“Oh. I need to go out. I have a spa appointment,” I lied, knowing full well they’d never let me out of the apartment if they suspected my intentions. And the second they did, they’d call Finn, and he’d make me stay here.
He wouldn’t understand what I was doing.
So I had to show him.
“Sure. I’ll get John to head downstairs and warm up the car.”
“Thank you. You can ride with us. You don’t have to pretend to be in another car.”
He was silent a second. “Okay. Thank you.”
I cut the line, then I waited for Braden to come up to tell me I could descend to the garage.
As I stared around the space, I told Jake and I meant it, “I hope I never see this place again.”
Forty-Seven
Finn
I got the message about Aoife leaving the apartment the second it happened.
My meeting with Hanover could only be described as frosty by that point, but it turned glacial after that.
While Braden assured me Aoife was visiting a spa, that it was at the Victoria Hotel, and because I knew my wife, I was well aware she’d used that as a reason to leave the apartment.
To leave me.
With Arctic winds blowing in the conference room, Hanover’s bluster faded as the temperatures continued plummeting, and he finally signed the contract we’d agreed upon four days ago before he’d sent in the amended one.
Once that was dealt with, I told Ethan, “Hold all my calls. Deal with my emails. I’ll contact you when I’m back in the office.”
He didn’t have a chance to answer me as I stormed out. My temper filled the elevator, my hurt throbbed beneath the surface, but as I looked at my reflection in the mirrors, it wasn’t a defeated man who stared back at me.
I wasn’t about to lose Aoife.
Not without a war.
Straightening up, I headed for my car, and as I jumped in, the music from this morning blared on. It eased me, much as it had done earlier as I raced through the traffic to make it home.
Maybe it was ridiculous of me to need to check things out, to have my suspicions confirmed before I got myself suited and booted for battle, but when I got there, I didn’t expect to see drawers that were full of clothes. Jake’s closet was still loaded with his things too.
My cell rang, but I ignored it as I saw, in the kitchen, there was freshly baked bread.
The loaves mesmerized me.
What they represented held me in a thrall.
When I realized that the phone call could have been Braden or one of Aoife’s guards, I blindly hit the missed call and blinked when Aidan Jr.’s voice sounded down the line. “Conor says Hanover signed the contract? Well done, Finn!”
She’d baked me bread.
That was all I could think about.
Did that mean she was coming home? Or had she finished baking them before I’d called? Had I misunderstood what was happening here?
“Finn? You there?”
“I’m here,” I choked out.
“Are you okay?”
“Aoife—”
Aoife, what?
“I don’t know…”
“You don’t know where she is? How she’s feeling?” Aidan prompted after more silence, “Is she sick?”
“I don’t know where she is precisely,” I said carefully.
“What? Don’t your guards know?”
“She’s in a hotel—”
Though he couldn’t see it, I shook my head at myself. I was talking nonsensically, but that bread.
It floored me.
It was a token of peace because Aoife knew I adored her bread.
But why had she gone to the Victoria?
Maybe it really was to go to the spa and I was just being paranoid.
“Finn? You there? She’s in a hotel? Which hotel? Don’t you know? Did I hear you right?”
“I’m here, but I have to go, Aidan.”
“You sound weird, brother.”
I felt weird.
“I can get my crew onto finding her,” he was saying, making me realize I had to speak out before I had the Five Points roaming the city for a lost wife who wasn’t lost.
“No. It’s all right. I-I need to go, Aidan.”
“I’m here if you need me, Finn.”
His words settled in my chest. “I know you are.”
“Always.”
“I know. And it works both ways.”
I cut the call because I needed to text Braden.
Except I saw that he’d already messaged while I was on the phone.
Braden: Finn, we have a problem.
Me: What is it?
Braden: I swear, we all thought she was going to the spa, Finn.
I goddamn knew it.
So what the fuck was the bread about?
Me: She checked in?
Braden: She did.
Me: Wait for me in the reception with the key. I’m coming over now.
I returned to my car empty-handed and drove like a crazy person toward the Victoria. It was only around the block from my office building, and the traffic hadn’t abated since leaving earlier.
When I made it to the hotel, I paid for valet parking, and as I headed into the reception, I found Braden waiting on me.
“Sorry about this, boss,” he muttered, shuffling from one foot to the other.
That he called me ‘boss’ told me he knew he’d fucked up by letting Aoife check into a goddamn hotel under the guise of going for a ‘spa day.’
“Which suite is she in?”
“The penthouse suite.”
“Did she tell you not to let me in?”
He shook his head. “No. She even gave us a key. John, Ollie, and Sam are all in there. No argument or fuss.”
My eyes narrowed as I held out my hand. “Key card?”
Braden passed it to me and, ignoring the grandeur of the hotel that had seen dignitaries and royalty staying under its roof, I retreated to the elevator alone and hit the button for the penthouse.
I wasn’t sure what I expected when I got there.
Angry words? Recriminations? Tears?
I didn’t get that.
Unlocking the door, I found a pleasantly appointed suite. A little traditional for my tastes, very ornate and with a lot of antiques, but I saw there was a pen for Jake to sit in, and he was watching my crew playing cards over by the dinner table.
When he saw me, he called out, “Dada,” and I dipped my chin at my men as I moved over to him and picked him up.
At his squawk, I heard footsteps, and I twisted around to find Aoife watching me from a kitchen I knew would have her approval.
“Leave us,” I intoned, my gaze on hers even as I spoke to my men.
Chairs scraped, booted feet trod on the Persian rugs, and a door closed, shutting us in together.
I tipped my chin up. “I won’t let you leave me.”
“I won’t let you leave me either,” was her flat response.
Surprised, I bit off, “What?” I squeezed Jake when he jolted at my tone, and hugging him, I asked quietly, “What the fuck is going on, Aoife? You have to know I didn’t touch her.”
“Having a miscarriage didn’t make me dumb,” Aoife retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “If there’s one thing I can trust, it’s that you think I’m some kind of Marilyn Monroe reincarnate.” Though I frowned at that, she narrowed her eyes. “I’ve never worried about you cheating.”