“I came here for counsel, and you—”
“No, you didn’t.” Max refills my glass. “You came here to vent, and two pairs of ears are better than one for that. Liam here told Saoirse he’s breaking things off,” he adds, glancing in Niall’s direction. “Just to get you up to speed.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Niall shakes his head, taking a healthy gulp of his own drink. “I take it she was none too pleased?”
“None,” I confirm. “She said she’d give me a chance to think over the consequences.”
“As well you should.” Niall shakes his head. “You’ve gone on with this for a while, Liam, but surely you must be starting to see—”
“I don’t think he is,” Max says, leaning back once more. “How are you feeling about all of this, Liam?”
“Like I’m going bloody fucking insane.” I rub one hand over my face, tossing back the rest of my whiskey and refilling the glass myself. “Saoirse is the proper choice. I know that. She was raised to be the wife of a King. She’s beautiful, stubborn as hell, and tough as Irish hardtack. She’d withstand anything and come out of it without a hair out of place. But she’s not the woman I love. I love—”
“Ana,” Max says.
“The ballerina,” Niall says it flatly, in tandem with Max.
“Yes.” I glare at them both, but as I take another sip of my whiskey, I feel some of the frustration leaking out of me, replaced by utter exhaustion. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want her. But God almighty, it’s so fuckinghard. I don’t know that it’s supposed to be this hard, this much of a fight.” I take another long drink, tilting my glass back, and Max refills it without my asking. “It would be easy with Saoirse.Tooeasy, I think.”
“So you want Ana because she’s a challenge?” Niall frowns.
“I want Ana because I love her. I love her—and I have no explanation for why. We barely know each other. She’s wrong for me in every way—she’s Russian, the daughter of an executed Bratva brigadier, physically broken, mentally unwell in a number of ways, and yet—” I let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into the couch. “I fucking love her, and I don’t know how to stop. And if I send her back to New York and marry Saoirse—”
I break off, looking at the two men who are now watching me with just a glimmer of sympathy—Max more so than Niall.
“I’ll bloody regret it for the rest of my life, and I know I will.”
“If that’s the case, then—” Max starts to say, but I’m not finished talking.
“Is this the right thing, though?” I look at him, shaking my head. “I said I came here for counsel, and this is it. Is this good for either of us? Should I marry Saoirse, regardless of what I want, of what I’ll regret or feel, and do what’s expected of me?”
“You love her, right?” Max looks at me appraisingly. “Ana?”
“Aye.” I tilt my glass back again. “But I’m not sure if it’s enough.”
Max leans forward. “So love her. Don’t just try to fuck her. Take her out. Try to woo her. Show her who you are—who youreallyare, and discover that in her as well. And then you’ll know if it’s real, lasting love—if it’s worth risking all of this for.”
“Well said.” Niall tilts his glass towards Max. “Say, you’re a former priest, right?”
“Once upon a time.” Max glances at him, taking another sip of his own whiskey? “So?”
“Have you ever actually been with a woman?”
I glance at Max, curious. I don’t actually know the answer—for all that I’ve spent plenty of time with the man over the last weeks, there are certain things he’s kept to himself, and I can hardly fault him for it.
Max grins. “No,” he says, draining the last of his glass. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know anything about them.”
---
When I’d left Max’s hotel, I’d been well and truly drunk. I’d come home to find Ana in bed, her lights off and her asleep, and I’d retreated to my own room and the questionable pleasure of my hand, as much as I’d wanted to wake her up and sink myself into her. Drunk as I was, it had been hard to resist the urge, but I couldn’t stand the thought that she might wake up from her half-sleep and see Alexandre there instead of me. I couldn’t stand the thought of her calling out for him again, so I’d left her alone, choosing to take care of the problem myself. On the one night that I would have preferred to actually have the problem of whiskey dick, my cock seemed insistent on remaining as hard as ever just at the thought of her.
I’m up and gone before she’s awake in the morning, thanks to a call that I’d gotten on my way back from Max’s. Much to my displeasure, Luca called me to let me know that he and Viktor were on their way to Boston and expected to meet with me bright and early in the morning. From the tone of his voice, I didn’t expect it to be a pleasant meeting, and I could guess what it was likely to be about.
Sofia had come to stay with Ana after the debacle with Saoirse for a few days, and while I’m grateful that Ana wasn’t left all alone while she struggled, at least not for the entire week, that also means that Luca has likely gotten wind of the situation—and passed it on to Viktor.
Like it or not, my decisions affect them as well, thanks to the alliance. It’s clear that I’ve been avoiding those consequences that Saoirse mentioned as long as I could, and now the crows have come home to nest.
I’m presentable when I arrive, though my head is aching from too much whiskey the night before. Luca and Viktor are already waiting for me, seated on either side of the head of the table, the meeting room otherwise empty.