Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (34)

… then snap the lid shut.

“No.” I thrust it in Ethel’s direction as I shake my head. A fist lodges in my throat, sudden tears burning my eyes. “I can’t take that.”

My aunt’s wrinkled hand folds over mine and pushes the box back in my direction. “Yes, you can.”

“You can’t give this to me.”

“I can give it to whoever the hell I please.”

The first tear slides down my face. “Ava should have it.”

“Why?”

I try to push the box away again, but for a dying octogenarian, Ethel is pretty damn strong. She digs her fingernails into the back of my hand just enough to cause discomfort. My voice is a breathy plea when I say, “Because she’s my older sister. And this would make her happy.”

“But giving it to you will make me happy.”

I glance at Lachlan, who watches us with a crease between his brows. He seems more pensive than usual. Maybe it’s the suit paired with his glasses that’s giving a calculating edge to his already intimidating presence. I feel like I’m being studied. Measured. Probably deemed to be falling short, because it is Lachlan Kane after all. When he catches my eye, he seems to suddenly realize his attention is too intense. He looks down to my hand and relaxes his stance, but the notch between his brows remains.

Ethel opens the box and takes out the ring. It’s a huge dark yellow diamond flanked with baguette-cut white diamonds on each shoulder. “When Thomas proposed to me with this ring, it was the happiest day of my life. But I was naive, of course. I knew nothing about how to build a successful marriage. It took a while to learn that being in love is not enough. Choosing love is what it takes,” she says as she slides the ring onto my finger. Ethel’s hand folds over mine and she flicks a glance not to Lachlan, but to where Rowan and Sloane stand behind me before she leans a little closer. “You are choosing love, Lark. And I am so proud of you.”

My aunt lifts her hand away and I stare down at that diamond. There are so many beautiful memories of my aunt and uncle reflected in the familiar facets that glint in the light. I press my lips tight and try to smile at Ethel through the haze of tears. It earns me a rogue lash cluster that drops onto my cheek, and after a brief but fierce embrace with my aunt, Sloane pulls me away to fix my makeup in the washroom, and we rejoin the others just as we’re called into the office for the ceremony.

“You ready?” Lachlan asks when I stop in front of him as the others lead the way into the room. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, his suit perfectly pressed, that goddamn smirk—he looks so calm and collected, and I feel like such a mess beneath a forced smile.

“It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

It was. It was my insane idea that I’m one hundred percent not regretting now. Oh my God, what am I doing? I’ve literally lost my mind. I’m marrying Lachlan Kane, Boston’s biggest asshole. This is probably crazier than blowing someone up with fireworks.

“Sure was, duchess,” Lachlan says with a fleeting grin. He leans a little closer, his voice low enough that only I can hear him when he whispers, “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

I allow myself just one deep breath. One moment to live on the razor edge between two futures. “I’ve made my choice.”

With a single nod, Lachlan extends his arm and I take it, and we follow our loved ones into the room.

Rowan FaceTimes Rose and Fionn so they can watch the ceremony. We stand in front of a glass bookcase. Lachlan holds my hands. He watches me as though he expects me to ditch and run. But I don’t. Maybe he thinks I’m going to cry. I don’t do that either. I repeat the vows after the officiant and my voice is clear, never wavering. We slide our wedding bands onto each other’s fingers, and in only a few minutes, it’s over. The officiant declares us married. A union under the laws of Massachusetts. You may kiss the bride.

I don’t know what I expected from this moment. Maybe for Lachlan to quickly press his lips to mine and stalk away. Maybe even a kiss to the cheek. Hell, I’m not even sure I expected us to get this far. But I know I didn’t expect Lachlan to look so intently at me as though he’s savoring the details of my face and this bittersweet moment. I didn’t think I’d see longing hidden away in their dark blue depths. I never imagined he would sweep the end of my high ponytail away from my shoulder and let his fingertips graze my neck, or that he’d lean in slowly.

“Geallaim duit a bheith i mo fhear céile dílis duit, fad a mhairimid le chéile,” Lachlan whispers before his lips press to mine in a kiss that blankets my heart with an electric charge. Need and denial. Heartache and loss. I feel everything as his mouth slants over mine and I drown in his scent of amber and mint. He kisses me like I’m exactly what I am. His key to survival.

And I kiss him back as though I’m saying goodbye to something that was never mine in the first place. Because I’m choosing love.

Just not my own.





FRICTION




Lachlan


There’s a steady tension in the air, the shearing whine of friction and an electric motor wrapped in the melody of music that echoes down the concrete corridor. Lark’s voice mixes with the mayhem, a pure and precious sound, the one thread of calm within a cacophony. When I stop at the doorway, her back faces me, head bobbing in time to the song as she guides a sander across the surface of a long golden block of a coffee table on a raised cart. A huge dog rests a few paces away from her slippered feet. Its thick coat is a mix of white and dark, patches of brindle and splashes of dots, as though the universe said fuck it and just mixed all the options together. The beast senses me above the racket and stands, raising its bearlike head to let out a single, authoritative woof.