Chapter Thirteen

I could tell he was nervous when he came to pick me up. I wasn’t. I couldn’t pin down why I wasn’t nervous. Perhaps because the whole thing seemed unreal. Something almost silly. Like going to his parents to ask for his hand in marriage. Or that the whole conversation would somehow boil down to a gruff, “so what are your intentions with my nephew?” 

I wore regular old work clothes. Blouse and skirt and pumps. Still wearing his collar of course. It had raised no eyebrows. Occasionally someone had given me a compliment or said it was unusual. But no one knew, of course, what it meant between just Declan and I. I had craned my neck and flipped the collar upward against my flesh to show Becky the MINE engraved on it. Which made her squeal and tease. But no one else knew, obviously. 

He, too, was in work clothes– an ash-gray suit. Just the usual office wear for him. His silver watch. Hair carefully combed. As per usual, he had both hands on the wheel. But the skin over his knuckles was pulled tight. And the skin across his cheekbones was white.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked, laying a hand on his knee.

He laughed weakly, shrugging. I wished I could read him a bit better, he was still wearing his dark sunglasses. 

“Seriously, Declan– what’s the worst that can happen? He asks us to break up?”

“I’m worried, right now, about him interrogating you,” he said, sounding thoughtful. Actually considering what it was that was making him anxious. It was something that helped me when I was facing the unknown. 

“Like strapping me to a chair and hitting me?” I asked it with a joking tone but I’d never seen him wound up like this.

“Oh, no, no, he’s not like that,” he said. “Remember, at the end of the day, he is a businessman. He was a bruiser as a young man. And certainly violent. But so was I, after all. You hit and bite and claw until you can wash your hands clean and sit behind a desk. No, more… Just… For reasons both personal and business he’s made a study of people. He’s incredibly astute. And some would call him nosy. And I know… I know people prying into your life is not… Happy or comfortable for you.” 

“Oh,” I said. 

I was picturing another terrible conversation with Kieran. Just with someone older and more patient, with absolutely no misguided feelings of tenderness toward me. 

As we rolled up to the gate, they swung open. Unsure whether it was some motion or pressure sensor, or if it was because we were expected. 

Right on the opposite side of the gate were two guard stations. One right inside and to the left. One a few yards further up, buried in the white hydrangeas on the opposite side. 

We were waved through at the first. At the second, the guard knocked on my window. I glanced over at Declan. He nodded at me and I rolled it down. The man leaned far into my window. If I moved forward a few inches and just pursed my lips I’d be able to kiss his cheek.

“‘Lo, Hound,” he said. 

“Afternoon, Mr. Kenney,” Declan said mildly. “This is the boss’s six o’clock I have with me.” 

The guard looked at me more closely. Not making a face, raising a brow or letting anything go across his eyes. I could smell his aftershave and cologne. I wanted to throw my head back against the headrest but didn’t want to look like a coward either. 

“Unusual little six o’clock,” he muttered. 

Finally, he withdrew from the window. I rolled it back up, breathing a sigh of relief to have my space back to myself. Suddenly slightly offended to be called “little.” 

The drive swept in a generous curve against the front door. Truly, it must have been one of the steel baron homes. Standard Tudor. Half-timbered, half-brick. The second floor timbered and overhanging the first. A chimney with multiple flues. But all painted pure white– both wood and brick. There were many diamond-paned windows, the doors and window frames were black. There was no number on the house, nor on the gate or any other place. There were three men standing around. Two by the door, one wandering up and down the drive.

Declan waved to them. They nodded in return. One close to the front door opened it for us. Glancing at me briefly but without interest.

Inside it was surprisingly light. The sun was going down but it spilled through all the windows. The white theme continued. The bulk of the furnishings white. The wood all light pine instead of the dark-stained wood I would have assumed would come part and parcel with such a house. We walked through a wide and silent foyer. Going down a hallway that was lined with chairs and wooden benches. Walking by two other men. One appeared to be another guard. The other was someone nervously waiting for an audience, it appeared. Balancing a briefcase across his lap, his knees bouncing, his forehead shiny. That made me a little anxious. But we just walked right by him and Declan knocked at a door.

“Yes?” was cheerily called from the other side.

We walked in and the man sitting behind an enormous desk stood up. His desk reminded me of the prow of a ship. It was simply huge, seeming to almost take up even this large office. This probably hadn’t even been an office, but a formal dining room or maybe company parlor at one point. 

For a moment I was almost frozen. The likeness between him and Declan was startling. For simply uncle and nephew they easily could have been father and son. Connor’s hair was far more gray. But I could see they’d even started to go gray in the same places– over their left ear, their left temple and a few inches above it. They were built similarly– broad of shoulder and chest. His uncle may have been a few inches shorter than him, but it was tough to say for sure. He projected both strength and height in such a way that he seemed monstrous. Even wearing their suits tailored the same way– wearing the same watchmaker, both in silver with a black face. 

