Now it’s my turn. I can’t say that what I feel for Ana is love in the truest sense, not yet. But it’s enough to make me set everything aside in search of her. What would that be called?
Obsession? Infatuation? Desire?
I don’t know, and I’m past caring.
The reception is elegant and beautiful, held at the Plaza Hotel in downtown Manhattan, but I have a hard time taking pleasure in any part of it. My thoughts are firmly on Ana, so much so that it’s hard to focus on anything else, including what Saoirse is saying to me. As the main course for dinner is passed out—delicately braised lamb with a pairing of garlic potatoes and fresh greens—Saoirse lays her hand on my arm, clearly trying to get my attention.
Her nails are painted a shade darker than her skin tone. Elegant and simple. In keeping with what Saoirse was raised to be—a lady fit for a man of my status to marry. Out of my league, really, since I was never meant to be the heir. It should be my brother Connor sitting here with Saoirse’s hand on his arm, her green eyes fixed on him. Then I’d be a free man.
Free to look for Ana. Free to do whatever I like with her—sleep with her, marry her, anything I please.
If you weren’t the leader of the Kings, you wouldn’t have been there to meet her in the first place. Connor would have gone to Russia, and you would have stayed behind.
I’m not in the mood for what makes sense just now, though.
“Liam.” Saoirse’s soft voice drifts towards me. “You seem very far away.”
“I’m just distracted.” I cut into the buttery lamb, which falls apart under my fork, but it tastes like cardboard on my tongue even though it’s cooked by a five-star chef.What is Ana eating? Is she being fed well? Is the man who bought her taking care of her, or is he starving her, taking pleasure in making her rely on him? Would a man who paid a hundred million dollars for a woman starve her?
I grit my teeth, forcing the obsessive thoughts back. This does no one any good, and I know it. I feel as if I’m going mad, and that won’t help Ana or myself or anyone connected with this. I need to keep my wits about me, however difficult that might be just now.
Saoirse picks at her food too, but I think it’s more from anxiety about my mood than a desire to seem dainty. At least, I hope so. The thought that she might be eating lightly in an effort to seem ladylike and delicate irritates me even more, and I focus on my own meal, doing my best to engage in the conversation with Luca. Sofia seems to notice my mood and manages to divert Saoirse’s attention, for which I’m grateful.
I barely make it through the dessert course before I start to feel claustrophobic, the tie at my throat too tight, the air too thick. As the music increases in volume, Viktor and Caterina getting up from their table to dance, I push myself to my feet. Saoirse looks up at me hopefully, and I know that she’s thinking that I plan to ask her to dance as well when the floor opens up, but nothing could be further from my mind right now.
“I just need some air,” I say quickly, ignoring the hurt expression on her face as I turn sharply on my heel, striding out towards the nearest balcony.
It’s blessedly empty, and I go to the railing, clenching my fists around it as I look out over the city. It’s glowing in the darkness, the usual glorious Manhattan view. I’d always appreciated it, more expansive and voluminous than Boston ever is. There’s a small country’s worth of people down there, living their lives, going about their business, unaware of the man standing several floors up, contemplating the reckless decision he’s on the cusp of making.
It’s almost soothing in a way to think of how many people are just beyond me in this city, with their own joys and angers and griefs and hurts, their own wins and losses, a million and a half people with their own complex lives. People who think their problems are every bit as important as I do, and it puts it a bit in perspective somehow, making all that I have weighing on my mind feel smaller.
Still, I wonder what any of them would do if they faced what I am right now. I’ve known Ana for a matter of days, for hours within those days, if I’m being honest. But something about her has sunk into me, slipped into my blood and bones, and wrapped its fingers around my heart, and I can’t let her go. I want her to be saved, and I want to be the man who does it.
It can’t be anyone else. It has to be me. I feel that down to the depths of my soul, in a way that I know I’ll regret it to my deathbed if I leave this to someone else. Even if I come back and have to marry Saoirse, even if Ana wants no part of me, I can’t let someone else do this.
I have to be the one who finds her.
“Liam?” Niall’s voice carries across the balcony towards me, and I tense automatically, turning slightly to see my right hand coming to join me at the balcony railing. “Feeling a bit under the weather, lad?”
“Just a lot on my mind.” I look back out over the city as Niall digs in his trouser pocket for a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and holding it out to me. I shake my head, and he shrugs, flicking the lighter and breathing in the smoke before blowing it out away from me.
“I’ve never smoked, you know that.” I glance at him as he puffs on it once more, leaning his elbow on the railing.
“Never a bad time to start, lad.” Niall grins. “Ah, I take that back. Ye’re father would have my hide for saying such a thing, God rest his traitorous soul.” His face goes serious then, settling into lines as he looks at me pensively. “There’s a lovely lass out there looking a bit hurt that ya haven’t asked her to dance yet.”
I press my lips together thinly, looking away from Niall. “You know, at thirty-one, you’re not so old as to be acting like my father; for all that, I don’t have one any longer.”
“Nah, not your father, lad. Ye’re older brother, I think, since that one’s faffed off as well.” Niall doesn’t look away from me, his amber gaze steady. It’s a thing I’ve often appreciated about him, how he doesn’t fear me, nor did he ever fear my father or brother. He has strong values and sticks to them, a man of fierce loyalty and commitment. But just now, it’s getting a bit irritating.
“I don’t need you to talk to me about Saoirse. I’ve heard enough on that count.”
“Have you, lad?” Niall puffs once more on the cigarette and then flicks it over the railing, leaning hard on one elbow as he laces his fingers in front of him. “Because what I see is a perfectly lovely girl being comforted by a woman she hardly knows, because the man who ought to be her fiancé is off mooning over some girl he’s barely met.”
“I’ve barely met Saoirse,” I retort. “I don’t know her any better than I know Ana. And yet you’d tell me to marryher.”
“Aye, lad,” Niall says quietly. “I’d tell you that because it’s what’s best for the family, for the Kings, for all that your father and brother and all the others have worked so hard for, for generations.” He goes silent for a moment, and I can feel his gaze resting heavily on me, taking in how tense and irritable I clearly am.
“It’s a fuckin’ sin what happened to that girl,” Niall says finally, his voice low and gruff. “I don’t fault you for wanting to go after her. Any decent man would want to do so. Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, I want to do the same. But the best I can do is tell you what I have before. Make it a stipulation of the peace for Viktor to use all his resources to find her. Let him exorcise his guilt that way. It’s his doing and not yours that put that poor lass into those hands.”