Chapter Forty-Seven
Sasha
When I said that I wanted Ronan to stay home with me, I didn’t really think he’d be able to. But he’s been here for four days, and he’s now officially driving me nuts.
Apparently he took everything that was mentioned at the doctor’s appointment as potential red flags. He’s been watching my every movement. Helping me downstairs. Refusing to let me cook. Telling Daisy she’s not allowed to sit near my belly anymore. I drew the line when he tried to install safety grab bars all over the bathroom, citing the potential slip risks.
“Ronan.”
“Aye?” he glances away from his book, his eyes scanning over me like something might be wrong.
“Don’t you have to go back to work?”
He blinks at me. And then frowns. “Do ye not want me here with you?”
“Of course I do,” I answer him. “But I also want things to be normal. I’d rather you got into the routine of running the club now so when I really need you later on, you can be here.”
“I have it all sorted,” he says. “I can be here now.”
“Okay, but…” I blow out a breath. “You need to chill a little, alright?”
“I don’t understand,” he answers.
And I know he really doesn’t.
“I’m okay. The baby’s okay. I know I had a little freak out at the doctor’s office. But I’m good now. I don’t want you to be so worried about everything, alright? It makes me anxious when you do that.”
“But I love you,” is his reply.
And I smile, because… well, Ronan.
I crawl across the sofa and sit down in his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him.
“I love you too, Ronan,” I murmur against him. “You’re lucky you’re adorable. Because sometimes you drive me crazy.”
“Now ye understand how I feel,” he says, cupping my ass in his hands. “I worry about ye all the bleeding time, Sasha. All the time. I don’t know how to make it stop.”
“That’s love,” I answer. “Wait until you meet our baby. It’s only going to get worse.”
He kisses me deep and hard and starts pawing at my body beneath my clothes. And then he’s carrying me down the hall to the bedroom, discarding them along the way. While it took me months to get him naked the first time, now he doesn’t want it any other way. He likes to feel his skin against mine. And I do too.
He makes love to me. It’s still feverish, but gentle too. Even after all this time, it still feels like the first time. He comes inside of me and stays there, kissing all over my face.
“This time next week,” he says. “Ye’re finally going to be my wife.”
***
During the week before our wedding, I spend a lot of time picking out things for the nursery. Ronan goes along wherever I do and never complains. He even puts everything together too.
It shouldn’t surprise me, but he’s very handy at that type of stuff as well. He always reads the instructions three times over before he begins, but once he’s done that he whips all the pieces into shape in no time at all.
I like to watch him do these things. Such simple things. But it’s part of building a life together. Piece by piece.
When I think about marrying him in only five short days, it still feels like a dream. Our life is nowhere near perfect. I’m marrying into the mafia. This world can be dark and chaotic and full of the unknown. But the one thing I know for certain is that with Ronan at my side, we can navigate it together.
I don’t want our pasts to dictate our future. I want to wash away the bad and replace it with good. Which is why I’ve been working on something for him, whenever I can find the time. Ronan’s life has been filled with evil and torment and pain. He has a dark side, but there’s so much good in him too.
I want to remind him of that. I want him to know that he isn’t only what his childhood created him to be. So I’ve drawn something for him. A man with angel’s wings. Wings that I hope will spread the length of his back and cover his old tattoos. The codes that were engraved on him when he had no choice in the matter.
It came to me in a dream one night while I lay at his side. And I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. But now that I’ve finished, and I’m getting ready to unveil it, I feel sick.
I don’t know if he’s going to like it. I don’t know if he’d even be open to getting another tattoo. And I certainly don’t want him to think that I want to change him. Or that I don’t accept him for who he is. That isn’t the case at all.
All of these thoughts are going through my mind when he looks up at me from his place on the couch. He’s reading, and I’m watching TV. Which I insisted we buy. Ronan didn’t deny me. And more and more, I catch him watching the true crime shows with me. I think they fascinate him.
But right now, he’s looking at me. Like he knows something is up. Which is weird because I used to think he wasn’t perceptive at all. But really, Ronan is more perceptive than anybody would ever know. He just doesn’t let onto it.
“All good?” His eyes skim over my belly. “Are ye not feeling well?”
“I’m okay,” I tell him. “Just nervous.”
He closes the book in his hands and gives me his full attention.
“How can I make it better?” he asks, with such sincerity in his eyes I can’t help but smile at this handsome man. My soon to be husband. My rock, and my life.
“I love you,” I blurt. “You know that, right?”
“Aye,” he answers. “I do.”
“And I don’t want you to change. Ever. Unless you want to, I mean. I just…”
My words fall away and I get that panicky feeling in my chest again. Ronan reaches out and pulls me closer, his eyes meeting mine.
“Tell me anything, Sasha,” he says. “Ye have no need to be worried.”
“I made you something,” I admit. “But I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”
His thumb skates over the back of my hand, and just that small gesture has a way of anchoring me to him and keeping the panic at bay.
“Show me,” he insists.
I get up and walk to the cabinet, pulling out the file folder that has the drawing inside. I’m chewing on my lip as I thrust it into his hands.
“It’s just an idea,” I tell him. “You don’t have to do it. But I thought if you wanted to cover up your tattoos…”
Ronan opens the file and stares down at the drawing. For a really long time. The room is entirely too quiet. And I’m sure he’s going to hate it.
“This was really stupid.” I try to take the folder back, but he keeps hold of it, his eyes taking in every detail the way they always do.
“I like it,” he says.
That’s it. Simple and to the point. And just so Ronan. But I need more.
“You do? Really?”
“Aye,” he answers gruffly. “You drew it for me. So I like it. I fancy all of your drawings. But this one is mine.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks and I wring my hands together. I sometimes forget that Ronan was watching me when I didn’t know it. That he’s probably seen a lot of things I wouldn’t normally have shown anyone. Like my drawings. My journal. My underwear.
“I’ll get it done tomorrow,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Tomorrow?” I question. “But you’ll need to make an appointment. Find the right artist…”
“The syndicate has a lad who does them,” he says. “I’ll have him come tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
“It’s settled then.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me into his lap.
He kisses my face and nuzzles into my neck. His words are quiet and soft and betraying a rare emotion when he whispers into my ear.
“Thank you, love.”