Page 100 of Ruthless Dream

“Drive?”

“I asked Marco to bring the Aston Martin.” I double check I have my wallet, phone, and lipstick in the small purse I chose for the night. “I figured we’d want to take a car.”

“It’s your car,” Ciaran says.

I shake my purse, making sure everything fits. “I thought. . . I don’t know. You can drive.”

I avoid Ciaran’s gaze, opening the door. His fingers caress my arm as he follows me out.

“Princess, are you sure⁠—”

“Don’t make this into a bigger thing than it is.”

Marco’s got my car at the curb, the driver’s door open. His brow raises when I walk around to the passenger side.

“Does he know—” the bodyguard begins to ask.

I roll my eyes, preparing to angle myself into the car. “Which side of the road to drive on? Yes, yes, he does.”

He has driven my car once before, after all.

Ciaran takes a second to get acclimated, his eyes roaming the interior leather, one hand on the steering wheel. His eyes light up when he steps on the gas.

“Please don’t make me regret this,” I say.

He places one hand on my knee, and I should tell him to focus on the road, but I can’t. I’ve spent hours getting ready, but I sink into my seat, soothed by the drive and the radio.

“Hey. . .”

I look over when Ciaran’s sentence drags on.

He looks over his shoulder, merging left. “Wallen’s going to be there tonight.”

We sit at a red light, the purr of the engine not quite as calming as a moment before.

“Wallen?”

“My uncle invited a bunch of people,” Ciaran explains, his face illuminated by the stoplight. “He RSVP’d.”

He says these last two words like it settles the matter. Like, he might not agree with it. Like he’s gently breaking this news to me. Like he’s upset too, but what does that matter because his uncle was the one who invited him?

“But why did he invite him?” I open my purse, checking my phone. No notifications, not that I expected any.

Ciaran hasn’t said a single thing about Wallen in months. I’ve never forgotten him though, and I know Dad would caution against drifting into a lull that’s misleadingly safe.

“Does your uncle know him?” I ask, the car gliding forward.

Ciaran checks his blind spot again. “My uncle invited a lot of businessmen tonight.”

I knew it wasn’t strictly family. It’s like at Leon’s. Cormac’s focus is entirely on his nephew during any bout, but he never misses a moment to shake someone’s hand.

It’s similar to Ciaran, I realize. Both their eyes laser focus on someone, all aimed at network building. But Ciaran has learned to relax. To not try so hard. When we go to lunch and see people, it might take a few weeks longer, but eventually people start thinking of us as regulars. Then when they begin to speak to Ciaran, his easy laughter draws them in, much better than when he acted all cagey like when we first met.

Ciaran grabs my hand, squeezing. “I just wanted to give you a heads up. You don’t have to speak to him. I’m going to be next to you the whole night.”

“Unless I go to the bathroom,” I say for the mere fact of contradicting him.

“And miss the opportunity to watch you pee?”