Page 61 of Illusive
His silent nod and lingering look at her revealed a hint of the private man she craved to know better.
“We’ll talk soon, then.” Ronan walked out of the room without a backward glance.
Ireland feared the weighted silence that descended in his wake. She’d hoped for a parting touch at least, if not the kiss she truly wanted. And in the back of her mind, she questioned whether he was showing respect by abstaining or making the point that he could easily leave her behind.
Overwhelmed and more than a little confused, she rubbed her eyes, trying not to cry. And then her mother was beside her, sitting in the spot Ronan had occupied. Elizabeth’s tremblinghands were cupping her face, her mother’s touch slightly less gentle than Ronan’s because her emotions were so high. The tears streaming down Elizabeth’s cheeks caused a piercing pain in Ireland’s heart.
“My baby,” Elizabeth sobbed, as she hugged Ireland a little too tightly, her slight frame wracked with uncontrolled sobbing.
Her father came to the other side of the bed, and Christopher stood behind him. Eva grabbed the box of tissues off the bedside table and brought them over, while Gideon stood a foot or so away from the end of the bed, as if he feared coming closer.
The way they all looked, hollow-eyed and drawn, was haunting for Ireland. Her drug-addled mind distanced her from their agonized relief, as if she watched from somewhere else, an observer rather than a participant.
She slid her good arm around her mother’s waist and closed her eyes, noting the lack of her mother’s signature fragrance. It was a small sign of the massive disruption in their lives and routines.
The deep familiarity and comfort of her mother’s embrace melded with her remorse for their pain, creating a unique distress. She didn’t realize she’d lost the battle against tears until her father brushed them from her cheeks with shaking fingers.
None of them would ever be the same. The dread she’d felt earlier while waiting for them to join her—the knowledge that while she yet lived, they all had something to grieve—became all-consuming.
There were no words for the scars they would have to live with now, so none were spoken.
Ronan exited Ireland’s apartment building with both hands full, his duffel bag in one hand and the satchel carrying his computer in the other. It seemed impossible, but there were even more media vans and reporters—professional and amateur—lining the sidewalks and street than there’d been over the weekend. He turned to the right, reaching the corner just as the black limousine he’d been warned to look for pulled up to the curb.
The back door opened for Ronan as he approached, and his brother Jules climbed out. Tall and lean, with dark eyes and hair, Jules was a handsome, mischievous scoundrel who dressed to be seen. Today, he wore a precisely tailored suit in a raspberry hue with a white dress shirt striped with a softer pink. There was a dark bruise on his jaw from Ronan’s fist, the blow earned by speaking of Ireland coarsely and with disrespect.
“Beau-frère!” Jules greeted him with a backslapping hug. “Admit it. You’ve missed me dreadfully.”
Ronan smiled. Although he and his siblings had only been apart for a handful of days, Jules wasn’t wrong. He and Claudette were the two people Ronan loved most in the world.It was also good to hear his siblings’ voices again. Their accents were thicker than his and brought home to mind. “It’s good to see you,fonchock.”
“Of course it is.” Then the curve of Jules’ mouth flattened as he studied Ronan. “You’re not looking as good as I am. You’re losing weight and your tan. Being far from home isn’t suiting you.”
Ronan waved that off. With a muttered curse, Jules gestured for him to climb into the limo before him.
Inside, seated on the far long bench, was their sister.
“Tu es belle, Claudy,” he said, sitting opposite her and dropping his bags on the seat beside him.
And their sister did indeed look very fetching in a cream shirtdress belted at the waist and artfully curved gold hoops dangling from her ears. She wore her hair up today in a neat chignon, and it was a wise choice as the temperature was expected to soar.
“Merci.” Claudette’s gaze moved to his duffel. “So, Ireland comes home, and you leave?”
“She’s not home yet, although she’s expected to be later today.” He settled more comfortably into the seat as Jules climbed in beside their sister.
“Will you be staying with all of us in Harlem, then?”
“I hope not,” he said cheerfully. “She’s asked me to stay with her, but it’s best to take it day by day. She’s been through a lot. Too much. I’m not sure even she knows if she needs to be alone or not.”
“Thatcauchemarhas you under her spell,” Jules muttered, shooting a sidelong glance at Claudette.
She exchanged a speaking glance with Jules before looking back at Ronan. “I’ve said all I have to say.”
Jules’ brows lifted. His mouth opened as if he might say something.
Ronan spoke before he could. “Meddling in each other’s love lives goes both ways, so don’t question mine if you don’t want to answer for yours.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His brother bristled. “Why should I answer for anything?”
“I think what Ronan said was perfectly understandable,” Claudette drawled. “So…how about it, Jules? Have you fallen for an inappropriate woman, too?”