“Hello, sir,” I said, holding out my hand to shake. “I’m Poppy J–”

“Yes, Miss. Jones,” he said, shaking briefly and punishingly hard. “Connor Quinn.” 

He gave me a long up and down. The silence in the room was deafening as he did so. I felt like he was taking note of everything about me. Somehow seeing that I had flat feet, dry hair, a thrifted belt, that I painted my own nails. I felt silly for wearing my usual rose-red lipstick. Childish in my violet-based perfume. I should have just arrived nude for how deeply he looked through me now. 

He gestured suddenly to the chairs opposite. Declan handed me into one and then sat himself. I watched as he did. He had his at-ease face on. But he was sitting with both feet firmly planted on the white carpet ahead of us. If he was truly at ease his left ankle would be up on his right knee. His fingers were laced together, and he leaned slightly forward over his lap. 

I took a breath and stared back at Mr. Quinn. Trying to take stock of him like he did of me. Seeing where they were like and where they weren’t. Both with the same darker-than-they-ought to be eyes. Exceptionally wide and strong looking hands. His eyes pinched more at the corners though. He had a sparkle that reminded me of someone else in them as well. Realizing it was Kieran’s bright and dangerous glints. Like little fires going off behind them– that would have seemed charming and good-natured were it not usually happening when he was threatening. 

I smiled back at him easily. A grown Kieran. A businessman.

“Green-eyed gal,” he remarked, to the room at large, not to either one of us. “Are y’Irish, girl?”

“Possibly,” I shrugged. “I don’t have a firm grasp on my roots, nor a particular interest.” 

“We’ll call you so, then,” he said. “You certainly have the look of an Irish rose.”

“Thank you for the compliment, sir,” I said. 

“I never thought you one for having a passel of redheaded brats,” he said at Declan.

Declan shifted, shrugging. I’d never seen him so uncomfortably quiet.

“We’re not quite at the passel of brats, sir,” I said, directing his attention back to me. When his shark-eyes flashed back to me, I was nervous. But then I remembered how Declan and Kieran could both do that laser-bright thing. And how dark and frightening Declan’s eyes used to be. Thinking how there was no real power there.

“Before there are brats, there’s usually dating. Followed by a proposal and a wedding. And then, perhaps, an absolute bevy of redheaded brats,” I said. Careful to keep sarcasm out of my voice.

Connor laughed briefly. Eyes flashing still. I was almost waiting for him to call me ‘sweetheart’ like Kieran did when he was angry. 

“Is that what you’re hopin’ for?” Connor asked. 

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’m desperately in love with Declan. I’d like to spend time with him. And get married to him. Not particularly interested in the army of children. But I want him.” 

Suddenly, Declan relaxed beside me. His arms opened up, resting on the arms of the chair. The tension seemed to spiral out of his spine through the top of his head. 

“Your family has caused my family some trouble in my past, darlin’,” Connor said. 

“My family has caused me some trouble in my past, sir,” I said. “I intend for no further trouble from them or for myself. I’m just a woman in love.”

“You say ‘just a woman in love’ like it’s so simple,” he said thoughtfully. “As though a woman or love is ever simple. Perhaps it’s not. Perhaps you’re more of a Jones than a woman. More a Jones than a lover. More Jones than in love.” 

“Do you think your nephew so dumb as to fall for a vengeful honeypot?” I asked, mimicking his faux-thoughtful tone. Declan tensed beside me.

“I think you’re lovely enough to make a man downright idiotic,” Connor said. 

“When the time comes, I won’t be a Jones, I’ll be a Quinn,” I said.

Crossing my legs, raising my chin and meeting his eye. 

He laughed again.

“Smart gal, quick gal,” he said. “All right, fuck off w’you, the two of you. I got things to ‘tend to.” 

“Good night, Uncle Cono,” Declan said quietly, taking my hand and lifting me from my chair. I didn’t break eye contact with Connor for a long moment, though. Declan started steering me back to the door. 

“Dec,” Connor said when Declan’s hand was on the doorknob. I felt Declan’s hand spasm on mine. “Take the woman out for dinner. Get her some roses to match.” 

I grinned ferociously at the door. Feeling triumphant. Not just because I’d gotten what I wanted, or because I’d held my own and not fawned. But because I’d been upgraded from girl to woman as well. Silly, but winning. 

We went back down the hall. He was sort of hurrying me. But once we got past the office guard and the waiting appointment, he spun me around to him. Hooking his index finger around the front of my collar and pulling me in for a kiss. 

