narrow in on Cesare Ferreri, Barbara’s sixty-something-year-old father in a black tux with a white inner shirt, his balding black hair ambushed by some strands of gray.
Cesare suavely takes a bite from what he is holding and drops the rest back on the platter before standing with the napkin in his hand to mingle with some guests.
I keep watching his every chewing move, waiting to see if he will give anything away. I need to know if he is satisfied with the food, my service, and the entire presentation.
I have seen Riley around, and she seems to be loving everything about it. Most people at the groom’s family table seem to love everything, albeit in their stiff way.
“You think he likes it?” Ruth whispers into my ear, and I flinch.
“Stop doing that,” I move a step away from her, steadying my heartbeat as best as possible. I’m jumpy, and she knows it.
“Sorry,” she smiles stiffly. “I’m sorry.” She lifts one hand as if making an oath, and I roll my eyes. She will do it again.
I nod and I turn my eyes away from glaring at her to resume my observation of Cesare.
“I will try,” she smiles. “But what do you think?” She closes the distance, making sure our shoulders brush against each other. “I think they are satisfied with the service, but I’m not sure about the food. They haven’t really started eating yet.”
I nod. “I agree,” I puff. I know I’m good at what I do, but sometimes, waiting for a client’s feedback can mess with your confidence. The hard part is understanding that some feedback has nothing to do with your service; it is just the client’s preference. “I think…” Ruth pockets her jotter in her cream jumpsuit. “I think Sofia likes it,” she nudges with her chin in the direction of the bride’s sister, who is far away from the family table.
I see her eating and talking with a man, so I smile as I glance at her. She appears to be at ease with the older man, who is dressed in a nicely fitted tux. He is slightly shorter than her father but has more hair .
Despite having a similar outfit to the other bridesmaids, Sofia’s dress has a distinct flair. She has an athletic build and is the shortest of the bridal party. Barbara’s train included most of her famous model pals, and although Sofia is the smallest, she is by no means the least attractive.
“She does,” I smile some more.
“And he is…,” Ruth nudges again in a different direction, and I catch Pietro Ferreri, the bride’s brother, wiping his hands clean with a napkin as he pushes out of his seat, one he shares with some of Boston’s high-profile single ladies.
He struts to Sofia in his pitch tux, short breezy ebony hair, and classic family latte eyes. They took after their father in their physical features.
“Good observation, Ruth. Thank you,” I lower my head as I smile. She does this kind of thing, always searching for ways to wash the tension off me.
“It’s my job,” she shrugs.
Speaking of her job, she needs to be up and about, not standing here gossiping. I flip my wrist to check my gold watch.
“Ruth, it’s time to serve the cupcakes,” I snap. “Go make sure the servers know what they are doing, and where to take what type of cake.” My tone is clipped, and she knows it’s business time.
“Yes, ma’am,” she tips her head in a teasing bow and struts away.
I breathe as my peripheral vision piques the bride and groom, strutting side by side to some of their guests.
I’m happy for Barbara, but this wedding has taken me back in time, and I wish… I wish so many things hadn’t turned out the way they did. I wish I hadn’t been so proud about my choice at the time. I wish I didn’t feel as humiliated as I felt.
My grandmother had advised me to try to see things from his point of view, but I ignored her advice, and I never went back to try to fix what I had ended. Right now, thinking about it, I regret all of it.
We were high school sweethearts and best friends. We were madly in love all through high school. Then, when graduation drew near, I was accepted with a full scholarship at my dream school in Paris, to become a pastry chef.
I found out that Ronan was behind it all, that he had paid for my admission, knowing that I was stressing out about whether I could get in, let alone afford it. When I found out what he had done, I was blinded by my anger and my pride was hurt. I didn’t want him to think he could just use his money and decide for me.
I never stopped to think that his gesture was truly heartfelt as opposed to controlling.
He, on the other hand, didn’t understand why I wasn’t happy and he was hurt by my reaction.
Neither of us gave in and by the time he came to look for me I had left for Europe and we never saw each other again.
Ronan is dressed simply in a black shirt and black dress pants, exuding confidence and poise.
Whereas Barbara is wearing a short white eggshell dress adorned with stones from the point where her heart-shaped neck cut curves to the fringe line that falls just past her knees. Like Cinderella, she is wearing shoes with matching Swarovski crystals.
She donned a different outfit for the ceremony. Elegant yet uncomplicated. With an elongated tail and veil, the A-shaped, pure cotton-white gown managed to reach the end of the runway.
She was the perfect bride.
How would I have looked if I had been the one getting married to Ronan?
