Tiernan curls his hands into fists only to unclench them open a second later. I’ve been transfixed by the nervous tick for most of our car ride to Back Bay. To say I was surprised when he came home early tonight and told me to pack up my things because we were checking out would be the understatement of the year. I was starting to believe that The Liberty Hotel was going to be my permanent home throughout my entire stay in Boston. It was only when I began to pack my things into my suitcase that I remembered that Boston is my home now. Not just a place I am visiting.
But I guess today has been a day full of surprises.
I wasn’t expecting Colin Kelly to show up on my doorstep either this morning. Much less spend the day with him at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. All in all, this was probably the best day I’ve had since I left home. Alejandro had made it a point to warn me off Colin, almost hinting at the fact he was far more dangerous than my husband and brother-in-law, Shay, combined. But after spending a full day in his company, I don’t see it. Colin was intellectually precise in his musings, even if he couldn’t appropriately articulate with them. He was thoughtful, kind, and at times even made me laugh with his spot-on commentary. For the first time in God knows how long, I forgot the treaty, my homesickness, and for that matter, even my husband.
I’m just worried that Tiernan might spoil my budding new friendship with his cousin somehow. That he’ll see this small speck of happiness inside me and decide to crush it with his bare hands before I get used to the feeling. It’s not like he’s given me any proof to the contrary, that he wants me to be happy. In fact, Tiernan Kelly has gone to great lengths to ensure that I’m not.
My first week being married to him has been less than pleasant. Since our wedding night, he has barely said two words to me. Coming home at all hours of the night, smelling like whiskey, cigarettes, and cheap perfume. I think I even saw glitter on the lapel of his collared shirt once, evidence that he was at some strip club before he decided to come back to the hotel suite.
Not that I would demand justifications to his face. In fact, I made sure to always be in bed when he came home. I would fake being asleep and watch him from under my eyelashes, going into the bathroom to take his usual nightly shower before he retreated into the living room to sleep on the couch.
One thing I’ve learned about my husband is that the man is a creature of habit. He likes things to remain a certain way, in their proper spot, and to deviate from that just sets his teeth on edge.
Hence my surprise when he told me he was taking me to his home in Back Bay. I’m positive that his abrupt decision to take me home is the reason why he can’t stop balling his fists every five seconds.
It’s the lights from the SUV trailing behind us with our security detail that grab my attention away from Tiernan’s nervous tic and onto the man himself.
“Will I need so many bodyguards if I’m living at your place?”
“Why?” he retorts, using that same cold tone of his that I’ve begun to detest.
“I would think Colin would suffice. I don’t see the need of having four men guard me when one can do the job.”
If I expected him to explain why he sent Colin to be my personal bodyguard this morning, then I’m bitterly disappointed when he refuses to answer me.
“I doubt anyone would dare ambush me in the great Tiernan Kelly’s private home,” I try again, hoping my hit to his ego will incite a reaction from him.
“Are you saying that when you lived in Mexico, your father didn’t have guards with machine guns guarding his property?” he says, acknowledging my presence for the first time since we got into his town car.
“He did.”
“Then why should I be lenient when guarding mine?” He cocks a brow.
I bite back my tongue at the gleam of loathing in his distractingly beautiful eyes.
Property.
That is what I am to him.
Just another prized possession to do with as he wishes.
Resentment in his choice of words has me turning my attention to the passenger window and pretending he’s not even in the same car with me.
“Tomorrow we are having lunch at my parents’ home. I expect you to be ready at noon for us to leave,” he decides to break the deafening silence between us after a few minutes.
“Tomorrow?” I ask, snapping my head his way.
“Yes.”
“But tomorrow is Sunday.”
“I’m well aware what day it is. What of it?”
“I’m used to going to church on Sundays,” I protest, making him turn slightly towards me, staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “I’d very much like to go. Will that be a problem for you?”
“No. I can take you if that’s what you want.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He turns his attention towards the window, his fist flexing and relaxing yet again.
“Tell me, am I to expect my blushing bride to always be this overly devout?” he asks after a spell, still glaring at the passing scenery.
“Is going to church regularly a real indicator of anyone’s faith? If I’m not mistaken, most made men have no qualms committing the most horrendous crimes and murders Monday through Saturday and still find the time to go to church every Sunday morning. I don’t think attending mass holds any weight on whether I am a devout Catholic or not.”
“I’m not interested in other people. I asked you the question,” he says, this time looking me dead in the eye.
“I don’t consider myself to be a religious zealot if that’s what you’re asking.”
“But you still want to go to church?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I parrot, aghast.
“Yes, why?”
I take a moment to consider his question since it’s clear he’s not going to drop the subject otherwise.
“It comforts me.”
“Comforts you?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say? Yes, it comforts me. I’ve been going to church since I was a child. I see nothing wrong with the ritual.”
“So you go out of habit?”