Page 17
Liam
Brioni Rose Timmons is sleeping in my bed. In our bed.
If I stretched out my arm, I could touch her silky braid. Push it gently over her shoulder. She looked so formal, braiding her hair for bed. Especially in her pajamas, her long sleeves and pants, all white ruffles and lace. Old-timey and almost Victorian. But undeniably Brioni.
Following her lead, I put on an undershirt in addition to my usual pajama pants. It feels restrictive compared to sleeping shirtless. But I’ll take a little discomfort if it makes her feel more at ease.
We climbed into opposite sides of the king-sized bed, and I turned off the light. In the dark, we said our goodnights. We’ve said goodnight thousands of times before. I expected this time to feel monumentally different, but it felt natural. Right.
Because she’s mine.
I’ve been awake for hours. Lying here, listening to her sleep, smelling her scent so close to me. She doesn’t toss and turn, but she whimpers occasionally. A sound of fear that tears across my heart. Fucking Harrison. I know he’s the reason for her distress.
If I ever see that bastard again, I’ll kill him. Hacker friends retaliating be damned.
Eventually I must doze off, because I wake up with a raging hard-on when Brioni’s alarm rings.
She wakes up ridiculously early for Mass. As she uses the shower in the bathroom off the gym, I force myself to get out of bed too. She may have had a point about spending the night on the South Side to avoid all the driving back and forth.
But then I wouldn’t have slept beside my Brioni. She would’ve been in her house, and I would’ve been in Mam and Da’s annex, just like before.
And I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before. Ever. Brioni’s with me now, and I’m going to savor every second.
I take my own shower in the en suite. As cold as possible. Although I’ve got myself under control, I’m still distracted by the thought of Brioni only a few walls away. Soaping her naked body in the shower, toweling herself off, then covering up with something modest yet stunning.
I put on a dark suit, a version of the same outfit I always wear to Mass. I don’t bother with a coat. With Brioni at my side, I’m running hot, even as we walk from the Nav toward the church in the chilly morning.
When we reach the front steps, my phone dings with a simple message.
It’s ready.
My lips twitch, but when I see Brioni’s apprehension, I check myself.
“You have to go, don’t you?” She’s trying to put on a brave face, but I can tell she’s worried for me. She knows that urgent business is part of my life, even if we never talk about it.
“I’ll be here to pick you up,” I say.
Her lips are drawn tight as she nods. I want to press my forehead to hers, to hold her face in my palms as I kiss her worries away. Instead, my mind whirs with a different idea. Brioni grips the metal rail tight as we stand on the cement steps. I cover her hand with mine.
“Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” I say, and she blinks in surprise. “Our Michelin place downtown. I’ll make sure we’re photographed, to help everything look real.”
“Real,” she repeats quietly, and she’s back to being nervous.
“I’ll have the place cleared out for us.”
“Don’t do that,” she says quickly. “We don’t need to mess with other people’s dinner plans.” Her concern for others is inconvenient, but touching all the same. My tenderhearted Brioni.
“It’s for your safety,” I say. When she looks hesitant, I frown, because it’s strange she doesn’t understand. Everything I do is for her safety.
“Harrison isn’t going to sneak into a restaurant if you’re with me.”
I clench my fists at the bastard’s name, and Brioni winces.
Cursing myself, I drop my hand from where it’s gripping hers on the rail. I let my anger get the better of me, and I took it out on her without meaning to.
It’s the last time my carelessness will hurt Brioni.
Behind her, other churchgoers stream up the steps, members of our South Side community. Everyone who sees me gives me a nod of respect. I should be nodding back, shaking hands, accepting deference and loyalty. But my focus is all for Brioni.
