Page 39 of Stolen Rival (The Stolen #1)

SORCHA

I’m still struggling to comprehend what happened back at the house between Patrick and Andrew, but rather than fear from witnessing the monster in action, all I feel is cosseted. Protected. Important. He threatened Andrew for me, and I can’t quite believe it.

Is this the turning point in our relationship?

The moment when I stop being his rival and start being his equal?

Well, as equal as Patrick would ever allow anyone to be.

He’s still a control freak, and him defending my honor, so to speak, probably has as much to do with exerting control and putting Andrew in his place as it was about my discomfort around Dylan’s underboss.

Despite that, I still have this warm and fuzzy sensation in my chest.

When Patrick suggested the fillet steak, I was dubious. The beef bourguignon was calling my name. But not only have I demolished every morsel of food from my plate, I leaned over and stole a bite from Patrick’s as well.

“Men have died for less,” he mutters as I pop one of his chips into my mouth .

“Yeah, but we know you’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”

I wait for him to deny it but he doesn’t. Instead, his hand closes around mine underneath the crisp white tablecloth and he squeezes my fingers. I offer up a smile and he winks.

He winks.

What is even happening?

Liam offers me his plate, but there’s only a long strand of asparagus left, and I’m not a fan. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I have my eye on a slice of that banoffee cheesecake I saw on the way in. I couldn’t possibly ruin it with a tree trunk.”

Rosanna laughs, nudging me with her elbow. “I hope he got you something nicer than some flaccid vegetables for your wedding gift.”

My brothers-in-law look sheepishly at each other, then at Patrick, who smirks.

Darragh clears his throat. “It all happened kind of quickly.”

“You didn’t get them a gift?” Molly gasps, joining in on the ribbing.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Isn’t Patrick enough of a gift?”

God, this is all so normal. I can’t get enough. I feel as though I’ve entered the Twilight Zone, and tomorrow I’ll wake up and discover this was all a dream. I side-eye Patrick. “I’ve had UTIs that were a nicer gift than my husband.”

The entire table bursts out laughing, except for Andrew who is sulking in the corner like a child who’s had their tablet confiscated. Then again, if I’d had the barrel of a gun jammed under my chin earlier in the evening, I wouldn’t join in either.

Patrick cracks a smile before pulling me to him and planting a kiss on my forehead.

I virtually melt under his attention. Since the Cathal incident and our honest conversation before we left the house, plus his defense of me to Andrew, the tide has turned, and I’m seeing him in a different light.

It’s… confusing, but I can’t say I’m unhappy about it.

“Just make them babysit when the kids come. Bank all gifts as nights in lieu.” Rosanna takes a sip of her wine as Garrett’s head snaps toward her like she’s just said she can summon ghosts from her nipples.

“Did you not know your wife was an evil genius, Garrett?” Rosanna says. “You look like you’re having a learning moment.”

He shakes his head, holding up his hands to Darragh and Liam. “I’m not claiming this one.”

The men share a chuckle, but Liam leans across the table to me. “Trust me, you don’t want me to watch your kids.”

“Aye.” Patrick takes a drink of his water. “Because he’s still one himself.”

“Wouldn’t that mean he’s on their wavelength?” Darragh asks.

“Fuck off,” Liam drawls, leaning back and rubbing his stomach.

Dessert arrives and, despite Andrew’s permanent glower, there’s a lightness inside me that I haven’t felt in a while, a level of comfort that’s strange and new, but not alarming. After the plates are cleared away, Patrick raises his arm, and two thick-set men appear tableside.

“Take Andrew back to the house,” Patrick says.

Andrew’s eyes pop. He clearly wasn’t expecting that, but he doesn’t argue. Probably too afraid of another up close and personal meeting with Patrick’s gun. The two men bracket him as he leaves the restaurant, and I can’t say I’m sorry he’s gone.

“Why did you send him away?” I whisper.

“Because I have business to discuss that he’s not party to. Besides, I made my point, don’t you think?” He arches a brow, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“You enjoyed what happened earlier, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but enjoyment wasn’t the purpose. Drawing boundaries was.” He drapes his arm over my shoulder and wraps one of my curls around his finger. “If any of my men make you uncomfortable, you tell me and they will be removed.”

I blink several times in succession. “You mean that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

He tugs on my hair, but it’s affectionate. “You’re my wife. It’s my job not only to protect you, but to ensure you feel safe.”

“You’ve changed your tune.”

“We’re both playing a different tune, don’t you agree?”

I muse on it for a second, nibbling my lip. “Yes. I do.”

As the men talk business, the women form a little group of our own.

Even though Cillian is in a starkly different field to the three Mahoney brothers and Garrett, Patrick doesn’t seem to mind including him.

It’s a testament to how much he trusts his childhood friend, and not something I ever saw Da doing.

Business was always kept in business circles.

And Da didn’t have anyone in his life who wasn’t connected.

I keep one ear on the men’s conversation, if for no other reason than knowledge is power.

It seems Patrick’s Irish operations expanded faster than he planned after absorbing my father’s business without warning, and he needs a few trustworthy contacts for roles that my family members previously did.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to speak up, but I don’t want to piss him off, not when we’ve been getting along so well tonight.

Except, I know I could help him.

If it’s a stupid idea, they might laugh at me, but if my idea has legs, Patrick might reward me for being useful.

A little flare of hope lights in my chest. It’s embarrassing to acknowledge that I want to be of use in the situation more than I want Patrick to reward me, but I convince myself it’s his approval I’m seeking and open my mouth.

“You might want to try the Wilsons for that.” I don’t turn toward the conversation or make eye contact with anyone. I just… kind of… throw the sentence out and hope someone picks it up.

Most of the men don’t hear me, or don’t heed what I’ve said, but Patrick holds up his hand, silencing the group. He never misses a damn thing. “What was that?” When I don’t offer up anything else, he touches my arm. “Sorcha?”

My whole body heats now that he’s called everyone’s attention to me. Shit. What if I’m wrong?

I clear my throat. “Uncle Seamus used to do that for Da’s business. But if he got stuck, and needed to eh…” I look around to make sure no one else is listening. “If he had more laundry than he had machines, he’d send it to the Wilsons, and they’d help out with the washing.”

The men all stare at Patrick, and Patrick stares at me. I have no fucking clue what that look means. Am I about to meet my maker? Where the fuck’s his steak knife?

“He trusted them?”

Nodding, I lick my lips. This is where he mocks me, or dismisses me, or tells me in front of everyone to know my place and stay there.

The part where he reminds me that he’s in control, and I should only speak when I’m spoken to, and don’t butt into a business conversation without being specifically invited to contribute.

I hold my breath for several seconds that last an eternity while Patrick’s dark eyes remain locked on mine. He taps his chin, deep in thought. Eventually, he releases me from his hot gaze. “Liam?”

“On it.” Liam springs to his feet, pulls out his phone, and heads out of sight.

“What just happened?” My voice is a whisper as my eyes lock on the spot where Liam disappeared to make a phone call.

Patrick takes my hand, rubbing circles on my palm with his thumb. “You helped, mo mhuirnín . That’s what just happened.”