by Fiona Keane
“Take your hands off of her,” Julian growled, his tone snarling and malicious. That shit is fucking hot. I barely felt the frozen air wrapping its deadly fingers around me while Julian’s voice continued its calm assault on Elliott.
“Mr. Daly, believe me when I tell you that it’s in your best interest to remove your hands immediately.”
“Elliott, just let go.” I pushed his hand from mine, amazed at how rigid his fingers felt in response to Julian’s words. He can’t know my perceived truth. Can he? Elliott slumped back two steps, his arms crossing along his thin chest. I watched him briefly, a small pang of guilt trickling into my heart. Nope. That’s just indigestion from not eating. Screw this guy. Elliott slowly nodded, accepting that I was off limits or that Julian could do much more than engage in their epic staring contest.
“Someday, Aid,” he muttered beneath his shaking breath, his eyes vastly empty, “you’ll talk to me. We’ll figure this out.”
It was impossible to forget the impact Elliott had on my life. He was my best friend for a decade. We saw and did it all together, but all of it was an act. It was a performance of deception only to cause me harm. Act. Performance of deception. I’m quite the actress as of late.
Elliott slowly retreated, his shadow growing lost in the blowing flakes while he walked the length of Beacon Street. I thought I would be overwhelmed with relief once Elliott left Julian and me, but my mind went numb. I thought about Elliott’s threat, the notion I would even let him speak to me in the future filled my stomach with twisting nerves. Their conversation spun around, repeating the echoes of their communication like a film on repeat. Julian already told me what I needed to know.
“You knew.” My mouth gaped as I watched him gaze down at me, his eyes steely and cold.
“I did.”
“You knew he took everything from me before you signed that contract.”
Julian released me, and his warmth was violently replaced by winter’s chilly breath. Julian adjusted the collar of his coat, covering his ears from the blustering flakes, while he spun around. I flew to meet his avoidance, twisting around his stoic form on the sidewalk.
“You kept that from me.”
“An omission.” His eyes lifted toward the building across the intersection, avoiding me.
“You knew all of this. You wouldn’t take a risk this huge unless there was something in it for you. You told Elliott you wouldn’t have signed your name to the contract, but you are too smart for that. You did your research. You knew.”
“David,” Julian called as the man finally returned, overdue for my ride home. “Explain to me why Miss Leary was left entirely alone on the sidewalk.” Oh, lovely. He was ignoring my probing, pretending I hadn’t begun to slowly assemble his truth.
“Sir,” David apologized as he approached, “I was on my way back to her, but your brother had me run an errand. It won’t happen again.”
“You’re correct in that notion,” Julian snarled, glaring at David. “Take her home immediately. I need to go kill my brother.”
David nodded, stepping toward me. Without another word, not even an acknowledgement of my existence, Julian’s quick strides increased the distance between us. I don’t think so, you gorgeous ass.
“Hey!” I screamed across the sidewalk, pleased when Julian stopped and spun around, but not as happy when I noticed the stunning impassivity plastered across his chiseled face. “We’re not done here!”
Julian swiftly returned to me, clearing his throat to inform David to step aside. “We aren’t going to speak like this to one another on the sidewalk, blocks from the State House, in the middle of a damn Senate hearing.”
“It’s always about your reputation and your name. Your family.”
“It’s about you too, Aideen, but you need to understand that there are boundaries, and you and your lunch date broke several,” he grumbled, his voice still breathtaking. “I’ll see you at six.”
“That’s it?” I stomped my foot like a pathetic child having a tantrum. He barely responded, his body rigid and distant.
“For now.”
I reached for the lapel of his coat, causing him to stumble as he almost fell into me. “Not for now. Right now, Mr. Molloy.”
“You’re making a scene,” he sighed, his breath pained. “I’m going back to the hearing and you’re going home.”
“Home?” I felt the eagerness within my words as I imagined he would let me return to my home, but then I remembered almost dying the last time I was there. My fist tightened around his coat as I looked up with unsteady eyes at Julian’s face.
“Six,” he growled at me, forcefully kissing my forehead for passersby, and returned to his mission. Had there not been a crowd of people passing along the sidewalk, I would have surely given him as many middle fingers as I could. What a bastard! Yet even with his mercurial temper at that moment, I desired to follow him. Instead, I turned to a waiting David and trailed him to the black Mercedes warming along the curb.
All I thought of during the quiet ride back to Julian’s, and the lonely ride in the elevator, was how absolutely twisted my morning was. Trinity knots, coffee, lunch dates, backstabbers, pissed off Julian Molloy. I filled with dread as I thought of six o’clock. I was restless, unable to find comfort on his couch, on my bed, and lacking all desire to eat any of his food. My feet mindlessly carried me back to the bedroom to which I grew attached, falling limply on the mattress. I wasn’t comfortable, but I refused to play with my restless soul and closed my eyes. Waiting is going to be the end of me.
