Chapter 14
I’ve practically moved into Irish’s suite. The days are flying by. I’ve spent every night for the past six nights in her bed. She thinks I’m distracting her, the truth is, she is the one distracting me. I instructed Belle to cancel all my meetings. I’ve barely opened an email, let alone responded to one.
But today, even Irish can’t distract me from what day it is—my mother’s wedding day.
Has she really no regard for my father’s memory?
Does she think she can simply replace him?
No matter how hard I try, I can’t get my head around it.
Her last two attempts were pitiful. How can she not see that no man will ever fill the gaping void he left in all our lives? She seems to have lost who she is, forgotten she was the glue holding us all together. Her pursuit of happiness has led to some disturbing decisions, broken relationships and even more heartache.
With Dad gone, and her making irrational decisions, is it any wonder Luke is perpetually off the rails and I’m… I don’t know what I am. Unsettled? Cynical? I refuse to waste my valuable time on another one of her partners, because if Doug is anything like the previous two, he’ll be gone before Christmas.
‘You okay?’ Irish asks, handing me an espresso, then slipping into the chair beside me on her terrace. She’s cradling a cup of tea—milk no sugar. It’s funny; I know how she takes her tea. I know how to make her come in under a minute. I know her breathing pattern when she finally drifts off into a deep, sated slumber. But I still don’t know her name.
Menacing dark clouds are rolling in. The sea is more turbulent today; a storm is brewing out in the distance—a perfect reflection of the one brewing inside of me.
I stare into my coffee. It’s barely eleven a.m. and I’m already contemplating something stronger. ‘I’m fine p>
‘Liar.’ She lifts a brow.
I sigh heavily.
‘If you want to talk, I’ll listen. I won’t judge p>
They’re pretty much the same words I said to her the other day, but she didn’t take me up on my offer.
She reaches out to take my hand, interlinking our fingers. Her thumb strokes mine with a tenderness that I probably don’t deserve given the murderous thoughts infiltrating my mind—namely, having my new stepfather assassinated. The problem is, he’d barely be in the ground before my mother would begin her search for husband number five.
Fuck my life.
I shake my head.
‘Or I could distract you.’ Her flirtatious tone tells me exactly what she’s offering.
I turn my head to drink her in. She’s wearing one of the hotel’s white crested robes, her dark glossy hair damp from the shower. Her face is make-up free, her skin utterly flawless. She’s every bit as beautiful as she is when she’s dressed up for dinner. More, in fact. ‘You already are p>
My phone vibrates on the wrought-iron table in front of us. I put my coffee down, then reach for it out of instinct. I don’t have any particular interest. The only person I’m interested in is the one sitting beside me. The one who I’m increasingly aware that I’m going to have to say goodbye to in a few short days.
I squint at the screen. Luke. I open the message, stupidly hopeful that our mother has come to her senses and called off the wedding.
But no.
A picture of her wearing a ridiculously over the top sequinned ivory wedding dress fills my screen, complete with an actual fucking tiara. It might be funny if it wasn’t so fucking bizarre. Luke is standing beside her, holding a glass of champagne. From the glazed look in his eyes, he’s already wasted.
I blow out a frustrated breath and toss the phone back onto the table.
‘That bad, huh?’ She drops my hand, stands, and slides onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck as she curls into my chest. The scent of her citrus perfume and her mango infused shampoo seeps into my soul, settling around me like a weighted blanket.
I drape my arms around her, holding her slim frame against my torso as we stare out to sea in companionable silence.
It’s not sexual.
It’s… comforting.
The clouds continue to roll in, and thunder rumbles deep and throaty in the distance.
‘Today is the day my mother marries Doug the douche,’ I blurt, running my fingers through the ends of her hair. ‘She is a disgrace to my father’s memory. It’s like he meant nothing to her p>
She tilts her head up to face me, her dark eyes soft with something that looks dangerously like understanding. ‘Grief makes people do strange things p>
I shake my head, jaw tightening. ‘Yeah. Marrying a stranger every eighteen months is strange p>
‘It’s desperate,’ she counters gently. Her fingers trace over the contours of my chest in slow, soothing strokes. ‘Losing someone you love—truly love—leaves a hole nothing can fill. I witnessed it firsthand.’ She pauses for a long beat, like she’s contemplating revealing something personal again. She wets her lips. ‘My brother’s wife died in a car crash. It was horrific. For him and their children p>
‘Shit. I’m so sorry.’ This woman—God knows what else she’s been through, between family feuds and the need for a bodyguard. She hasn’t mentioned her family since that night in the bar. I have to wonder if they’re some sort of royalty. Curiosity piques inside.
‘It was a long time ago now.’ Her eyes flick back to mine. ‘The point I’m trying to make is that some people face their grief. Some people fall apart. And some… try to outdrink it. Others try to outrun it p>
I huff out a humourless laugh. ‘Well, my mother sure as hell is running p>
‘Maybe she’s trying to outrun the silence,’ she murmurs. ‘The empty side of the bed. The memories. The fear she’ll never feel wanted or loved again p>
The words hit low and hard in my chest. I’ve been focusing on preserving my father’s memory. His legacy. Maybe she’s just trying to survive it.
‘He was Irish too,’ I admit. ‘He would have liked you p>
‘I would’ve liked to meet him.’ She nestles closer. ‘He raised a good man.’ She squeezes my bicep, and her gaze drifts back to the sea. Minutes pass in silence. Both of us quietly immersed in separate thoughts, together. She snuggles into me until the heavens open, and huge hard raindrops pelt from the sky.
‘Let’s swim in the sea.’ She leaps from my lap, tilts her face up to the sky, opening her mouth to catch the rain.
Despite myself, the corner of my mouth twitches. ‘You’re something else, Irish p>
Thunder cracks overhead, as if on cue.
For the first time all day, I feel the tension in my shoulders loosen.
Not gone.
But eased.
She did that.
With a few quiet words, and her body folded into mine like she belongs there.
‘Come on! Life is for living!’ She shrugs off her robe and tosses it onto the chair. She’s wearing that damned white bikini again.
I stand and whip off my t-shirt. Her pupils dilate, drinking in my torso.
And God only knows I’d follow her anywhere when she’s looking at me like that.
Now that is a dangerous thought.