Would he hold me like that if I were his bride instead of her? The way he is holding her hand is like he never wants to let her go. Would he go above and beyond to give me this kind of wedding?
Yes.
That has always been Ronan. He is complicated, no doubt, but he always goes above and beyond for the people he loves, and he loved me at some point. Oh, he did.
I sniff, trying to keep my tears at bay. I should be happy for him.
I return my attention to Ronan and Barbara, who are standing next to a guest who appears to be a bit older than Ronan. His eyes betray an experience beyond his years. I bumped into him earlier, but he said nothing and neither did he acknowledge my apology. He shouldn’t have this much gray hair for his age, yet he does. He has dark eyes, wears a black suit, and is constantly tinkering with a gold totem on his outfit.
Barbara offers her hand in a handshake, but he waves her off and takes her into a side embrace instead. When he pulls back, she straightens herself and steps away from Ronan and the guest and moves towards the cake with admiration in her eyes.
Barbara loves cake.
I feel Ronan’s eyes on me for a second, but when I turn to look at him, he looks away immediately. I stare at him a little longer, pining for him to turn and stare right back, but he keeps his attention on the guest in front of him.
It is then that I notice something strange, a long line of people waiting to go to the restroom.
Is something wrong?
I hear clattering and gasps as I skate past tables and people to get there. I abruptly stop and turn to face the commotion, only to discover that a server has dropped her cupcake tray—her eyes are focused on something.
My eyes widen in shock.
Barbara is on the ground, passed out. God, oh God.
Since I’m closer, I rush across to her, but then I stumble back when I notice that she has a small smear of frosting on her bottom lip and a scoop on her index finger. The wedding cake.
Help me, Lord. Please.
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Dating the Don – Get Bonus POV
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Bonus Prologue
Dating the Don – Extended Epilogue
Cristiano
Five Months Later
Everyone gets cold feet.
Annalisa’s voice in my head isn’t exactly what I want to be dwelling on at a moment like this. My mother and father were perhaps the most in love and perfect-for-one-another couple that I’ve ever had the fortune of witnessing in my life. It seems wholly and utterly impossible that either would have been nervous on their wedding day. Still, she had felt that it was proper to lecture me good and long as I had been getting ready for today. Just in case, she had said. She had straightened my black tie and been on her way. The mending of our relationship has been a rocky road. I know that my mother only meant well as she wants the best for me and Ada, but it was hard to forgive her for the things that she had said to Maeve. Even longer for Maeve to understand that it had been for the greater good and because of her promise to her mother, not because she actually felt that there was anything undeserving about my bride.
There’s nobody more perfect for me than her, and everybody invited today knows it.
I’m not nervous. I’m excited. The anticipation itself is making me feel almost anxious. By nature, I’m not a very fidgety person. Yet, I find myself crossing and shifting my hands in front of my body, shifting my weight from foot to foot in anticipation as I stand here at the altar.
In fact, the only thing that worries me at all is Maeve suddenly deciding to come to her senses and realizing that a life with me means that she will always be in danger. Perhaps that’s why Ada keeps poking her head around the open doors at the other end of the aisle and winking at me. She must know how my irrational fear of abandonment is going to make Maeve run away from this wedding before it even happens.
My mother and Ada were the ones who wanted the large traditional wedding. After the lengthy church ceremony, we will all be heading to a reception that’s going to carry well into the wee hours of the morning. I’m happy to do it so long as Maeve gets her night of celebration, but I would have been just as happy with just the two of us and the preacher. She’s all I’m ever going to need.
In less than a few months, she’s become my right arm. She’s my pillar of strength. Even the men have accepted her as if she has always been there. I feel like there’s absolutely nothing I can’t overcome with her by my side.
Unlike now.
I don’t like standing up here alone. I want her here. I want her where I can touch her, feel her energy near me. I want to tether her soul to mine for the rest of our lives and I want to do it now. I’m ready.
Every inch of this chapel has her touch to it. The area is adorned with vibrantly colored flowers that are arranged in elegant bundles. Maeve declared that everything about the customary white gown was too “sterile” and that she didn’t want to do anything with it other than wear it. I had never seen bridesmaid dresses designed in such vibrant colors as she and Ada had. Sure, elegant, but oh so very Maeve.
Once more, my attention is drawn to the same burst of color coming from the opposite side of the aisle. Ada gives me a thumbs up, poking her head out of the open passage and giving me one more wink. That must have also been her cue to the small quartet to begin the wedding processional. All the guests stand up at once and turn to face the same spot that has captured my attention.
