“Did you hear all that?”
“I did. Would a restraining order make you feel safer?”
I think about lying. Instead, I shrug. “I mean, yeah. But I’ll be fine either way. Like I said to Chris, I just have to be stronger.” I went through so much with my leg and physical therapy, surely nothing Ronan could throw at me now could possibly compare? A shiver of apprehension whispers down my spine. A warning that echoes in my bones that I’m underestimating my brother’s ability to cut deeper than I can anticipate.
“Fuck that.”
I startle, my face jerking up to see Mark’s scowl. “What?” I ask, voice high in surprise.
“You’re strong enough already. Not wanting to deal with that piece of crap doesn’t mean you’re not strong.” Mark digs out his phone as he talks and taps at the screen angrily with his thumb. A second later, he has it pressed to his ear. “Damien,” Mark greets.
I recall that Damien is Mark’s older brother. The one he said he only gets along with sometimes. The one he never answers the phone for. I can’t quite hear what Damien is saying, and Mark rubs my side as he listens.
“Who said I was coming to the party?” Mark asks, voice full of insolence.
My eyebrows lift, surprise shooting through me at his tone. I’ve never heard him use that tone with anyone before.
“Uh huh… Right… Maybe, then. If you do something for me.” Another pause. “My boyfriend needs a restraining order against his brother. Ronan Burke. If you can get that, I’ll consider going.” Mark hangs up.
“Do you always talk to your brother like that?” I ask. Although, I’m not totally shocked. After all, I’ve seen hints of Mark’s preference for control and being in charge. I feel as though I’ve seen the progression of where Mark’s controlling personality can lead; bossy dominance. Is that how he’ll be with me down the line? He already seems to find persuading me a piece of cake most of the time…
“I never attend the Christmas party for free.” Mark shrugs. “What? You’re the same with Chris; you just use subtler means of persuasion.”
I baulk at the thought of trying to boss Chris like that. “I’ve never—what are you talking about? I’ve never talked to Chris that way.”
Mark rolls his eyes.
“Mark! I haven’t. I swear.”
Chapter Thirty
“Should we pick something matching?” I ask, meandering through the aisles of formal wear, feeling slightly uncertain. Would that be too bold? Too in your face? I woke up to two letters this morning. The first was a copy of a signed restraining order. The second was an invitation. I take the small card out of my pocket, eyeing the golden swirls that frame my name. Kyle Burke has never looked so elegant. The invitation sparks nerves whenever I look at it—which has been several times today because it’s just eye-catching—because I’m not exactly a fancysort. Chris has money, and once I moved in with him I grew up never wanting for anything, but I’ve never been the type to go to anything that you could call a ball.Unless I count the freshers ball, but I don’t think Mark’s family is going to throw a college rager at their manor house.
I eye up Mark, who is talking to a store clerk as he points to an outfit. I follow his arm to a teal-green waistcoat and step to his side. “You like this one?” I ask.
Mark plucks it from the shelf and holds it up in front of me. “It matches your eyes.”
I blink and take in the colour of the waistcoat once more. “I guess it does.” I glance at him. “Is that a rule for these kinds of dances? Do we need to pick out a black one for you?” I start searching and in only a few seconds a waistcoat catches my eye. It’s not black, per-say, rather it’s silver on black. Elegant and eye-catching. A lot like Mark.
“What do you think of this one?” I ask, checking his expression to see his take.
Mark leans over my shoulder. “You prefer it? I think you’ll look good in whatever you wear. I’ll ask if they have one in your size to try.” Mark leaves before I can correct him. I watch him walk away and my attention drifts between the teal-green waistcoat and the silver-black one, an idea forming. Matching might be too out there, even if Mark did call me his boyfriend on the phone to Damien the other day. But what if we did something more subtle?
When Mark comes back, I hold out the teal waistcoat in his size. “How about you try this one?” I suggest.
We swap, Mark offering me the silver-black one he retrieved, as he takes the one I held out. He flips up the collar to read the size and raises an eyebrow at me.
“What?”
“You think this is my size?”
“It…” I tilt my head. “Maybe not.” Now that he’s holding it, the size seems way off. I remember him wearing the biggest shirt I own and it being tight on him. Maybe because he doesn’t have the same kind of heavy bulk that Tommy and Eddie do, I tend to forget that Mark is big in his own way. And maybe that remark Bethany made before about how the team used to step in when me and Mark grappled holds a little more weight to it when I consider his size.
Mark checks the rack but ends up going to ask the clerk again for a different size in his one too. I shrug off my jumper, draping it onto the chair next to the mirror and empty out my pockets, setting my phone and the invitation on the chair, so there’s nothing bulging as I tuck in the white dress shirt. The vest fits perfectly and I have a moment of total disconnect as I look in the mirror. The moment passes after only a second, and I admit to myself that I look okay. Not like I’m trying too hard or anything, or that I’m out of place.
My gaze catches on the guy sitting behind me, and I startle, whipping around. “What thehell?” I demand, voice catching so the “hell”comes out faint instead of strong.
Ronan stares at the vest. Stares and stares and stares.