***Sneak Peek***
Truth & Consequences
Boston Latte
Book Two
Chapter One
The beeping pulled me from a deep, dreamless slumber. I was slow to open my eyes, hesitantly observing the small hospital room.
“Welcome back,” he whispered, his voice tickling the air to my left. I turned to see him, my stiff neck protesting the eager movement.
“What are you doing here?”
He leaned forward in the small vinyl recliner next to my uncomfortable bed. “I wanted to check on you. They sedated you again.”
“You’re reading my medical file now?”
His laughing response sent a sweet rumble through my body, refueling my empty heart. The sound tickled its way through my nerves, calming me.
“No.” He smiled. “I’m just an observer.”
“Who are you, anyway?” I didn’t care if I got a response. I was safe with him. The flurry of my heart, the stillness of my mind, it all preached that I was safe, I was secure. I knew it.
“Me? I’m a nobody,” he whispered in a sigh, his smile quickly fading as footsteps trailed into the room. His posture stiffened while he stood to acknowledge the intruder with a brisk nod.
“Sir,” the intruder announced. It hurt my neck too much to turn in the direction of the door, but I needed to know. Through a burning ache, I peered over the covers to my right. His back was to me, his body encased in gray sweatpants and a white thermal shirt. The man who entered, greeting my stranger so formally, engaged in a whispered conversation, a secretive communication just inside the doorway. The mindless movement of his left hand tugging against his right sleeve distracted my gaze and pulled my attention to the scattered art along his muscular forearm.
“Aideen, Aideen.” A nurse squeezed through the two men. “You’re awake, doll! And you have visitors…again.”
“I was just leaving.” His voice softly tore through the air, pulling at my heart. Why? The nurse leaned across my stomach, adjusting the thin pad cushioning my bottom along the mattress. She hummed something softly, her sweet voice calming my nerves.
“What is that?” I inquired, my eyes still locked on the vacant doorway.
“What? Oh.” She giggled. “Sorry. My granddaughter just discovered those fairytale princess movies. She’s been staying with me for a while.” I listened to her music, my heavy eyelids responding to her syringe in my IV.
&nbs
p; ***
Air was trapped in my throat as fingers bound my mouth, trying to end me. I reached for the hand, struggling to pull the strong grasp from my face. Tears burned my eyes as my breathing refused to return beneath his torture. His skin. It was decorated, designed elaborately with ink. All I could think of as my final breath released from my flaring nostrils was how ironic it was for a man with such a beautiful cross tattoo to kill me.
I woke to a saturated pillow, stained by the silent tears of my nightmare. The increased frequency of bad dreams, their intricate detail, caused damage to my heart. They had the nerve to ruin my sleep once or twice a month since returning from the hospital, but they tormented me almost nightly for the last few weeks. The last three weeks, to be precise.
I couldn’t focus on the dreams. I had a date with the devil, his painfully beautiful smile, and silent voice. I can’t wait. I sat up and looked around, my mind stinging with the eerie silence of being alone in Julian’s home. I didn’t feel right—my mind was numb, my eyes burned from crying through my nightmare, and I was starving. I leaned over the bed and searched through my small purse for the evil smartphone from hell. It was already four; I would certainly meet my maker if I wasn’t ready to pretend to be Julian’s girlfriend by six.
I needed to wash off the day and hopefully burn off every layer of skin exposed to Elliott earlier. That actually happened. Damn. Rubbing my eyes until my vision blurred, I climbed from the mattress and left my room, crossing the quiet hall toward the bathroom. The white marble felt intrusive, blindingly bright against my aching heart. I’m going on a date with Julian tonight. A date. A faux date. I want to throw up.
Stepping from the shower, I wrapped my vulnerable body inside a plush white towel that dangled from a marble hook near the sink. I secured the fabric around me and quickly flew from the bathroom, stepping into the perceived safety of my room. My room. Ugh.
It was nearing half past five, and I was dripping wet, dressed in a towel. It was time to scour through the overstuffed closet Maureen prepared. What do rich people wear to the theatre? Sapphires. But I can’t wear just that. I’ll die.
I poked my head into the closet, blinded by the price tags. The first dress that gained my attention was bright red, sticking out from the muted shades of blue, black, and cream like a flame. I was afraid to touch it, worried my fingers would melt the expensive fabric. Expensive is right. Holy Buddha. The price tag dangling from the wooden hanger informed me I was in possession of a dress costing nearly nine thousand dollars. Nine. Thousand. I’m going to repeat that to myself. Nine. Thousand. Dollars. Nine thousand dollars! For a dress! It was gorgeous. A bright, fiery red chiffon gown with a sweetheart neckline decorated with delicate red lace flowers that climbed to precious capped sleeves. Nine thousand dollars. I didn’t even know how to put that dress on. Do I climb in, go from the bottom, call for help?
