Leather & Lark: The Ruinous Love Trilogy (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, 2)

My aunt rings the doorbell and we wait. She can’t help but bash her cane against the door a few times when it takes longer than it should for someone to fetch us. When the door swings open, Ethel is already grinning, ready enough for the both of us to set off a few bombs at what is normally an uneventful weekly brunch. She gives Ava a kiss on both cheeks, then stands aside in the foyer to watch the first drops of chaos hit the hot pan that is my sister’s volatile temper.

“Meadowlark,” Ava says, suspicion laced in her voice as she gives me a weak hug.

“Good to see you,” I say. “I thought you’d be heading back home soon?”

“Another week. Edward is too busy with work right now to miss me anyway.” She lets me go and scrutinizes my face with the razor-sharp precision only a sister can. She looks at Lachlan then back at me. But I’m no rookie. Show no fear to the devil—in nomine Patri, and all that. I keep my shit on lockdown. “So,” Ava says as she slowly pivots to face Lachlan. “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Of course.” I grin and rest a hand on Lachlan’s rock-hard bicep. I barely resist the urge to poke it and see if there’s any give. “Lachlan, this is my sister, Ava. Ava, this is my … Lachlan,” I say, chickening out at the last minute.

“Husband, dear,” my aunt pipes up.

Ava lets out a deafening shriek that echoes up the vaulted ceiling of the foyer.

“Husband …? Husband. Husband. What the fuck?” Ava grabs my hand and shrieks again as she turns toward my aunt, her mouth agape. “The fuck?”

Ethel is having the time of her life watching my normally cool and composed sister spiral. And in true Ethel style, she loves nothing more than to hasten the descent. “I believe the proper response is ‘congratulations on your elopement,’ dear.”

“What is happening? You’re married? When? I don’t understand.”

“What’s all the commotion?” my mom asks as she enters the foyer, the uneven cadence of her steps announcing her presence before her voice does. “Oh, hello, Lark darling, I—”

My mom’s voice cuts short the instant she sees Lachlan, but Ava is there to fill the void. “She’s married, Mom. Lark. Is. Married,” Ava says as she grabs my wrist and thrusts my hand toward my mother. Mom immediately recognizes the ring and shoots Ethel a shocked glare.

Ethel grins.

“Fucking hell,” I whisper to Lachlan when my mother, Ava, and Ethel start talking over one another. “We haven’t even made it into the house yet.”

Lachlan snickers and glances down his shoulder at me. “Watch and learn, Blunder Barbie.”

He winks at me. Fucking winks. And then he steps into the fray holding out the black bag with the gift he brought. “Perhaps we should crack this open and I can explain,” he says as he reaches into the cloud of tissue paper and pulls out a bottle of 2018 Château Pétrus. “Or there’s a bottle of Springbank whiskey if that’s your preference. Figured we all might want to share something a bit stronger, given the circumstances.”

The arguing stops momentarily as all three women eye him.

“I promise this story is not quite as wild as it seems.”

No one says anything for a beat and I begin to think we’re going to have to slink back out the door and give up on this plan. But then Ava whips the bottle of whiskey from the bag with a glare and leads the way toward the back of the house.

My mom lingers for a moment with a long, grave look in my direction then locks her silver-blue eyes on Lachlan. “I’m looking forward to hearing this ‘not wild’ version of events. Please, do come in,” she says before she follows my sister, my aunt trailing after her.

Lachlan extends a hand for me to take. I cross my arms and he shrugs as if to say suit yourself.This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

“Were you making your accent thicker to appeal to my mother and sister with your nonexistent Irish charm?” I hiss.

Lachlan’s smile is nothing short of devious. “Ye wound me with yer accusations, me darlin’ wife.”

“You just did it again.”

Lachlan twinkles his tattooed fingers in my direction, and I heave a dramatic sigh before taking his hand again. “Told you I would be fine.”

“Shut up. It’s been like, five minutes. Plenty of time for you to fuck it up.”

The sound of heated conversation greets us as we head toward the kitchen, where my mom and sister try to simultaneously explain to my stepdad that yes, I am indeed married and yes, his name is actually Lachlan Kane. Thankfully, my sister just looks confused when my parents shoot each other knowing glances. If Ava knew about their concerns regarding Lachlan, I’m pretty sure he’d be dead already. She’s always had over-protective sibling energy and I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s spent her adult life looking for an excuse to activate her Montague murder genes.

I put everything into radiating what I know they need to see. Happiness. Contentment. Adoration for the man whose hand I hold a little too tightly. I introduce Lachlan to my stepdad and stay Velcroed to his side until I’m sure my new husband won’t be murdered on the marble island. The barrage of questions starts, of course, and they don’t let up as we bring the food over to the dining table and take our seats. Some moments of the inquisition are more painful than others. When did this happen? Where? Why weren’t we invited?

