Page 51 of Stolen Temptation (Irish Kings #3)

Rory

“Where are we going?” Kiara snuggles herself against my arm a little tighter as we walk. It’s quickly becoming one of my favorite things.

“You’ll see.” The smile on my face comes easy, like the rhythm Kiara and I fell into almost from the first moment we met.

“Uh-huh.” She gives me a sidelong glance that I don’t return. “And are you planning to play Mister Sexy Mysterious Alpha all day , or just until lunch…?”

She’ll pay for that sarcasm later tonight, which only widens my smile.

I press my lips to her temple. “Did you hear from Mae?”

“I did!” She grins. “Thanks for helping me track her down. I never would’ve known how to find her.”

It was difficult but so worth the effort to see that look on Kiara’s face. I kiss her cheek. “It was nothing. Come on, it’s this way,” I say, steering her across the road.

Under my left arm, one of her mother’s paintings is wrapped in brown paper. An original Libertas.

If I could go back and tell my childhood self that I’d one day walk down a New York street with a world-class work of art on my arm and a million-dollar painting under the other, I don’t think he’d believe me.

He probably also wouldn’t believe that one day, his mom wouldn’t remember his face. That familiar pinch of ambiguous loss, of bitter helplessness spreads through me. Dents my smile pretty quick too.

I’m not at all sure that this is a good idea, but I do know that I haven’t had the strength to come here in a long time.

But because of Kiara, today I do.

When we round the last corner and find ourselves standing in front of my mother’s assisted living care facility, all Kiara’s humor melts away.

We both stop, and she regards me with tenderness in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me we were coming here?”

“You don’t have to come in with me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No, dummy.” She slaps my arm. “So I could have gotten her something nice. She’s your mom.”

Sometimes, Kiara De Luca is so sweet, it nails me like an arrow in the heart. I’m not sure how she manages to be so gentle when she’s lived the life she has.

And I’m not sure how I managed to snag a girl like this and keep her as my own. It still blows me away, if I’m being honest.

I press a kiss against her lips, soft and slow, the way she likes whenever we’re not alone in our room. “Don’t worry.” I lean our foreheads together. “You are bringing her something.”

I brace myself as we walk in.

That artificially pleasant smell that only thinly veils the combined musk of cleaning products, clinical supplies, and the elderly assaults my nose. We take an elevator from the seventies up twelve floors, walk down two hallways, and stop at the third door on the right. We’re here.

My mother’s suite.

This is it… Me introducing the woman I love to the other woman I love.

My mother sits in a small brown armchair, flipping through a magazine. She’s thin, her pink shawl hanging loose around her shoulders and over her brown skirt. Her forehead and cheeks are wrinkled, and her auburn hair has liberal gray streaks, but she’s still the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.

Well, besides Kiara.

“You have some guests, Mrs. O’Connor.” Her nurse gestures to us as we shuffle over to the center of the room.

My mother gives us a blank, hazel-eyed stare.

She has no idea who I am.

After a moment, she breaks into a polite smile, her teeth straight and white. “Hello.”

“I’ll leave you all to chat.” The nurse sees herself out.

Slowly, Kiara and I settle onto the small loveseat opposite Mom.

“Ma, there’s someone I want you to meet.” I take Kiara’s hand.

“Hi.” Her smile brightens. “It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

I unwrap the painting with jittery fingers. “We brought you something.”

After making a complete mess of the paper and twine, I orient Over the Moon toward her so she can see it right side up. The art piece is a dreamy, surreal interpretation of the cow jumping over the moon—one of her favorites.

I convinced Shane to acquire it for our library, and before we hang it there, I wanted to show it to my mother.

Mom drinks in the painting, tracing the curvatures of the brushstrokes in the air without touching the surface.

“This is…beautiful.” She holds it up for a better view. “Is this a Libertas?”

A tiny gasp escapes Kiara’s lips before she covers her mouth. Her eyes start to glisten.

I nod. “Yeah. An original.”

“I used to…take my son to see paintings just like this one.”

“I remember, Ma.”

When she glances up at me, her eyes crinkle, like she’s searching through a fog. “Is that…my Rory?”

Hits me right in the hole in my chest.

A rare moment of lucidity.

My morbid brain immediately wonders if it’s the last.

But I shove that thought away. For a moment, my mom is back. She…remembers me.

Fuck, I’m almost tearing up.

“Yeah, Ma. It’s me.”

A warm smile lifts her worn, kind face. Traces of her younger self shine through.

We continue to reminisce about the paintings Kiara’s mother created. Kiara even chimes in, recalling seeing her mother paint some of them.

And then my mother suddenly blurts, “Rory, is this your wife?”

My heart backflips twice.

Where the hell did that come from?

Kiara and I share a caught-out look before I clear my throat and face my mother. How the hell did we get here so soon?

“No, but…I love her, and if she’d have me, I’d be honored to be her husband.”

“Really?” Kiara’s voice rises with emotion.

“Really.” I grasp Kiara’s hand and peer into her shining eyes. “Ever since we met, it’s just been one surprise after the other with you. I think I started falling for you when I saw you scale down the side of the house like a fearless little spider monkey.”

Her laugh quickly devolves into a happy sob.

With lightness in my chest and my mom as witness, I have no problem saying the words. “I can’t think of anything I want more than to make you Kiara O’Connor.”

Kiara sits quietly for a few minutes. So long that I start to worry that she’s going to say no, or say she’d rather die than marry me, or?—

“Yes.” Kiara drops her hand and gives me the brightest, prettiest smile I’ve ever seen. “Yes, I will marry you.”

She lights me up inside like the Fourth of July.

Mom sighs a little. I glance at her as she wipes her eyes, her own glowing face smiling in a way I haven’t seen in years . “I’m so proud of you.” She rocks forward in her seat and reaches for my other hand.

I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life.

It’s a stark reminder of how the power of art bought me one more good day with my mother. That same art also led to the downfall of a mafia empire.

Most importantly, though, art brought Kiara into my life. And soon, my little painter will officially be mine.

To be continued…