Then she’s there, in all of her stunning glory.
I think my knees go weak. I reach a hand out to grasp Al’s shoulder where he stands directly beside me to keep myself upright. We exchange a glance as I nervously smile. Godzilla could crash into the building and I don’t think I would notice. I couldn’t tear my eyes from her stunning beauty for anything in the world. Even the music seems to fade like I’m struck with tunnel vision for Maeve and only Maeve. My wife. My partner. My everything.
I knew that her wedding dress would be breathtaking. Everything that Maeve makes is. But, she hasn’t made too many things for herself so I was not prepared to be so gobsmacked.
My feet move down the steps of the altar to meet her before I can stop myself. I turn and hold my arm out to her to escort her up the last few steps. It is such a surreal thing to do. My mother had offered to walk her down the aisle on her mother’s behalf, but Maeve had insisted that she needed to do it by herself. She needed to be the one to take the steps into this next phase of her life on her own and standing tall. We all respected her wishes.
At least I am trying to.
At least I manage not to put my hands all over her the moment she is within reach because that’s what I really want to do. I want to throw her over my shoulder like a damned caveman and start our wedding night right this very second.
Maeve smirks up at me like she knows exactly what I’m picturing.
Now I can’t help but wonder what she’s got on under that perfect dress. I hope it’s nothing.
I need to calm down before I embarrass myself in front of this whole congregation. I swallow thickly and take her hands in mine, turning to face one another as the ceremony begins.
I think that I’ve always dreamt about this moment. Even when we were much younger, I imagined that she would be my wife. I had hoped against hope, despite always having the very distinct feeling that she was wholly and utterly off limits. I never imagined that I could be lucky enough to have her love me too. I’ve always supported her from behind the scenes. I would have done so for the rest of her life no matter what happened.
But this?
A reality better than my wildest dreams as she repeats after the preacher that she is taking me as her husband, in sickness and health, for better or worse, till death do us part.
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Dating the Don – Bonus Prologue
Cristiano
Maeve’s Mother’s Funeral
Today might go down in history as the most horrible afternoon that I have ever experienced in my life.
A modest collection of souls have gathered here today to pay their respects to one of the kindest women I ever had the privilege to meet in my life. At only eighteen, it’s not like I’ve had a lot of chances to get out and experience the world or all that it has to offer. I’m supposed to be leaving for my gap year in Italy in only two days. At least I was. How can I leave now? I know that the trip is like a pilgrimage for those in my family, but it doesn’t feel right to leave.
Most people who knew about the death would simply think that our family was just doing our duty by helping bury one of our housekeepers, but she was so much more than that. She’d been with us for Maeve’s entire life. She was one of us, in her own way. Maeve is family. She always will be. No matter how things go after today. If she chooses to go off into the world on her own, if she takes up mother’s offer to have her live with us until she graduates, whatever choice she makes, we will support it. Mother had long ago agreed to become Maeve’s legal guardian should anything happen to her.
I hope that she stays.
It’s selfish, I know… but I do not know what I would do without her.
Slowly, the polished black coffin starts to lower into the ground. I can’t watch it. My eyes are trained on the woman across from me. Maeve cried and screamed herself hoarse last night. Ada was a zombie this morning at breakfast. She couldn’t eat because of how traumatized Maeve was. I don’t suspect that she will be better any time soon. She and her mother were impossibly close. Both her and my sister’s eyes are still reddened and puffy, but Maeve looks like a shell of the girl that I’ve been obsessed with for as long as I can remember.
Her red hair is tied up in a messy bun at the back of her head, little whisps of color floating around her face and sticking to the lip gloss that my mother had put on her to attempt to heal some of the cracks in her lips.
I’ve never seen Maeve in black before.
It doesn’t suit her.
I don’t ever want her to be forced to wear black out of sadness again. Right now, I would do anything, pay anything, give anything up if it meant she’d stop feeling this pain. If I could take it from her, I would.
There’s a small thunk when the coffin hits the bottom of the grave. The wheels on the pulley system creak and squeal. Maeve doesn’t so much as flinch. It’s a wonder that she’s even still standing.
“Does anybody wish to say a kind word?”
The people gathered around us look slowly from one to another. Maeve won’t feel the need to share her private memories of her mother with everybody here, she won’t want to talk at all. I hope for a moment that Ada might say something, anything to calm her friend. Maeve made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want to hear from me.
The way I see it, if she needs somebody to take the rage of her mother’s untimely death out on somebody, I’m happy to be that person to her. If she needs a target, I’m her man.
