Page 86 of Irish Fury
“Eze knew, then?”
“Only after you left this morning. Listen, Jon. I did want to apologize to Rory, in my own way. I was afraid that if you went, it might escalate again. He doesn’t deserve your anger, and neither do I. Not over him. You and I were not together.
“However, if the roles were reversed and you met a woman from your past without my knowledge or consent, I would be angry. Beyond angry.
“I screwed up, and I’m truly sorry. Please say you forgive me.” The sun was barely straining its way through the clouds today, making the blustery wind especially cutting, but she was sweating through her layers.
Finally, he asked, “Did you touch him?”
Oh, shit.Mag’s shook her head. She knew he would ask. “A brief side hug upon meeting and a handshake at the end. That’s it. I don’t want another man touching me in a romantic way except you, which you should know very well.”
She was beginning to get annoyed. She deserved his censor after she’d lied by omission about meeting Rory, but really, her dedication to Jonathan, to their relationship, should be without question.
Wouldn’t you want to know if he’d touched a woman that he’d slept with, even briefly? Damn it. Yes!
The internal honesty prompted her to say, “He touched my hand once, and I quickly removed it and placed it in my lap. I told him that you were it for me and always had been. He wasn’t happy, but he did understand and accepted my decision.”
Mags heard the squeak of his office chair. She could picture him leaning his head back and closing his eyes.
“I know you love me.” Mags’ sigh of relief lasted until “Which means that you shouldn’t do things that you know will hurt me.”
Mags couldn’t stay still. She felt so sick and miserable. She already knew her creativity was shot for the day and would be shot until she saw Jonathan, and she saw with her own eyes that he forgave her.
“You’re right,” was all she managed as she dragged her feet toward the gallery’s back entrance.
“But I did that to you and so much worse. Was this, I don’t know, payback? Did you want me to have to picture you with a man who knows you as intimately as I do?”
Her foot tripped over a loose stone, and she barely managed not to drop her coffee. She’d made it to the gallery and leaned against the doorframe.
She almost wished he were angry. This wounded man made her body ache. “I would never set out to hurt you that way, and yes, you’ve hurt me countless times, but we weren’t together then. We are now, and I would never do anything to jeopardize that.
“And before you say it, I realize now that that is exactly what my actions this morning look like, but that wasn’t ever my intention. And Rory never knew me as intimately as you do because he never had my heart.”
She entered the bottom landing, studying the steep set of stairs as if it were Mt. Niesen in Switzerland, the bag on her back the weight of the world.
Nothing was right when she and Jonathan were at odds.
Jonathan let out a long, shuddering breath. “I’m being a fool. Christ, Mags, I just can’t stand to think of any man that isn’t me touching you.”
A smile started to tug on her lips as she put her foot on the first creaky stair.
“If I’d gone with you, I would have probably punched the asshole. You probably knew this and avoided another scene.”
“I might have considered the possibility. Still, I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” She was glad he was coming around, but that didn’t negate the fact that she’d lied.
“Can we agree that no matter how foolish we think the other might react to something, we tell each other anyway?”
“Completely agree.”
“And even if you see Phipps in public by chance again, you ignore him completely?”
“Jon,” Maggie growled, though it soon turned into a husky laugh. “You’re impossible.”
She reached the landing outside the attic door and was surprised to see that the brass lock was slightly askew, and the door wasn’t entirely closed.
“That’s weird,” she murmured, gingerly touching the knob.
“What’s weird?” Jon asked.
