Stolen Hearts

by M. O’Keefe

  “That’s fine. Will you join me?”

  Who the fuck was this guy? “In straight whiskey? No.” I pulled out a bottle of fizzy water. The last time I had a drink in front of this guy things went off the rails real fast. Of course, they went off the rails the second time when I was sober-ish. Nope. I was going to keep my wits about me.

  “I swear to you, Poppy. I will not touch you,” he said, like he could read my mind.

  But, I thought, did I want him to touch me?

  “Here,” I said and handed him the bottle and the glass from the credenza, and I sat down in my chair and twisted off the top of the water.

  “So,” I said. “You were about to explain why you’ve been such an asshole.”

  “Well.” He sat with his drink in the chair across from my desk. He looked so dark in this bright room. But oddly right, like he gave this space contrast and balance. “Let’s not get confused. Part of me being an asshole, you liked well enough.”

  Was this . . . was he teasing me? All his danger was turned down to some flirty comradery. Like we were at a reunion, “remember when I called you pathetic and made you come so hard your brain broke? Good times.”

  Except I wasn’t going to give him that. I wasn’t going to give him anything.

  “I don’t like anything about you, Ronan.”

  “Well, it’s easier to surrender when you can hate the person forcing you to do it,” he said, looking out the windows at the city.

  “There is not one situation I can imagine where you give up control,” I said.

  “I don’t know,” he said, his eyes still on the clouds, birds making their way across town. “The priests were fond of my surrender.”

  Oh. Right. Now I felt foolish. “I’m sorry,” I felt compelled to say.

  “Being hurt by people who were supposed to care for us is something we have in common,” he said. When he finally turned to look at me, I was startled to be caught staring at him.

  “You’re talking about my husband?” I said. “I don’t know if he was ever supposed to care for me.”

  “Millennia of married people would say otherwise.”

  “I think a millennia of married people probably prove my point.”

  “My god, Poppy, are you trying to convince me that you’re jaded?”

  “Are you trying to convince me you’re a romantic?”

  “No chance of that,” he said with a laugh and another sip of his whiskey. “You were so young when I met you at that party. And when I found out who you were and what—” he licked his lips, and my stomach coiled with some intense emotion, “—was happening to you. I was angry, and there was nothing I could do about it. So, it was easier to be angry with you.”

  I opened my mouth. Shut it. No one had been so honest with me in years. Not even my sister. Not even Caroline.

  “That’s awful,” I said for the lack of anything better to say.

  “I know.”

  There was a knock at the door and a stranger’s voice saying “hello.”

  “Food,” Ronan said. He set his whiskey down and went to go answer the delivery guy, while I sat there reeling. Was this true? I wondered. Was this version of him real? Why would he lie? Why would he feign kindness? Or vulnerability?

  All those questions did was convince me further that I should leave. Grab my coat. Lock up and let him have his dinner alone. I was at the very start of something exciting in this office, and he’d already changed the whole dynamic of the place with his honesty and his dark good looks.

  If I wanted something to be mine, then I had to make it. I had to make choices. Hard ones. I put my coat on. Put the bottle of whiskey back in the credenza. Shoved files into my briefcase. I’d call Theo and tell him to pull—

  Ronan came back into the room carrying two plastic bags, surrounded by the most delicious smells of garlic and fresh herbs. Butter. My stomach growled. My resolve weakened.

  “You’re leaving?” he said.

  “I think it’s best,” I said.

  “It’s just food,” he said, and I realized my face must register my distrust. “It’s here and you’re hungry. I’ll leave.”

  “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me,” I told him.

  “That’s not true. But I will leave you to eat in peace.” He set the bags down on the edge of the desk, and the smells were even more delicious.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Spanish food. From a place down the corner.”

  “You like Spanish food?”

  “There are a lot of things about me you don’t know,” he said.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. How dramatic could I be.

  “Sit,” I said. “You’re hungry, too.”

  His smile was a flash, and in that flash I saw what he must have been like when he was younger. When there was something grateful and happy left in him. “I’m not going to lie,” he said. “I’m starving.”

  He started to take out the boxes, opening them to reveal paella with juicy black-shelled mussels, grilled octopus, flaky manchego cheese, and roasted red peppers. Pale almonds and bright green olives. He set out napkins and plastic utensils. There were bottles of water. And what looked like a to-go cup of coffee.

  “Here,” he said, handing me a paper plate while I stood there staring at the feast he made happen. For me. I mean, for us, sure. But . . . for me. “What’s wrong? You don’t like Spanish?”

  “No,” I said. “I love it.” My mouth was actually watering. “I’m just grateful. Thank you.”

  Again, that half smile from him. That sparkle in the corner of his eye, the way he ducked his head as he scooped up the rice and seafood covered in aioli and fresh bright green herbs.

  I sat down and took some cheese, olives, and bread.

  “So, you’re going to be the executive director of the foundation,” he said, sitting back with octopus and a mound of saffron yellow rice, flecked with fresh green peas. “Are you excited?”

  “Nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not—” I almost said ‘qualified’ but I wasn’t going to reveal that to him. He already knew too much. “It’s just been a while since I’ve worked.”

