“I meant every word, petal. You don’t need a baby to love. I can love you.” Because as unexpected as it is, I think I already do. “You just have to let me. It’s your choice.”
“Tiernan could kill you if he knew you were talking to me like this,” she warns, and I hear the flicker of fear in her voice.
“Let him try.”
Just let the fucker try.
Chapter 17
Colin
“I was starting to think I scared you away,” Rosa muses, trying to garner a reaction from me as we walk through the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum.
I’ve had it on my list of places I wanted to take her to, but after our obligatory conjugal visits these last few weeks, I haven’t been in the right frame of mind to take her anywhere. Thankfully, our noon encounters in apartment 9B back at The Avalon also ensure that most of Rosa’s energy is fully depleted, forcing her to stay indoors for the rest of the day, leaving Darren and his crew to watch over her.
“Well, Colin? Did I scare you off?” she asks again just as we stop in front of one particular painting depicting a full moon on a snowy winter’s day.
“Nothing scares me,” I lie, pretending to be focused on the artist’s handiwork instead of looking at the woman standing by my side.
“Is that true?” she questions curiously, craning her head back to stare at the scar marks on my face. “You’re not afraid of anything?”
“Aye,” I lie again, shrugging her attention off me and walking to another painting further down the corridor.
Rosa quickens her steps to keep up with my wide strides, her high heels click-clacking loudly on the floor.
“You’re lying to me. If we’re going to be friends, we shouldn’t lie to each other, Col.”
Damnú.
How can I tell this woman that the only thing that puts fear into my heart is her and how she makes me feel? That since she let me in, both into her heart and into her body, I’ve been consumed with thoughts of only her? That there isn’t a minute in my day where her sweet face doesn’t cross my mind, and that the ache of not being by her side at all times physically pains me?
“Colin?” she insists, carefully placing her hand on my forearm, scorching me with her innocent touch.
“What are you scared of?” I ask, flipping the script on her.
She pulls her hand away and lowers her eyes from me to stare at the painting in front of us. This one is of an old windmill up on a hill, red poppies all around it.
“Everything. Everything scares me here,” she explains, followed by a desolate sigh.
“Only here? Not back home in Mexico?”
She nods.
“How come?”
“I knew my place back home. My father made sure of that. Here I feel like I’m floating adrift in a vast unknown ocean, never knowing where to swim to for safety. Or even to whom.”
Swim to me, sweet rose, swim to me.
The words burn on the tip of my tongue, but instead of confessing such forbidden and foolish thoughts, I find myself answering her previous question instead.
“The only thing that scares me is not being a good, loyal soldier to my boss. That somehow I might break his trust in me.”
Like I have been doing since Rosa came into our lives.
“I didn’t know you cared for Tiernan’s opinion so much,” she replies, disillusioned.
“Why wouldn’t I? I’m a soldier. Soldiers should strive to gain their general’s good opinion of them.”
“You talk as if we’re at war. The Mafia Wars are over, Colin. Didn’t you get the memo? If they weren’t, I wouldn’t be here to begin with.”
“The Mafia Wars might be over, but there are always battles to be fought.”
“That’s disheartening.” She frowns. “If that’s true, then when can we stop and just live our lives without the fear that death is just around the corner?”
“We can’t. Death is a certainty. Either by the blade or from old age, it will come for us.”
“Then I prefer the latter.” She smiles sweetly, a twinkle in her eyes that pierces me right in the gut, deeper than any knife could.
“As do I.” I can’t help but give her a small smile of my own, making her grin stretch as far as the eye can see.
When Rosa stares into my eyes, only to drift back to the marks on my face, my miniscule smile falls dead onto the floor. It’s the second time she’s done that today, making my skin itch and my throat clog. I turn my back to her and walk further down the hall until I reach a dead end.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry,” she says behind me, placing her hand on my shoulder blade. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.”
Another lie.
But the truth would only make her feel uncomfortable, and I quite enjoy Rosa being at ease with me. Not many people are.
“Can I ask you a question?”
My shoulders tense up and my back straightens, already mentally preparing myself for what I know she will ask next.
I can’t fault her inquisitiveness.
Most people have a morbid curiosity to know every detail of how I got so disfigured on the left side of my face and neck. But not many know the truth. All they know is that I got caught in a fire back when I was still living in Ireland. The specifics of said fire, however, I leave out. I’m not sure I can be so withholding with Rosa’s intense gaze on me, though.
“Just ask,” I grunt.
“Did we…” she begins to stammer. “I mean… did my family do that to you?”
I’m suddenly taken aback by the guilty sorrow in her voice.
“Is that really what you want to know?”
“Yes. I want to know how deep your hatred of me is.”
I turn to her and snake my hand behind the nape of her neck, bringing her face closer to mine.
“I could never hate you, Rosa. Don’t ever say or even think such things.”
Again her gaze softens, and this time when she glances up at my scars, I don’t shy away from her. This gives her the courage to press her hand on my cheek, gently caressing the hideous part of my face.
“Does it hurt?”
I shake my head.
“The skin feels rough, ragged even.”
“Aye. Scars tend to harden over time.”
“Even the ones people can’t see?”
“Especially those, sweet rose.”