I sip my brandy slowly and ponder what having Amelia in my life will mean to me. Someone to simply be myself with. Not Declan Byrne, Irish mafia boss, just the real Declan Byrne. A guy who enjoys a brandy in the evening and traditional Irish food. A guy who is proud of his heritage, who loves being close to the sea and his horses, and would rather be outside, whatever the weather, than inside.
Amelia is a city girl. Can she handle this way of life? Or would she get homesick for New York? We could split our time between here and the States if it will make her happy. I wouldn’t even hesitate. I realize that there will be a whole heap of other stuff to consider, but I’ve clearly never lost my faith in happy endings.
It occurs to me then that I’m doing the exact opposite of what I expect from my sons. I’ve encouraged Eoghan to get to know Emily without considering his feelings. It will be a strategic match. An alliance. He’ll grow to love her in time, as I did with Niamh.
But how can I expect him to accept Amelia, a woman six years younger than he is, because I’m infatuated with her?
I check my phone to take my mind off the downward spiral that it would be so easy to slip into. Nothing. I call Ruairi, but it doesn’t connect.
It’s close to midnight in his time zone.
I’m not concerned. He’ll reach out when the meeting is concluded. Regardless of the outcome.
Half an hour goes by. I polish off a second brandy, call him again. Still no answer.
Orla will be rising soon. I don’t want Amelia to wake up alone in my bed. I don’t want her to think that this is how it will be, me living my regular life, while she has to sneak in and out of my room like an intruder.
One last brandy. One more phone call. Then I’ll call it a night, go back to bed, wake Amelia up with my cock on standby, and wait for Ruairi’s call in the morning.
But I don’t make it back to my room.
I’m halfway through my third brandy when I get a call from my brother-in-law. He traveled to the States with my son. Standard procedure, we never travel alone.
Even through the numbness of alcohol, I know this is bad news.
I don’t realize how bad it is until he says the words out loud.
“Ruairi is dead.”
7
AMELIA
I roll over in bed,my arm finding the cold sheet where Declan should be.
I sit up, my surroundings slowly sliding into place and leaving me feeling uneasy.
This is Declan’s room. Last night, when he held my hand and guided me to his bed, I didn’t feel like an intruder. Far from it. I felt adored. Special. Wanted in the way that every heroine of every romance novel ever written is wanted.
But under the circumstances, it feels wrong for me to be alone in his room.
There’s no sound from the ensuite bathroom, and no light shining from the crack around the doorway.
I don’t understand why Declan would leave me. What if his son came home and knocked on the door? What if Orla needed to speak to him urgently about something? Neither of us wants them to find out about us like this.
No. My gut is telling me that something is wrong.
Very wrong.
Declan wouldn’t just get up and go out in the middle of the night without telling me and expect me to go back to my room before Orla wakes up.
Would he?
My pulse picks up speed as I try to figure out what might’ve been going through his mind. Did he have a change of heart in the middle of the night? It’s the worst time to start thinking about stuff. The time when your brain turns minor problems into nuclear explosions, so I can imagine what it would do to a situation like this.
Or perhaps he got a call from one of his sons and didn’t want to disturb me.
Yes, that would be the most logical explanation.