I decided going in from the bottom would be the easiest option. I lifted the fabric above me, shimmying while it cascaded around me to the hardwood floor. I picked up the bottom and scampered back into my room, one hand secured around my damp hair in fear it would stain the precious fabric. The long mirror opposite the dresser betrayed me. I fit the part. I would secure my role in that dress. The bright crimson hugged my curves in a gorgeous way that left me in awe of my own reflection. I’ll show him. Damn Molloy.
I reached for the tag that fell to the floor with its hanger, scoffing at the cost and designer name. I’ll show him. I wiggled from the fabric, careful to gently place it atop my bed, and quickly returned to the closet for a small package of cosmetics Maureen included in the supply of goods she deemed necessary. The package swelled with foundation, blush, eyeliner, mascara, all sure to cost more than my rent. I didn’t wear makeup in reality, so I had no idea what to do with anything other than the pencil of black eyeliner and tube of black mascara. I secured my dripping hair in a towel and returned to the mirror with my makeup.
While I precisely stroked the pencil along my eyelid, my mind was distracted by how a routine task like putting on makeup felt so disturbingly intimate. It was something I did in my own bathroom, inside my own apartment, with nobody watching, or no ridiculously handsome and unpredictable landlord expected to enter at any minute. Yet there I was, in my towels with half of my face decorated by expensive makeup that Julian Molloy’s sister purchased while I took up residence in his house. Oh, and I also had an uneaten lunch with Liam.
I could only shake my head. I needed to pull myself together or I wouldn’t be able to put on a production. If I let in the thoughts of my dream, the anxious feelings about being there, or the fact my dress cost a fortune, then I wouldn’t be able to function at the theatre. Finish makeup, style hair, put on expensive dress, and wait. Shoes! There was a pair of high, nude heels in Maureen’s supply that I would wear. Simple enough.
I stood in front of the mirror for fifteen minutes, debating how to best move within the glorious confines of the nine thousand dollar dress, when I heard the beep of Julian’s alarm disabling. At the quick sound of the front door sealing, announcing his return, my heart dove into my feet. I needed to remember that no matter how sparkly his teeth were or how it made me feel when he held me on the sidewalk, Julian Molloy was just another manipulative, secretive, elitist, possibly criminal. In the midst of reminding myself to breathe, the voluntary functioning of my body slipping into paralysis as I listened to his methodic footsteps, I slowly crept into my closet and shut the door. I just need two more minutes before I face him. Two more minutes.
It felt like an eternity. My stomach cramped, fingers trembled. Why am I so nervous? Jesus and Buddha. This is not how I react to this man. I need to be on top of my game. I fanned my fingers to wiggle free the nerves and held my head high upon leaving the closet. The mirror reflected a stranger, a gorgeous aristocrat-in-training. An ache in my stomach echoed the violent pulse of my rapid heartbeat. And I hadn’t eaten since breakfast…again, with Liam. I was a mess—a mess in a nine thousand dollar dress.
The hall grew eerily quiet. I neared the door when my barren hand reminded me I was explicitly instructed to wear Maureen’s bobble of a ring. I scoured the surface of the dresser, opening the box with shaking fingers before placing the ring on my right ring finger. Take a breath. You’ve been through hell. You can go to the theatre with Julian Molloy. I slowly opened the door, nodding in response to the evil jezebel that was my mind.
“Holy fuck,” Julian snarled, his mouth gaping with surprise as I exited the bedroom and joined him in the hallway.
Startled by his voice and profane language, I caught him standing just outside his bedroom door. His body was tightly restrained in a beautiful ebony tuxedo, the fabric of his bowtie draped loosely around his neck. I could strangle him with that thing, but I needed to make this dress count. His eyes battled with mine, stubbornly refusing to leave while he remained motionless mere feet away.
“That’s what you have to say to me after leaving me on the sidewalk? You’re a fucking gentleman,” I sneered, filling with a violent, wonderful glee on the inside as I realized what an impact the dress made on Julian.
Julian’s inability to close his mouth was worth at least three thousand dollars. Six thousand left to make this purchase count.
“We’re late.” He stiffened, beginning to tie the short silk dangling around his neck. His long fingers skillfully arranged the fabric into a bow against his throat, finalizing the last step in his preparation for our fictitious public appearance as a couple hopelessly in love.
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Acknowledgements
I want to ackno
wledge my friends and family and thank them for the unconditional support they have given my words and dreams. Thank you to my amazing group of creative friends and readers who supported this story from the beginning.
I am incredibly fortunate to work with the Limitless Publishing team on this series. I would like to thank Limitless for believing in me and the editing team for helping me bring Aideen and Julian to life. Thank you to the marketing teams who helped this story find its audience.
About the Author
Fueled by coffee and rainy days, shelves of books consuming her home in the Pacific Northwest, and a vivid imagination, Fiona writes about love because she believes the world needs more of it. She could spend eternity lost in a story, taken into someone’s thoughts while she is left lingering there long after the pages have turned. Fiona works to meld themes in the current world and spin them into stories of longing, determination, and hope. Her characters are relatable and relevant, as they battle their own fictional version of existence.
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