Better anger than the alternative. I can’t let her wallow in despair. I cannot imagine the devastation she is experiencing at this moment. At sixteen, the one and only real family she has ever known, abruptly taken from her.
My fingers ball into a fist at my side.
Maeve’s bloodshot eyes lift to mine.
Nothing changes in her expression, and she doesn’t say a single word but I know the intention. I understand. There’s nothing to say. There’s not a single word anyone could say to make this easier. Any story told about her mother would just be an empty collection of words, nothing could be as vibrant as the woman herself.
All I can do is be here for her, however she needs me.
I walk to the edge of the grave and bend to pick up a handful of dirt. I sprinkle it softly over the coffin, sending her all of my well wishes and hopeful intentions into the afterlife. As I step back into the place I had just left, another of the staff steps forward to repeat the gesture. One at a time, until everyone has paid their silent respects but Maeve herself.
It almost looks like she’s debating whether or not she should just throw herself in the hole with her mother’s body. I can almost see the idea cross her mind as Ada steps to her side and pushes her fingers through Maeve’s.
I hope she knows that she has a family still. Whether she wants us or not. She deserves a family, and she still has people who love her very much. In every capacity that she will let us.
The knot of pain in my chest loosens as she allows Ada to pull her away from the gravesite and starts to turn back toward the long procession of cars. The two best friends tuck closely into one another as I trail silently behind them. At least she knows I will always have their backs.
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Dating the Don – Bonus POV
Cristiano
It took a great deal of effort to keep from choosing an outfit for Maeve tonight. She’s always been interested in fashion, so above all, I want her to look good when she presents herself as my fiancée. I want the real her to be seen by all, on my arm. I don’t think I had realized how thrilled I would be about the engagement party.
For myself, I chose typical black. Three-piece suit and gold accessories. It’s classic and guaranteed to match anything that she chooses to wear for the evening. If this deal that we’ve made is the closest I’m ever going to get to properly being with her, I’m going to capitalize on each and every moment of it. Tonight, I might just let myself pretend that it is all real.
I head into the ensuite bathroom where she’s getting ready and stop dead in my tracks at the sight of her reflection in the mirror. She’s just putting on the final touches to her makeup but that dress is positively sinful. If tonight wasn’t so important for our image, I would just bend her right over that vanity table until she could no longer stand.
Well, I suppose that there’s no harm in showing up fashionably late to our own event. We can do whatever we want… I just need a taste. Just a little one.
I cross the bathroom to where she’s watching me like a hawk, my knuckles running down the impossibly soft bare skin of her back. I had suggested black for the evening only because I wanted to present a unified front, and she listened. I hadn’t thought that she would give in to my request. It pleases me more than I can verbally express. Even the gold pin pinning her hair back matches. We look like a proper couple and a damned attractive one at that.
My knuckles trace down the curve of her exposed spine, stopping only when they brush over the hem of the skirt just below the curve of her back. The front isn’t nearly as daring, but the thin straps are tied behind her neck, exposing a modest amount of cleavage. Very tempting to undo the strings and bare her for me.
“I like this,” I compliment as my hand flattens and turns over the exposed skin, and then back up until I can cup the front of her neck possessively. The words feel so much smaller than the way I’m feeling. Hard as a diamond inside my slacks. It’s nearly painful. My thumb brushes over the nipple, the skin tightening under my touch.
“Thank you,” she answers easily. Her shoulders roll back and she sags into my touch. She watches my expression in the mirror as she presses against the hard length. It shouldn’t be that easy for her. Nobody has ever affected me the way that she does. The grip I have on her shifts to her neck, holding her softly in place.
“Careful,” I warn.
Her answering smile is devilish. “Or what?”
Oh, is that how she wants to play? Two can play that game. I think she’s vastly underestimated just how much I love teasing her. I shift and spin her to face me. I step between her legs, the slit in that delicious dress parting further. “You know, I think you’re starting to like the struggle simply for the struggle’s sake.”
She smirks up at me. “And what if I am?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply ask for what you want?” I think that the day she starts to verbalize what she wants is going to be the day I lose all control over myself.
I bend at the waist with a knowing smirk. “Or would you rather I simply started taking what I want from you?”
My fingers move, gripping her jaw firmly but not so tightly that it hurts. Every time she realizes that I have the ability to be much more aggressive with her but choose not to, she seems to get a thrill. I bring my lips down to hers and give her a gentle kiss that contrasts sharply with the possessive way I hold her. Just a taste. A gentle kiss that I nearly deepen because she is my favorite flavor.
