Instead of feeling the glory of righteous satisfaction, I was left feeling like I was going through the early stages of a heart attack.
The driver’s cell buzzed. My gaze darted over to his in the rearview mirror as he answered it.
To me, he said, “She’s in the limo, sir.”
Nostrils flaring, I dipped my chin, refusing to feel relieved until she was in the back of the limo with me.
Keeping my expression blank was next to impossible, but I didn’t need the driver knowing how whipped I was. Any more than was already clear, at any rate.
Cracking my knuckles, I waited.
And I waited.
And I goddamn waited.
Every second that passed, dread filled me.
Between the White House and here, there were guards stationed, but that didn’t mean some Sparrows weren’t out seeking blood tonight.
What better way to ram the message home that they weren’t done fighting by using the visit of a state dignitary as a global platform?
Just as I imagined her car being torn apart by a bomb that had been set to retaliate against the president’s ongoing investigations into the secret society, a set of headlights flared inside the cabin of my limo, and I heard an engine rumbling as her car pulled up behind mine.
Her driver jumped out, rounded the car, but I got out too, rushed over to the back end of the limo, and dragged the door wide open.
Her smile was wide. Shit, it beamed brighter than the headlights. In her eyes, there was glee, but for myself, I was just ecstatic that there hadn’t been a terrorist attack against the White House.
I wasn’t interested in politics, but when I’d found out the reason for tonight’s dinner was that the Irish prime minister was visiting, more dread had filled me.
Seeing her safe and whole and hale had me almost sagging against the car door, but she was so buzzed that she didn’t even notice I was a fucking wreck.
When I shuffled into the limo, I had confirmation of just how pussywhipped I was for her because that was the first time I could breathe.
I didn’t even take a second to appreciate how fine she looked in her purple dress that skimmed her waist and made her tits look banging.
That was how freaked out I was.
Her banging tits didn’t so much as make my dick twitch. She looked as good now as she had earlier, when I’d tried to fuck her before she left for the dinner in an attempt to change her mind—it hadn’t worked.
My woman was goddamn stubborn when she wanted to be.
“Get us the hell out of here,” I rumbled the second the driver was back behind the wheel.
At my tone, Aela stopped chattering away, and I saw her attention was fixed on me.
I didn’t mean to kill her buzz, so I raised the privacy screen and murmured, “You were saying about the Irish prime minister?”
There, that proved I’d been listening, didn’t it?
“Are you okay?”
Curving my arm around her shoulder, I hauled her against me. “Better now that you’re back.”
“You were seriously worried,” she whispered, peering up at me still.
“Which part of my behavior over the last twenty-four hours makes you think I wasn’t?”
“I don’t know. I thought you’d recognize I was going to the White House, not the Bratva’s home base.”
“President is just another word for Pakhan.”
She scoffed. “Hardly. One’s elected democratically—”
“Yeah, you tell me how democratic Super PACs are, babe. And remember, before you say a word, that Da donates to several Super PACs…” At her swiftly inhaled breath, I nodded. “Uh huh. Anyway, let’s not talk about politics. What happened?”
“Did you know the First Lady is Irish?”
“Irish-Irish? Or like us?”
“Like us. But her grandparents were born in County Louth. Just like mine!”
I wasn’t sure why she sounded so excited seeing as Shay had told me that hers had treated her like shit.
He’d also told me they’d been murdered in a burglary gone wrong which I was sure was the work of the IRA…
Not that I raised that subject. That would definitely kill her buzz.
“Second generation Americans,” I remarked instead, because I hadn’t known the First Lady was Irish. “…did you know they tend to have an identity crisis?”
“I mean, I never thought about it, but I guess it makes sense. I never had that problem because when you’re a Five Pointer, it’s like you’re more Irish than American anyway.”
I snorted because she wasn’t wrong. Still, her comment pricked my curiosity. “You actually spoke with her? The First Lady, I mean?”
“I did! I danced with the prime minister too.” She twisted to face me better. “She wants me to design a thousand-piece collection, Declan. A thousand.”
“Who the fuck is paying for that?”
She pshawed. “Like you care about where tax money goes. Do you even pay taxes?”
“I pay some.”
“You should be glad it’s going to the arts.”
“I’d prefer to spend that kind of money on a foundation—”
“For art that will never see the light of day like in our bedroom?” Her arched brow and militant stare finally had my dick stirring to life. “Huh?”
I shrugged. “It’s safer there.” Not just for the art I had shielded there, but for her too.
She rolled her eyes as if she could read my mind then said, “She was talking about how Irish families played such an important role in modern America, and because of my ties to Ireland, she was excited to see what I’d come up with.”
Staring at her, I asked, “You mean she wants glassware with a distinctive Irish flair to it? I thought they were supposed to be neutral?”
“I think they’re allowed some free reign when it comes to the china patterns.”
“This is all highly irregular.”
Aela scowled at me. “Since when are you in the know about the East Wing of the White House, Declan.” She tossed her hair. “Anyway, I don’t give a damn if it is or not. I’ll have to hire some staff for this level of work. I’ll need an atelier as well—”
As we drove past the Thomas Jefferson memorial, and onto Rochambeau bridge, I raised a hand to stall her. “I’ll sort that out. Make a list of what you need and I’ll—”
“Declan, I don’t need your help. This is my jam. I know this shit.”
“You knew this shit, babe. New York is a crosshatch of territorial lines and disputes just waiting to happen. I need to know where you want a workshop and who you’re hiring so I know you’re safe.”
She was silent a second, then she muttered, “Being associated with the Five Points is a massive pain in the ass.”
“You only just figured that out?”
Peering up at me, Aela asked, “Is this how it’s going to work forever?”
After I pressed a kiss to her temple, I said, “I wish I could say it wasn’t.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’m sorry,” I breathed the words into her hair, closing my eyes as I felt the resentment and anger swirling inside her.
“You are?”
I rested my chin on the top of her head. “I really am.”