“Because I told them not to invite you,” my aunt declares, silencing the bombardment. “You all have enough going on lately with the businesses. With me. So when Lark told me she’d met someone and wanted to marry him before I pass away, I asked her to do it this way. She wanted something intimate, and I wanted to be there. And now it’s done.”

As if to rub it in, Ethel coughs, at first a gentle rumble that I’m not entirely sure she’s not conjuring into existence, but one that quickly turns into a lengthy fit. My mom rubs my aunt’s shoulder while my sister fetches a box of tissues, and when it finally subsides, the first thing my aunt says is, “Do you know how these two met? It’ll be a great story for the grandkids. He tossed her in the trunk of a car.”

Oh dear God.

“You what?” My sister drops her cutlery and rounds on Lachlan, and it’s the first time since he walked in here that I’ve truly seen him thrown off his axis. “You put her where?”

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” I protest, though in reality, it’s worse. “I was in a … situation. And it was the only way to safely get out.”

“A situation.”

“Yep.”

“Care to elaborate?” Ava asks, her eyebrows raised.

“Not really.”

“And it involved putting you. Lark Montague. In a fucking trunk.”

“Well, I did get out, so …” I shrug and force my way through a bite of roast beef that I would normally decimate. “We worked past it. All turned out well in the end. Like Auntie said, it makes for a funny story.” Lies. So many lies and half-truths that I feel like they’re clinging to my skin, like all the masks I cover myself with will slide off in the oily muck of my deceptions.

“The trunk wasn’t my best idea at the time,” Lachlan says as a hint of blush creeps into his cheeks, “but our options were limited and, fortunately for me, Lark has a very forgiving heart.”

I cough around a sip of water, nearly spitting it back into the glass.

My mom and stepdad exchange weighted glances. I see fury in my mom, but disappointment in my stepfather, and somehow the latter is worse. I lay my hand on his, waiting for him to meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I whisper, my throat suddenly tightening around my words. “I’ve always wanted you to walk me down the aisle. But I fell in love with Lachlan so fast,” I say, gazing over at Lachlan in a way I hope is convincing. “And it just … happened.”

Part of me wishes my stepdad would challenge me on this. Dig a little deeper. Call me out. But to him, this is probably just another example in a long line of Lark doing her own thing, fuck the consequences. What else would he expect from someone who phones him in the middle of the night to cover up a fatal accident? Or who drops her job to go touring for six months, or packs up on a whim and moves closer to home because her best friend did?

He never calls me out, not really. Instead, he plasters on a weak smile and gives my fingers a gentle squeeze. “It’s all right, Lark. I’m just … very surprised. It’s a big shock.”

“I understand. But I just want you to know that I’m happy, truly.” I smile and shift my gaze to where Lachlan sits across from me. I probably should have asked him if he’s ever been in love, because honestly, if this is his attempt to look smitten, it sucks. He seems more pained than anything. Like he’s trying, but there’s too much worry and anxiety fizzing just beneath his surface.

His eyes narrow at me, just briefly. With the slightest bob of his head, I realize he’s communicating with me. Asking if I’m okay.

My smile grows a little brighter. Of course I’m okay.

There’s a slight tilt to his head as he studies me. He doesn’t look convinced.

My eyes widen until I know they’ll look a hint deranged. Play the fuck along, unless you want a tour of the batch ovens.

“I have to thank my brother, really,” Lachlan pipes up. “If it wasn’t for his wedding and all the preparation that went into it behind the scenes, I don’t think Lark and I would have spared each other the time.”

At least his lie is pretty convincing, because we sure as hell didn’t spare each other a single fucking second. Every time Lachlan was suggested as a companion for a run to the florist or the venue, I made every excuse possible to take someone else or do it solo. I’m sure the same was true for Lachlan, though I made a point of never asking about him, even though I remember every detail that fell into my lap. I can still recall the satisfaction I felt but pushed away when Rowan said Lachlan wasn’t bringing a plus-one to the wedding. I don’t analyze that thought.

My aunt jumps on the mention of the wedding to redirect the conversation to Rowan and Sloane’s nuptials, and I finally feel like I can take a breath. When questions come back around to Lachlan, he handles them with ease. Questions about his studio. About Ireland. About his parents, which has him shifting in his seat. He calls his father “a troubled man” and focuses on his mother instead. I know most of this from Sloane and Rowan, at least at a surface level. It’s different to not just hear it from Lachlan, but to see it in him. The haunted depths in his eyes where secrets thrive in shadow. His smile when he speaks about his brothers with pride that was earned by the pain he must have endured to raise them when his mother passed away. Every once in a while, Lachlan catches my eye as he talks, especially about the harder topics. He leaves the details unspoken, but I can hear them, the ghost notes in a melody.

