A dreamer doesn't have to sneak alcohol. He has it hidden in plain sight in his room. What looks like a harmless carafe of water was a very fine vintage of Irish whiskey. Ronan had poured several gulps down his throat as he raged around his room.

Dating service. There was one thing that boiled his blood, being compared in any way to his elder brother. They were nothing alike. Declan would never need for their father to find him a friend.

His favorite place was in the middle of his bedroom floor looking up through the domed glass at the stars above. Head swimming in dream booze Ronan laid their now, hands behind his head, mapping the constellations in his mind. When dinner for two was brought to his room and set up on the table he didn't even bother to lift his head. Thanks were not kindly muttered to the servants.

Lifting his head he turned toward the sound of the cuss. "The fuck are you doing here?"