I rolldown the window and stare at the house. Open-mouthed. Like a child who just rocked up at FAO Schwarz for a play date during the holidays.
I snap some pictures on my cell phone to send to my mom. And Carol. I love my best friend dearly, but she will literally hound me with messages if she doesn’t get a step-by-step report of my entire trip, real-time, not after the event. Which is why my phone is red-hot from the endless photographs I’ve been taking during the car journey from Dublin Airport to my new job.
Is this really happening?
I’ve been saving for this trip for the last couple of years. There were times when I thought I might never get here, that it was simply one of those dreams that most people have. You know, like visiting Machu Picchu, or riding a gondola through Venice, or seeing the Taj Mahal in person.
Now that I’m really here, I can hardly believe it, even though I survived the seven-hour flight sitting next to a kid who grazedhis way through so many packets of Swedish Fish that the flight attendant had to scrape him off the ceiling at one point.
I pinch the back of my hand and squeal silently. Okay, so perhaps I squeal out loud because I can see the chauffer—my new boss sent a fucking chauffeur to the airport to pick me up—smiling to himself in the rearview mirror. But how else am I supposed to react? This house is like something from a fairy tale.
“All it needs now are some turrets and a dragon prowling the rooftop.”
Yep. Said that out loud too.
My mom’s friend organized the housekeeper job for me when she found out that I was going to spend the winter in Ireland. She runs some kind of agency. Knows a lot of wealthy people. But this… I let out a low whistle.
Maybe the boss is an ogre. Or a vampire. I could probably handle working for a vampire to be fair, seeing as I’ve been obsessed with them since Carol first introduced me toBuffy. I check out the driver in the rearview again. At least I kept these thoughts to myself. But seriously, this isn’t a fairy tale, so the bubble will pop any moment now.
Even so, this is exactly the distraction I needed.
I didn’t hear from Ryan after our hook-up in the Wraith. Not that I expected or wanted to. Well, maybe I did expect it just a little bit. After what happened.
The condom he used broke. It was no big deal, I guess. I’m using birth control, so it isn’t like history is going to repeat itself and my Irish one-night-stand has left me with a baby. Carol insisted that I self-test at home for STIs and fast-track the results. Shesaid that she knew he was a player the instant she set eyes on him.
“I was surprised you fell for that Irish charm.” She gave me that look that said this was one of the many ways in which I’m weaker than she is. “Not exactly your type.”
“I don’t have a type.” I winced as I pricked my finger and drew a tiny bead of blood to add to the test.
The test results came back negative, as I knew they would.
That night, Ryan was true to his word. He fucked me all night, on almost every surface of his executive suite at the Wraith. We stopped to get drinks from the mini bar occasionally. We ordered room service at some point in the wee hours, pepperoni pizza with extra cheese, and fed each other, licking stringy melted cheese from our fingers. We took a shower and fucked in the huge walk-in shower stall.
The sun was already heating up the sidewalks when he walked me home. He kissed me outside our apartment block. Then, he peered into my eyes and said, “I’ll never forget you, Amelia.”
I didn’t tell him that I would never forget him either. It sounded too cliché. Too cheesy. Before I could suggest maybe meeting up in Ireland, he turned around and walked away. And he didn’t look back.
So, here I am.
Physically, I’m fully recovered. Mentally, I’ve been scouring the Irish countryside for a glimpse of red hair and blue eyes, knowing that the chances of bumping into Ryan Connor while I’m here are slim to non-existent, at best.
He probably says the same thing to every girl he hooks up with. Like a calling card.
I’ll never forget you, Sarah, or Lily, or Matilda. Insert any female name you can think of.
Men are all about their egos. It must stoke up his self-esteem whenever he thinks of me replaying his parting comment in my head.
I suck in a deep breath, releasing it slowly while I lock Ryan Connor away in a small chest at the back of my mind. I’m in Ireland. I’m not going to waste this experience hoping to bump into him while I’m discovering my Irish roots.
The car rolls to a stop, and I climb out, legs quivering at the sight of my temporary home. While the driver hoists my luggage out of the trunk, I remind myself that I’ll be living here, but the owner expects me to take care of the place too.
Imagine the insurance claim if I accidentally burn it down because I don’t know how to use the oven. I have no clue how many rooms there are. What if the owner expects me to scrub the floors the old-fashioned way, on my hands and knees? Every room. Every day.
I’m still mentally bending the owner into the shape of a Disney villain with a pet snake wrapped around his neck when the enormous front door to the massive mansion opens, and my new boss steps out to greet me.
He isn’t an ogre. He can’t be a vampire either as he’s standing outside in daylight, although vampires have probably discovered a way to combat their aversion to sunshine in the twenty-first century. And garlic. And potentially crosses too as thesilver cross hanging from a chain around his neck glints as he approaches the car.
My thoughts are rambling, thankfully inside my head where they belong.
