Page 4 of Faithless Vows

Outside, I make my way down the walk toward my car. Halfway there, I feel eyes on me and glance back. Alannah stands at the window watching me. When she sees me looking, she lifts a hand in a small wave. I return it and keep walking. By the time I reach the car and look back again, the window’s empty.

And suddenly, Friday can’t come soon enough.

Chapter Two

Alannah, Age Sixteen

Ronin steps ahead of me and holds the door open, his hand light at my back as I step inside the restaurant. The smell of garlic and roasting meat fills the air, but my stomach has been knotted with nerves all day about our first date, and I can hardly think about eating yet. A man in a dark jacket greets Ronin by name and tells us our table is ready before leading us through the dining room.

As we follow him, I look around, taking in the small tables scattered around the room, each one set with a white tablecloth and a candle burning at its centre. Couples sit close together over their meals, speaking in low voices, and the whole restaurant feels smaller than I expected. More intimate. He stops at a table in a quiet corner and sets a menu at each place before stepping away. Ronin pulls out my chair, then takes the seat across from me.

I’ve barely opened my menu when the waiter appears beside the table, his smile turning familiar as he looks at Ronin. “Good evening, Mr. Byrne.”

“Evening,” Ronin says, then leans a little closer to me. “All right if I order for us?” he asks quietly.

I close my menu and nod, grateful not to have to worry about what to choose. He’s clearly been here before, and I’m sure whatever he picks will be good. When he turns to the waiter to order, my eyes catch on the mark at the edge of his shirt collar. It looks almost like a bruise, fainter than I remember, but still there.

He’d had to cancel our date the night before when work came up, and I’d felt awful when he stopped by this morning looking like he still hadn’t been to bed, asking if he could takeme out for dinner tonight instead. While he stood there waiting for my answer, I’d noticed the mark on his neck. It had been darker then, standing out against his tanned skin.

“Are you all right?” I’d asked, lifting my hand without thinking, reaching toward it.

He’d smiled, catching my wrist before my fingers could touch the mark. “I’m fine,” he’d said. “Really.” Then he’d kissed my cheek, murmuring that I was a doll for understanding before saying he needed to get home and catch some sleep, but that he’d pick me up at six.

I told myself that if it was something I needed to know, he would have told me. So I let it go.

Some things in my life have always been left unspoken. I grew up knowing there were parts of my family’s life that weren’t meant to be questioned. Back home in Ireland, Da had worked for my grandda, and my grandda had run the work there. We lived outside the laws and rules everyone else followed, and I learned young that you didn’t press for details that weren’t offered. You noticed what you noticed, and you trusted the people you loved to handle the rest.

Now, seated across from Ronin, I make the same choice again. Because honestly, he doesn’t have to do any of this. We’re already engaged. He doesn’t have to take me on dates, or bring me to beautiful restaurants, or make an effort to get to know me.

But he is. He chose to be here with me. And I choose to believe that means something.

Once Ronin finishes ordering and the waiter leaves, he looks at me, something playful in his eyes. “So,” he says, resting his forearms on the table. “Tell me something about yourself I don’t already know.”

I laugh softly. “I’m not sure there’s much about me you don’t already know.”

“Try me.”

I purse my lips, pretending to think. “All right. I don’t like sweet pickles.”

“I already knew that.”

My mouth falls open. “You did not.”

He looks far too pleased with himself. “Try again.”

I shake my head, not ready to be put on the spot again. “No. I already shared. Your turn. Tell me something about you I wouldn’t already know.”

He smirks at having the question turned back on him, then picks up his water and takes a drink before answering. “I bought a Cadillac last year,” he says. “An older one. I’ve been fixing it up a little at a time. She’ll be a beauty once she’s done.”

“Yeah?” I picture him with grease on his hands and his sleeves rolled up, working on his car, and smile. “You’ve got me there. I didn’t know that.”

He sets his glass down. “See? Now you owe me a good one.”

I trace the edge of my napkin with my thumb, looking down as I try to think of something he never would have guessed about me. “I still miss the sea,” I admit. “Even after all this time. It was always so close back home. It feels strange sometimes, not having it nearby.”

When I look up, his expression has softened. “There’s a stretch of shore just outside the city,” he says. “We’ll go sometime.”

“Really?” The word is out before I can stop myself.