And by the time we’ve finished the main course, I’m a little more at ease. Not just with myself, or because I know my family is at least trying to make sense of this situation, but with Lachlan too. When Ava clears our plates and returns with coffee and dessert, I feel calmer. We may not be in the clear yet, but we’re on our way.

Which is, naturally, exactly when Ethel chooses to strike.

“Now that you’ve harassed the poor boy with your inane questions, why don’t we address the elephant in the room? The contract with Leviathan.”

My stepfather wipes a hand down his face. My sister chokes on her coffee. My mother tries to chastise Ethel, which seems to delight the old matriarch. I groan and lean back in my chair as a headache needles my sleepless eyes. And Lachlan? He looks like he wants to melt into some other dimension, which brings me a single sliver of joy to realize I’m sitting across from a deadly assassin who’s out of his depth with family drama.

“There is no contract,” my parents say in unison.

Ethel grins. “There will be for the Montagues.”

“I haven’t signed anything,” my mother declares.

“That’s because I haven’t given you the power to do so. Nor will I. I’ve appointed Lark as chief security officer.” Ethel takes a thick envelope from her purse and slides it across the table toward me. My face heats and the rest of the family stares me down as though I’ve orchestrated a coup. I throw my hands up and shake my head, which seems convincing enough as they all refocus on Ethel.

“Conflict of interest. She can’t hire the company her husband is working for.”

My aunt snorts. “‘Conflict of interest’ my wrinkled old ass. We’re not doctors or lawyers. We make muffins, Nina. Since when have we cared about a conflict of interest?”

“Since now. She cannot hire Leviathan.”

“Lachlan is retiring. Problem solved,” I interject. Everyone is as shocked as I am. I don’t know where this is coming from, but holy fuck, it’s too late to stop now. “Thank you, Auntie. I hope to make you all proud. I’ll award Leviathan the contract, this family will be protected, Lachlan will retire, everyone will be happy.”

“No one will be happy,” my sister says.

“I’m happy,” Ethel protests.

“You’re dying and half-crazy. No offense.”

“I’m dying and perfectly sane. Certified by three doctors and my lawyer,” my aunt says as she slaps another stack of papers onto the table. “Ironclad, by the way. Just in case you try to overturn my decision.”

“Great. Then it’s settled.” I smile at each one of my family members, leaving Lachlan for last. His face looks like I imagine it would if he were stalking his prey from a distance. It’s like he’s shut off every part of himself so that only instinct and skill remain.

My mother’s gaze bounds from one person to the next before it lands on me, her hand gripped so tightly to her napkin that her knuckles bleach. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Lark.”

“I do. I chose love,” I say, unable to bear the weight of a lie about something so precious. “We are married. This is the life I chose. He is the man I chose.”

“He is a killer,” my mother hisses, throwing the penultimate grenade.

My heart cracks when I softly say, “Maybe we should all be transparent for once and admit that when it comes to this family, he’s not the only one.”

There’s a brief second of stark silence. I can feel the disbelief like an entity that hovers above our plates, a ghost caught between our rigid bodies as we sit unmoving in its midst.

My stepfather’s sharp inhale breaks the spell. “Lark Montague—”

“Kane, Daddy.” I set my fork down and cross my hands in my lap. Everyone else is still suspended, trapped in time, Lachlan included. Even Ethel doesn’t move, her face frozen in a moment of repressed and scheming glee. “Lark Kane. I’ll keep Montague for the stage, for now. But I’ve already started changing it everywhere else. Got my new driver’s license on Friday, actually.”

I toss the plastic card down on the table. The final bomb.

A sheen coats my mother’s eyes, but she blinks it back before straightening her spine like she does when she’s pissed and preparing for battle. “Well. That’s just—”

“That’s just lovely, dear,” Ethel says, and gives me a demure smile that fades into melancholia. My chest aches when she studies me. “You’ve always been a feather in the wind, my Meadowlark. You deserve to be happy on your own terms. But I never wanted you to be alone. And now, you’re not.” She raises her forkful of cake to me in a toast before sliding it into her mouth. The last word, punctuated with a dark chocolate stamp.

I bury my short nails into my palms. The weight of Lachlan’s gaze lies heavy on my face, but I can’t look up. I don’t know what will happen if I do.

My stepfather takes a sip of his coffee and clears his throat, and though he forces a smile, all I see is the torn heart beneath it. “Lachlan must mean so much to you.”

His words summon a mist across my vision and an ache in my throat. I glance at Lachlan. He studies me before his attention flicks to my stepfather and back again. It’s as though he knows there’s so much more that’s been left unspoken, but he can’t see his way through the fog.

“Of course he does, Daddy,” I whisper, my voice unsteady. “I wouldn’t have married him otherwise. He is a good man. And you’ll see it too, in time.”

“I am …” My mom glances toward my stepdad, who gives her a warning look. She starts again, “we are happy that you’ve found someone, Lark. This is just not what any of us expected.”

