Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“And what is that?” I asked, dreading the answer.
Brian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make my stomach turn. “Ye, Fiona.”
I barely kept my expression neutral. It took every ounce of effort not to respond.
“We’ve known each other since we were kids,” he continued, as if I needed reminding. “And we both know our families want the same thing. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Makes sense for whom?” I asked, forcing a small laugh to keep the sharpness out of my tone.
“For everyone,” Brian said smoothly. “For yer family, for mine. For us.”
“Brian—”
“Look,” he interrupted, flashing me an easy smile. “We don’t have to make a big thing of it. Just a dinner, somewhere nice. I’ll pick ye up in the Porsche, we’ll go to Waterford, maybe find a place with a bit of music. No pressure, no expectations—just us enjoying a night out.”
I hesitated. Every part of me wanted to say no, to tell him that I had no interest in being part of whatever grand plan he and our fathers had cooked up. But across the table, my da’s sharp watch burned into me, his expression a silent warning.
Be agreeable, Fiona. Be obedient.
My hands clenched in my lap beneath the table.
I forced a smile. “That sounds… lovely.”
Brian’s grin widened. “Great. Saturday night, then.”
I nodded, though the idea of spending an evening with him made my stomach twist uncomfortably.
Across the table, my da gave a single approving nod before turning his attention back to his conversation with Michael Kavanagh. I knew what that meant—I had done exactly as expected.
And I hated every second of it.
Once the Kavanaghs left, Siobhan, Paddy and I cleaned up the kitchen and headed up to our respective rooms. I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating how I’d survive a date with a man I didn’t know, didn’t particularly like and was expected to entertain marriage with, when Siobhan came bursting in.
She ran to the bed, rolled over me and came to rest at my side. She propped her head in her hand and grinned at me. “Brian is so dreamy.”
I rolled my eyes at my sixteen-year-old sister. She was very into boys and admittedly, Brian was about as handsome as they came. “I’m interested in more than just looks.”
“Then it’s a good thing he’s rich too,” she quipped.
Sighing, I turned on my side to face her, resting my head on my pillow. “I don’t want to date him. I don’t want to date anyone. Da is just trying to marry me off so that their farm will merge with ours.”
Siobhan looked genuinely perplexed. “Don’t ye want to be married?”
“Sure, and someday I will be. But I want it to be my choice.”
“But Brian is gorgeous and rich. Why wouldn’t that be yer choice?”
I sighed again, this time rolling away from her and off my bed. I sat down in front of my vanity mirror and stared into it. “It’s not my choice because Da is making me do it. Ye’re supposed to be with someone for love. Like the way Rory and Kathleen are.”
Siobhan was silent so I turned to look at her, finding her on her back and staring at my ceiling the same way I had been.
“Promise me something,” I said, and her head twisted toward me. “Never do something ye don’t want to do. Always follow yer dreams.”
“Sounds like ye won’t take yer own advice.”
“Da’s threatened to kick me out of the house if I don’t fall in line.”
Her bow-shaped mouth went slack and she sat up. “He wouldn’t.”
“He would,” I said bitterly, turning back to face my reflection.
I heard her feet hit the floor and she appeared behind me in the mirror. Leaning over, she wrapped her arms around me. “Don’t worry, Fi. Ye won’t have to marry the gobshite, no matter how handsome and rich he is.”
It made me laugh and I leaned my head against her. “And how do ye know that?”
She grinned, green orbs like mine twinkling with mischief. “Because if it comes to that, I’ll help ye run.”
I stared at the two of us in the looking glass, hoping we would both be women who ultimately had the fortitude to do what was best for ourselves.
CHAPTER 4
Tommy
Blackburn Farms, Kentucky – Summer 1978
I shoved another shirt into my suitcase, barely bothering to fold it. The damn thing was already stuffed full, but my mother had been in here no fewer than three times, tsking at me about forgetting something important. Long-sleeved shirts, because Ireland could get chilly, even in the summer. A proper coat, because Ireland was wet. A Bible, because Ireland was Catholic—though I was pretty sure they had their own supply of those.
Fuck if I wanted to go.
This was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years at the University of Kentucky. It was supposed to be the summer where I drank too much, slept too little and chased every girl back home in Shelbyville who so much as looked my way. Instead, I was packing for a summer working abroad like some schoolboy being shipped off to learn manners.