  “Did you always want to work with charities?”

  “No.” I laughed. “I wanted to teach fifth grade.”

  “A teacher!”

  “Does it seem so ridiculous?”

  “Not at all. Why fifth?”

  “Because Mrs. Jordal was my fifth-grade teacher, and she was the best teacher ever. And I like the age. Not little kids, but not yet teenagers.”

  “So? Why aren’t you a teacher?”

  I thought back to the conversation I’d had with the senator.

  “I need you to be my wife. To travel with me. To manage functions and throw parties. You can’t teach school and be the wife of a senator.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “There are plenty of senator’s wives who keep—”

  “You can run the foundation, if you feel like being my wife isn’t enough for you.”

  “Jim,” I said, putting my hand on the desk between us. “That’s not what I mean—”

  So fast, like a snake, Jim lifted the hard-backed book in front of him and smashed it down on my hand.

  “Poppy?”

  I blinked. Flexed the fingers of the hand he’d hurt. There’d been no broken bones, but I hadn’t been able to hold anything in that hand for a week. And the bruise had been purple and green for even longer.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I got married.” I shrugged like that explained everything. Like a shrug could encapsulate the slow shrinking of my world.

  “And you stopped wanting to teach?”

  I set down my fork, feeling heckled by his questions. “What about you? Did you always want to be a . . . whatever you are for rich people?”

  He smiled and then laughed. “No. I wanted to be a priest.” My mouth hung open. “When I was little and where I was from the priests had a lot of power. And if it was get
hurt or hurt someone, I reckoned I’d rather not be hurt.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you as a priest.”

  He took a bite of rice and shrugged. I ate yet another piece of cheese.

  “How did you end up working for Caroline?”

  I was watching so I saw it, the tiny freeze. The way he set down his fork and instead of feeding himself he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “She was in the UK, and I did some work for her there.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Solving some problems with oil companies.”

  “Are you a lawyer?”

  That made him laugh. “A negotiator.”

  I didn’t exactly know what that meant, but I nodded like I did.

  “For what it’s worth,” he said, sitting back in his chair, the plate he’d made for himself empty. “I think you’d be a great teacher.”

  “Why?” I laughed. “Nothing you know about me has anything to do with teaching.” I blushed as I said it. He knew outrageous things about me.

  “You’re patient. And kind. Empathetic. Intelligent. You understand the value of small braveries.” I set down my plate, my fingers suddenly shaking. “And you’re beautiful. Which I think probably goes a long way with children.”

  I stood up because I didn’t know what else to do. “I . . . ah . . . I have to go,” I said.

  “Because I called you beautiful?” he asked.

  And smart and kind and the small braveries thing. All of it. I hadn’t been paid a compliment in years, and that was too many.

  Too much. Just like him.

  Even if they were lies, they were the kindest lies someone had told me in so long.

  “This was lovely, really,” I said. I started shoving leftovers and dirty plates in bags. Cleaning up so I didn’t have to look at him. “And I’m glad we can put all that other stuff behind us. And maybe be friends?” Though honestly, I couldn’t imagine that. It would be like being friends with a wild animal. Something vicious and unpredictable. I’d done that already. I’d married a monster whose moods made me bleed.

  “Stuff?” he said. “Friends? Are you talking in code?”

  I saw him stand up out of the corner of my eye and abandoned the cleaning up to step back. Away.

  “Poppy? What did I say?”

  I forced myself to look at him. A small bravery. “What do you really want?” I asked, suddenly seeing through this all so well. So clearly. This was just another game. Kindness and dinner instead of cruelty and sex.

  He took a breath and gave me a heartbreaker’s smile. Devastating. “When I met Caroline,” he said. “I was wild. Absolutely wild. I’d run from the school and was doing awful things, awful things for a gang in Belfast. And I tried to rob her. Not like a snatch and grab but, I tried to.” He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s so embarrassing. But I tried to charm her. I sat next to her in a hotel bar, pretending to be some kind of nob. I bought her a martini, and I don’t think I was old enough to drink. But, I got her purse and legged it. Got halfway down the block before one of her men grabbed me, dragged me back to her. She told me I was clever.” His blue eyes pierced mine. “And I clearly wasn’t, but I so badly wanted to be. I wanted to be clever and to belong in that hotel bar. I wanted to be anything but what I was. And her words watered a seed in me, and I decided right then and there that I’d be clever. For her.”

  “That’s a real sweet story, Ronan, but what’s your point?”

  “I was clever. I had to be, to still be kicking, like. But I didn’t believe it until she told me.”

  “You think I need you to tell me I’m smart so I’ll believe it?” I scoffed and he shrugged.

  “I think your husband told you awful lies about yourself and with no one around to tell you different, to remind you that you’re smart and kind and all those other things you are, it was easy to believe him.”

  “Oh, this is rich coming from you.” I didn’t believe him. Because I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk him or this dinner or his kindness. So, I struck out. “You’re a fucking liar—”

  And there he was, his body against mine pressing me to the credenza. He’d moved so fast, dropped the act so fast that I laughed breathlessly.

  Yeah. There you are.

