My conversation with Mara tugs at my memory, and despite the rational voice in my head screaming it’s a bad idea, I say, “Tell me about your mother.”
I don’t expect him to answer, but he says, “Why don’t I tell you what she was like when she met my father first?” At my nod, he continues, passing the time as they ready the jet. “She went to school for history. Loved nothing more than a stack of books and a cup of tea. Met my father at a library, but she didn’t learn until later that he was only there because he followed her in.”
“Thatsounds familiar,” I snark.
“He kept showing up until she agreed to a date. She was a soft, kind soul. Loves roses and has the greenest thumb you’ve ever seen. My dad was crazy in love with her.”
“Must have been nice.”
“It’s why Cian killed him, you see. He’d been in love with her, too.”
The words come from nowhere as the jet lifts off. I don’t know if it’s the sudden motion or the frankness with which he speaks that takes my breath away.
“I found out much later that he’d been planning it since before I was ever born. Maybe from the moment my parents met, and she chose my father over Cian. He didn’t care about her roses or her books. He cared about collecting her. Having her because she belonged to my father.” He looks off in the middle distance and huffs a breath. “And he’s spent most of my life lording her over me because I’m my father’s son.”
I’m afraid to speak, but I don’t want him to stop. It’s like I’m getting access to forbidden knowledge. Precious. Terrifying. “Why?—”
“Because he harbored a lifetime of resentment toward me for all the things my father had, and he didn’t.”
“We have to do something to save her.”
“That’s not for you to worry about,” Aiden says, as though it’s that simple. He gestures to the flight attendant, his tone shifting to one of polite authority and clearly trying to change the subject. “My wife gets motion sickness on flights. Could you bring us a glass of ginger ale with ice and two meclizine, please?”
“Right away, Mr. Aiden,” the flight attendant replies.
I stare at him, gobsmacked and off-kilter. Momentarily distracted from our conversation. “How do you know I get motion sickness when I fly?”
He gives me an unimpressed glance. “You’re my wife,” he answers, as though it’s that simple.
I’m about to demand a more detailed explanation when the flight attendant returns with the drink and medication. Aiden passes them to me without another word, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be attending to my needs.
“Thank you so much. If you don’t mind, we’d like privacy until it’s time for dinner,” he says smoothly.
“Of course.” She reaches into the storage panel above our seats. “Here are your blankets and pillows. Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll close the window panels and privacy screen.”
“Thank you,” Aiden says, his attention already back on me.
I stare at the glass in one hand and the medication in the palm of my other. I don’t want to feel like we have anything in common, but we do. I’m willing to risk anything to find out what happened to my mother. And he’s willing to kill to free his.
“Take the medicine, Catriona,” he urges. “I promise it’s safe, and you’ll enjoy the trip more if you aren’t nauseated.”
I shake my head, but for once, I do as I’m told and swallow the pills with a sip of ginger ale.
My hands clutch the armrests as the plane climbs, and I don’t even realize Aiden’s arm is beneath mine until we’re well into the sky. Even then, he turns it underneath mine and holds my hand until the medicine takes me off to a fitful sleep.
What’s even more shocking is… I let him.
The ride from the small,private airport an hour outside of Dublin takes a few hours, during which I fall in and out of sleep. Aiden grows more and more tense the closer we get to our destination, and I spend it staring out the window as the countryside blurs around me, wishing my mother were alive togo on this trip with me. She and my father had met in Ireland. He’d been visiting family in Dublin—his parents were first-generation American immigrants—and she’d been learning the ropes of her father’s shipping corporation. Supposedly, it had been love at first sight. Within six months, they were married, expecting me, and living in New Orleans.
She’d never returned to work or got to go back to Dublin like she’d wanted even though she used to tell me those were some of the happiest moments of her life. I can almost feel the ghost of her next to me as the green hills dotted with sheep race by. My chest aches with longing, but I force myself to suppress the emotions building and steady my breathing.
Aiden knocks on my window. Giving myself a little shake, I realize the car has stopped. He’s standing outside my door, surrounded by vast fields of tall grass. Beyond him are pastures full of fat, lazy cows, and even farther, the fields give way to nothing but deep blue water as far as I can see. Despite myself, my heart catches in my throat. I’ve seen many beautiful things in my life, but nothing has compared to this.
Aiden opens the door for me, but I ignore him to take a step closer to the cliffs, the water. I barely notice the sprawling stone structure to our left. My feet carry me a few steps toward the path that leads to the cliffs when he takes my arm.
I jerk in his grasp and whirl. “Can’t we?—”
His silver eyes dance with amusement, as though he enjoys riling me up, but he releases my arm. “Settle, darlin’. There’ll be time to see the cliffs, but first, you need to eat. They’ve left us dinner inside the house.” He jerks his chin at the cottage settled among the fields of grass. “Bren and Tadhg are in the guest cottage down the way so they can keep an eye on the road.”