“You can always have another celebration here or at the beach estate, we would of course love to host it,” my stepfather says. He gives me a weak smile. “We would love that very much.”

I nod a little too enthusiastically. “Thank you. We’ll think about that when things settle down a little bit.” I can’t look at them, so I look everywhere else. My watch. The half-eaten dessert. My empty coffee cup. Finally, I catch Lachlan’s eyes and take a breath. “We have to get going, I’m sorry. We need to take Auntie Ethel back and then I’ve got rehearsal.” I don’t take my eyes from Lachlan as I shift in my chair. He’s faster than me, fluid and graceful as he comes to my side of the table and pulls back my chair. “Thank you for brunch. I’m sorry it went a little sideways, but just know that I love you.”

I give my mother and sister swift kisses to their cheeks before my stepfather leads us to the door. His embrace is long and tight. His familiar smell is both a comfort and a burning ache in my chest. My eyes sting when he kisses the crown of my head. “You look tired, Meadowlark,” he whispers. “Try to get some rest.”

I squeeze a little tighter before I let him go and step back. Lachlan is there with a hand extended, and after a brief hesitation, my stepfather takes it.

“I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, Mr. Covaci,” Lachlan says. He lets the handshake go so he can interlace his fingers with mine. “And I know there’s more going on than what we discussed today. But my word is worth my life. I made a vow to Lark. I will protect my wife.”

An electric charge hits my heart. This isn’t real, I remind myself. But the way Lachlan looks at me, really looks at me, I believe him. I might be his wife on paper only, but I know what he’s trying to tell me in a simple glance. He will keep his word.

“I’m counting on it,” my stepfather says. And with a final, melancholy smile shared between us, we leave.

We walk in silence to the car, Lachlan escorting my aunt, who seems to move slower now after so much excitement. But he doesn’t release my hand either. He keeps hold of it even when we can’t be seen from the house. He doesn’t let go until I get into the rear seat, and even then I sense a momentary reluctance. A reluctance that, for some reason, I share.

It’s just camaraderie, I try to remind myself when the moment passes and he pushes the seat back before helping Ethel settle into the passenger side. And then we’re off, my heart still beating too fast in my chest.

“I don’t know the first thing about being chief of security, Ethel,” I say when the house is out of view, as though they might be able to hear us.

“I know you don’t. That’s why you outsource.”

“We didn’t secure anything about the Covaci contract. Dad’s not going to sign shit. I have no influence there.” My sigh is unsteady. I press my fingers to my eyes, and when I open them once more, I catch Lachlan’s uneasy gaze in the rearview. “I’m sorry. I promised you both contracts, and I’ll get it done.”

Lachlan turns enough to give me a brief glance. “I know, Lark. It’s all right.”

“We’ll find a work-around,” my aunt says.

“Do you think we convinced them?” I ask as my aunt turns to cast her smoky stare at me. “Do you think they believe we’re in love?”

“You didn’t need to convince them. You needed to give them enough doubt to stop them from acting. I’m sure they’ll send someone to keep tabs on you both over the next while, so if you want to go necking in public it wouldn’t be the worst idea—”

“Auntie,” I hiss, but she merely laughs at the embarrassment in my tone. Lachlan chuckles and I catch his eyes in the mirror. I know he can probably see my deep blush, the heat of it burning in my cheeks. “‘Necking’? Seriously?”

“What? I’m old.” When I let loose a heavy sigh, the levity slowly evaporates in the car and Ethel reaches toward me to take my hand. “Don’t worry, my girl. Sure, they will likely have lingering doubts. We presented them with a difficult situation to accept. But as for giving your parents enough reason to rethink any plans they might have been brewing to go up against Mr. Kane?” Ethel lets go of my hand to give Lachlan’s leather-clad sleeve an affectionate pat. “I’m quite sure you did that. The license was very clever, Lark.”

I blow out a long breath and look out the window as the familiar neighborhood slips past. I gnaw at my lower lip until I taste an iron thread of blood. “Maybe.”

“You did a good job, Meadowlark. I know it hurts now, but his heart will mend. Damian loves you dearly, always.”

“What was that about? With the license?” Lachlan asks, but I don’t reply. I don’t take my eyes from the suburban streets. Places I’ve felt lost in. Places where I’ve been found. The paths and passageways that my stepdad walked me down. The ones where he taught me how to ride a bike. The ones where he taught me how to drive. He spent the time to make this home my home. He did all the things my dad would have taught me how to do, had he lived.

“Lark never took the Covaci name,” Ethel says, her voice low and quiet. “She always said she would never leave that piece of her dad, Sam, behind. But she did it. For you.”

I can feel Lachlan watching me in the rearview. But I can’t bear to meet his gaze.

“Your wife just broke her family’s heart,” Ethel says. “And she did it to save your life.”