  “Oh my god, your mouth,” he whispered. “Your mouth makes me crazy. You’re like a cat who keeps biting the hand that feeds you. And you don’t seem to realize that you are soft and tiny and inconsequential.” His hand came up to my face. His thumb against my lip, and I bared my teeth and snapped at him.

  He laughed and grabbed my face in that hand, his fingers out of reach of my teeth.

  “I could crush you, Poppy. Absolutely crush you, and I don’t know if you don’t realize it or if you just don’t care.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I lifted my knee to hammer him in the crotch, but that too, he saw coming. And he kicked my feet out wide so I was unstable. He held me up by the grip on my face. The press of his hips against mine.

  “Stop playing these fucking games and tell me what you want,” I snapped.

  “What I want is irrelevant,” he said, almost kissing my lips. Again I tried to bite him, snarling this time. “Stop it and listen to me.” He shook me like a rag doll. “I cannot say this more plain. You need to leave here.”

  “I’m trying, asshole. You’re the one—”

  “New York. Bishop’s Landing, this goddamn foundation. You need to go far, far away.”

  “This is my home.”

  “Is it? Seems to me it’s the place you’ve been used and hurt and lied to. You’ve been tricked and—”

  “Shut up!”

  “You know it’s true, Poppy. You’re gullible but you aren’t stup—”

  “Shut up!” I screamed. And my voice rang and echoed and pierced his expression. I was panting in his arms. Panting.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  And he kissed me. He kissed me like his world was ending. And I was so stunned and scared that I stood there and I let him. I let him kiss me. Ravage me. His hand left my face, curled up into my hair, pulling until it hurt. “I’m sorry,” he said again. Kissing and kissing and kissing me. “Poppy, don’t make the mistakes I’ve made. Don’t—”

  There was a beep of the outer door opening, and Ronan left my body so fast I stumbled, catching myself against the desk.

  “Poppy?” It was Theo.

  This was some kind of total breach of driver etiquette. Never would he have come looking for Jim. Or me, previous to the driving lessons.

  But never in my life had I been so glad to have destroyed protocols. I’d been weakening against Ronan’s mouth. The bittersweet words he’d said. What mistakes had he made? What mistakes was he talking about? Staying when he should go?

  “Back here!” I said and patted down my hair. Straightened my jacket. Without looking at me, Ronan grabbed the garbage from our meal.

  “I’m sorry,” Theo said as he came walking in, a big smile on his face. A smile that disappeared when he saw Ronan. And his face snapped back into that passive employee look that I’d been surrounded by during my marriage.

  Ronan was doing the same.

  It was like they were both in disguise.

  “I got a notification from the alarm company a while ago,” Theo said. “I thought you would have gotten it too, but when you didn’t come down—”

  “Alarm company?” I grabbed my phone from my purse. I’d turned it off after the fight with my sister and then forgotten to turn it back on as I worked.

  There were four missed calls from the alarm company.

  “What’s happened?” Ronan asked, and Theo gave him a sharp look before looking at me. There was a beat of silence before I realized Theo wasn’t going to say anything in front of Ronan unless I told him it was okay.

  Ronan realized this too and stepped forward like he’d take Theo apart with one hand.

  “It’s fine,” I said, holding up my hand like a traffic cop, not su
re if it would stop Ronan. But it did. “You can tell me.”

  “No one has gone inside,” he said. “But . . .” He pulled out his own phone and showed me the screen. There on my back deck was a roaring fire in the fire pit. A dark figure sitting in one of the chairs turned and faced the camera like she knew it was there. Cheekily, the figure waved.

  Zilla.

  “It’s my sister,” I said.

  She drove to my house and sat outside by the fire because we fought.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “I’ll go back downstairs,” Theo said. “The car will be waiting.”

  “Thank you.” And then proving how far I was from kind, from sweet, I turned to Ronan. “Theo, this is Ronan. He works for Caroline.”

  Briefly, Ronan’s eyes met mine, and if he had a reaction to this reestablishment of power, he showed nothing. “Nice to meet you,” Ronan lied.

  “Likewise.” My guess was Theo was lying too. And he lingered, as if afraid to leave us alone together.

  “I’ll be right down,” I said with a smile, easing his departure out the door. I felt undone. By the kiss. By the whole night. And I didn’t know how to manage any of this.

  Once Theo was gone, I gathered my things as Ronan waited by the door.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, and the question brought me up short. His concern brought me up short.

  “Fine.”

  “Your sister—”

  “What about her?” I snapped.

  “Is it a good thing she’s at your house?”

  It felt like he was truly concerned. Worried. And I didn’t trust that for one moment. As much as I might want to. As much as it might be nice to lay down the load that was loving my sister at anyone’s feet but my own.

  Not his, I had to remind myself. Don’t be so stupid.

  “It is,” I said, which was true, but not the whole truth.

  “Good.”

  He waited for me to gather my things and walk out the door, turning the lights off as I went. I set the alarm while he stood in the hallway waiting for me.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I know.”

  At the elevator we stood there, side by side. If I took a deep breath my shoulder would touch his, so I took a tiny step away.