My Life in Shambles(62)

“Mo chuisle mo chroi,” he says in a thick, throaty voice.

“What?”

With a shaking breath, he pulls out of me slowly, and I feel how wet my thighs are. Then he lies down beside me on his side, propping his head up on his elbow, staring at me intently. “Mo chuisle mo chroi. It’s Gaelic. It means, my pulse of my heart.”

He reaches over and traces his fingers over my heart, his eyes burning with emotions I’m too afraid to read into because I know what I want to see and then I’ll see it everywhere.

I’m just stunned by how romantic that sounds.

By what he’s so close to saying.

I am the pulse of his heart.

“Mo chuisle mo chroi,” I say back to him, giving him a shy smile.

He grins at me, enough to make that dimple appear, then he leans in and kisses me on the forehead. “I’m getting us room service. And a lot of beer,” he says, getting off the bed. I watch as he walks over to the desk and pulls out the menu, admiring his tight, bouncing ass every step of the way.

“You checkin’ out me arse?” he asks, exaggerating his accent as he glances at me over his shoulder.

“Just wanted to see the engine behind those thrusts of yours,” I tell him. “I swear you could use your cock as a jackhammer.”

He laughs. “Well there’s a compliment if I ever heard one.”

I get up to go pee and clean up the mess on the covers as he orders us burgers and beers from the restaurant, and we spend the night sitting around and eating, naked. We do everything naked, including a few more rounds in the bed. I’ve never done this by myself before, let alone with anyone, but somehow he just makes my body feel like it needs to be displayed and worshipped, if only just for him.

That night we settle in for sleep curled in each other’s arms.

I might be hanging on to him like I’ll never let go.

“Valerie?” he whispers into the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“I…” I hear him wetting his lips. “I’m scared.”

I feel a pinch in my heart. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“I don’t want to go through this alone,” he whispers as he kisses the top of my head.

“You won’t go through this alone,” I tell him, holding him tighter. “I’m here.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, and the silence says everything that he can’t.

The silence says, you’re only here for now.





16





Valerie





“So, you want to tell your dear old mother about him?” my mother asks over the phone, her voice dripping with sweetness that I know can turn bitter in an instant.

“I’ve told you all there is to know,” I explain.

I didn’t call my mother this afternoon. She called me. And I think she’s had more than a few glasses of wine because she has this bite to her voice that only comes out when she’s drinking.

It’s been five days since the doctor’s appointment in Dublin. After that, pictures of Padraig and I were floated all over the Irish newspapers and tabloids, talking about his newest mystery woman and how it looked “serious,” I guess, because I’m not the normal model type he’s usually seen with. Average girl equals serious, right? At least they didn’t assume I’m a relative or something.

They didn’t know my name at all, which was good, but apparently Sandra, of all people, sent one of the articles to my mom. The minute I get off the phone with my mom, I’m texting up a storm to my sister because she knows better than to show off something that’s not even real anyway. I mean, I get why she did it, my mom was probably berating me for being in Ireland and doing nothing, and Sandra was probably standing up for me, but still.

“Why are they calling you a mystery woman?” she asks. “Call them up and tell them your name. You’re Valerie Stephens! Aren’t you proud of your name?”

“We want to keep the relationship quiet for now,” I tell her. I haven’t told her we’re “engaged” because that would not go well considering my last engagement.

“Quiet?” she repeats. “I will not be quiet. I want the world to know that you’ve landed this man. And what a man. I’m not a fan of his tattoos or that ugly beard of his, but I’m sure you can convince him to shave it off. And anyway, this will certainly make Cole jealous.”

“I don’t care about Cole,” I snap. I can’t help it. She does this to me. My blood pressure is already rising. “And please, just keep this between us for now. I don’t want you to jinx it.”

“Oh, I will not jinx it. Besides, knowing your last relationship, I want to be able to brag about you before it all goes to hell. You have to seize the moment. That’s what you always used to say to me.”

Funny. Now my mother wants to brag about me, but when I got my job or graduated college, or when my first piece got published, she didn’t say shit about it. Goes to show what she considers something to be proud of—just marry up and that’s enough.

Oh, and be thin.

As if she knows what I’m thinking, she says, “By the way, I know you’re in love all of a sudden, but you better watch what you’re eating out there. The dairy in Ireland is known to be fattening and none of those angles you were photographed from were very flattering.”