Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
She holds out a hand, palm up, as if to stop me from getting closer. “That’s the problem, right there. You keep saying that, but I’m not. We had a one-night stand.”
“Keely—”
“And it was good,” she says, pacing away. “It was really good.”
“This is about more than that one night. This is about every night since. You like my mother. You tolerate my brother.” She makes a face, wagging her hand from side to side. I laugh gently but keep going. “You could be Ash’s sister-in-law. You could have so much if you let me give it to you. You want to be my wife, Keely. Only you’re afraid.”
“I don’t know what I want.” She stares down at the floor. “I really don’t.”
“Then let me decide for you. I know what I need, and it’s you. I’ve felt more alive in the last few days as your husband than I have in the last few years. My days are going slowly again, like I’m savoring every moment I’m awake, all because of you. It’s like you’ve given me another life.”
“Nolan,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I can’t. I don’t know.”
“Then trust me. This is good. You and I are good. I’m in love with you, Keely, and whether you know it now or not, we’re going to be together.”
She backs away. “Please. I just need some time to think.”
I let that sink in. I want her to say she loves me too, but that’s too much to expect. It’s not reasonable. She’s only just barely beginning to accept that we’re together, much less that she actually likes being with me. But I can feel the truth. I can see it all over her.
This is working.
Our marriage is real, no matter how it started.
But there’s something holding her back.
“I want you to see my life,” I say softly, stepping toward her. She looks up, surprised.
“You want what?”
“Come with me on my rounds today.”
“I have work.” She chews her lip. “The shop—”
“Like you said, Roger and his guys will take care of that. You can leave them to it for a day.”
“You’re right, but you don’t want me tagging along.”
“Actually, you’re wrong. I think you don’t understand what I do. You have this idea of me, and it’s not all wrong, but it’s not all right, either. I want to show you what I do, who I am, the real me. Come with me today.”
She takes a deep breath. I can tell she’s conflicted, but I want this. It’s time to stop holding her at arm’s length, to stop worrying about what might happen in a day, a week, a month.
She’s here, she’s now, and she’s perfect.
I need her to know it.
“All right,” she says. “When do we leave?”
“First, we have breakfast. Then you shower and get ready. Then we’ll go.”
“Right. Breakfast.” She glances over at the tray. A little smile breaks across her lips. “Did you really think that was going to work? Bribing me with food?”
“I hoped I could ply you with breakfast meats. Soften you up for an interrogation.”
“Awful tactic. You should’ve waited until I had slept in. I’m in a better mood after a lot of sleep.”
“We can’t all waste a morning like that, you know.”
She rolls her eyes. But at least she’s smiling as she joins me on the bed, and this time she has a little toast, some more bacon, a little coffee. We don’t talk about what she’s hiding—her secret’s still there, still between us, but hidden now. Locked away.
Which is fine with me. I can be patient.
But I will figure it out—sooner or later.
She is mine, which means everything of hers is mine, including whatever she’s trying to keep from me.
Chapter 33
Keely
I keep thinking about those words. I’m falling in love with you. They buzz through my head as Nolan drives his BMW through the city. He makes calls as we go, checking in with captains and lieutenants, getting status reports on various businesses. It’s all boring—mostly numbers, a few minor problems, things that would crop in a normal business. Nothing violent. Nothing scary.
We stop at various bars and restaurants. He heads inside, talks to the owners, gets passed an envelope or passes one, then we move on. He hands them to me in the car and I always peek: tons and tons of cash. More than I’ve ever seen, all sitting in his back seat, stuffed into neat little packages.
Part of me thought his job involved tracking down people that owed him money and breaking their legs. But mostly, he talks with his employees, guys in his crew. I’m introduced to a dozen men, most of which are pretty forgettable. A bunch of Irish guys, all of them Boston born and bred.
“This is what a big, bad gangster does?” I ask Nolan when we stop at one of his restaurants around noon. The owner, a red-haired guy named Mikey O’Sullivan, seats us at a front table and serves us coffee before giving Nolan a massive ledger book. “You check over numbers?”