Her lips chase after mine, and I chuckle darkly before stepping away from her. “Tsk tsk. I wouldn’t want to smudge your lipstick.”
She bites her bottom lip. I can see the gears in her mind turning. She knows that if she wants more, she’s going to have to ask for it.
“Please,” she mutters, the sound barely a whisper.
My brows raise. Surprised for only half a second before I hold a hand out to help her to my feet. A gesture she happily accepts. I pull her swiftly so that her body collides with mine, her breasts flattening against my chest as my hands find both her ass and the back of her neck at the same moment. She pulls me closer, a needy moan of hunger leaving her lips as she opens for me. Oh how sweet she is. I could get very easily carried away. I’ve always been raised to have total and complete control over whatever room I walk into, but she’s always been my weakness.
She breaks the kiss to place another just above the collar of my shirt. I can see the imprint of her red lipstick staining my skin and it doesn’t occur to me for a single second that I should be bothered by it. I’m hers to claim. I always have been. Her gaze is heavy and lidded as she looks up at me. Something softens in my chest as my thumb runs over her bottom lip. Something between us is shifting.
“Fuck… I didn’t…” She starts.
I shake my head. I think she’s misunderstood my brief hesitation. “Shut up,” I whisper and kiss her again. I walk us back toward the vanity and spin her around fast enough that she slaps her hands down on it to keep from bowing forward. I quickly band an arm around her to keep me upright so that her back is pressed against my chest. I cup her jaw again with the other hand and force her to look at our reflection in the mirror.
“Look at us, Maeve,” I command. The rush of power is intoxicating. Her surrender is so stunning, and she doesn’t even know it. “Do you see a couple who needs to apologize for anything? Because what I see is a woman who wanted something and took it.”
Her gaze drifts to my neck. I nod in confirmation.
“I do not see a woman who doubts herself. Certainly not tonight when everybody is here for her and her alone. Do you understand me?” I kiss her cheek softly, and then her jaw. Does she know I could spend days worshiping her perfect body? “And if this woman doesn’t want to be in control? That’s okay, too. You can let me have control, baby,” I assure her. I relish each and every shudder that ripples through her. Every soft gasp of unexpected sensation. “I will always take good care of what’s mine.”
I mean it.
Tonight, she’s mine.
I want her to feel it. I want to make sure that she knows that nobody else in her life is ever going to make her feel this way. My hand drops from her waist, working up the soft skirt of her dress higher and higher. Slow enough to be tortuous but fast enough that her mind doesn’t bother suggesting that she should protest or that there’s somewhere else that we’re supposed to be. The rest of the world can go to hell for all I care right now.
My fingers brush against her sex, finding it bare from the lack of panties. Dirty minx. I love it. I groan in pleasure against her skin as I cup her. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, Maeve? How did you know just what to do to please me?”
“The… panty lines… obvious…” She stammers.
I hum my approval of her responsiveness as I add another finger. Her breathing grows labored. Her eyes start to drift shut to relish in the sensation but the moment that they close, the grip on her jaw tightens and I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “None of that now. Good girls watch like they are supposed to. That way, they can get their rewards,” I mutter into her ear.
My thumb finds her clit and she cries out in pleasure. I have to tighten my hold around her to keep her properly upright as her knees buckle for a moment. Fuck, I want to have her. I want every sound from her lips. I can’t take my eyes from her any more than I want her to look away from the beautiful show that she’s putting on just for me. She’s gripping the counter so firmly that if she were strong enough, I’m sure that the marble would fracture in her hands. She’s close. I can feel it from the way she’s clenching around my fingers.
“Will you be a good girl and cum for me?” I challenge.
It seems to be the permission that she needs before her orgasm rushes through her. My fingers slip from her as she sags forward, gasping as the aftershocks of her climax shudder through her. I can’t help but taste her. If I have her here the way that I want her, then she won’t ever leave. I bring my fingers to my mouth, tasting her on my tongue and savoring the sweetness of it.
If I don’t move away from her right this instant, I’m going to lose the precarious hold that I have on my patience. I’m going to claim her. I will have her screaming my name, our party long forgotten. But it’s essential for us to attend.
It’s a damn shame.
“Finish your makeup, baby,” I nod toward the products that are now knocked over and scattered around the vanity. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait right here.”
She grabs a few tissues from the vanity and starts to clean herself up before I protest loudly. Certainly don’t need any of that right now. “No. You will wear your pleasure just like I will.” I take the tissue out of her hands and use it to wipe the lipstick from my face where she kissed me but leave the one on my neck.
Hell, maybe when this is all said and done, I’ll get those perfect lips tattooed right there.