“Smart gal, quick gal,” he mimicked, close to my face.

We both laughed quietly and I kissed him again. 

He took me home but stayed with me that night. Far more relaxing and longer feeling than ever before. 

And the next day after work he came by and picked me up. Bringing me out to dinner. Bearing an array of roses, as told. We laughed but I just felt grateful. 

Chapter Fourteen

We tried to meet up at least once a week. Often for dinner. Always spending the night. At his place or mine. Becoming accustomed to sleeping and waking together. He didn’t like drip coffee, he loved scalding hot showers– which was good, I did too. He liked to linger over dinner. Coffee afterward, usually dessert. Dinner at home with him could take hours. He slept hot and kicked off blankets– that was fine, I liked to be totally wrapped up in them. He continued to like it best for us to read together. Me between his legs, my back to his chest, holding up the book for both of us. After dinner, he wanted to curl into a couch and read three or so chapters together. Then we’d talk in bed about it. 

It became pretty well known in the office that I was dating a Quinn. In part because Becky was very obviously dating Kieran. Or, they’d gone on a few dates. And he continued to send flowers. She seemed to be having fun. But as per usual, she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. At least it got Sarita off my back as to signing them as a client. 

One afternoon Declan was idling outside the office as I left. I hopped in happily. 

“Dinner, Puppy?” he asked.

“Yes, please, positively dying,” I said. 

He always chose where we went. I didn’t care. It was nice to be able to let my brain go quiet with him. We’d just talk about reading or the neighborhood as he drove smoothly to one restaurant or another. We were drinking coffee, sharing a bowl of gelato when he popped a finger toward the ceiling. Finishing his bite as he reached into his jacket pocket. 

“I nearly forgot,” he said, palm over whatever he’d withdrawn, sliding it across the table to me. “I got you something to match the collar the other day.”

My heart went quite still over the small jewelry box. He just took another sip of his coffee waving a “go on” hand at me.

Of course a ring– of course in gold.

“You said you wanted one,” he said. “I thought I ought to provide.”

Of course I wanted to lunge across the table, end in his lap, crying and kissing him. But I wasn’t one to make a scene in public. It could wait until we got home. So instead I just grabbed both of his hands hard in my own.

“Yes,” I said. 

“I wasn’t asking, Puppy,” he said, flashing his teeth at me. 

I almost did lunge at him at that point. 

We knew we wouldn’t be allowed a small wedding and reconciled ourselves to that fact. That it would be in a church. That his side would be overflowing– that mine would essentially be a ghost town. We knew the honeymoon was ours though, and that was good enough. Something cute and well-mirrored that Becky was of course my maid of honor. Kieran his best man. 

She and him were still dating. I’d of course felt her using her softness to curb me and put me in the direction she wanted. Somehow, her blinking and silk hands could move unexpected mountains. Kieran had mellowed considerably under her tutelage. Going to therapy. Going back to school for fine art and art history. His intention– and the way he’d sold it to Connor Quinn– was that he’d be able to do art dealing for the family. I hoped it would be so for him. 

I had been worried at first. Or hoping that Becky would think Kieran was ‘just for fun.’ And she had perhaps intended that. Because, as she said, she asked for sex on the second date. He didn’t acquiesce until the fifth. Everything that irritated or angered me about him delighted her, however. She felt truly wanted and needed by him. For a woman who had been cheated on in the past, of course that felt good. She liked how feminine he made her feel. Stumblingly we commiserated about that feeling of being cradled in violence. What had felt like suffocation to me was mere availability in her eyes. They looked like such a lovely matched pair together. Especially walking around the neighborhood. Her hand confidently wrapped around his upper arm. Looking up at him and never where she was going. When I saw that, him clearly lecturing her, her blinking up at him with her rosy little smile, I sometimes wondered how far off a second wedding was. 

He never had any of that glittering violence about him any more. When we all spent time together, sometimes we talked seriously. About our mothers. How I felt so separate from the reality of her, I never thought of her at all. How he would look for her everywhere. We talked about the neighborhood. We talked about school and being lonely. And then we’d look over at the table at whoever’s home we were in. Seeing Becky and Declan sitting not far from us. Drinking warm drinks, picking at dessert. Cleaning up from our dinners. Becky delightedly poured over bridal magazines, Declan nodding politely. Catching each other’s eyes and knowing how very not alone we were now. 

Glad to be warm and together and simply happy. Unlikely as it was, I was quite suddenly and totally tethered. Known and cared for and anchored. Someone to go home to. People to wake up for. Mending to be done, meals to be made, conversations to be had. And so grateful for all of those things.

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