Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“Are you sure?” Conal asks. “If it’s something you’re interested in, we can make it work.”
I shake my head. “It’s a relief that I’m unavailable, actually. I was looking for accounting jobs out of obligation. I realized too late that it’s not the right path for me.”
“What do you want to do, then?” Bron asks.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Conal says before I can answer. “We’ll take care of you.”
“Of course,” Bron says. “I didn’t mean Hazel had to work, but maybe she has another passion.”
When Rafe squeezes my knee, I realize I’m biting my lip again. I need to break that habit.
“I don’t know what I want to do,” I tell them. “I just know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life working with numbers. I should’ve realized it a lot sooner, but I was so focused on getting good grades, I didn’t pay attention to whether I actually enjoyed what I was learning.”
“Maybe something will find you.” There’s a fire in Bron’s eyes that’s inspiring.
“When did you all know you wanted to be musicians?” I ask.
Rafe shrugs. “I don’t remember not knowing.”
“Me either,” Bron says.
“I started wanting to be a singer right around the time I started liking girls,” Conal says. “It seemed like the best way to get the prettiest ones to like me back.”
It’s impossible to conceive of a time when girls weren’t going wild for Conal. “I’m trying to imagine what you all looked like,” I tell them. “What were you like?”
Conal points to his brothers. “These two were little shits.”
“We were all a handful,” Bron says, “or at least that’s what our mom likes to tell us.”
“I’ll bet you were.”
As Conal’s telling me about a prank he played on Rafe and Bron at Christmas one year when they were little, our car pulls into a driveway blocked by a gate. After a short pause, the gate slowly swings open and we proceed up a wide circular drive to the biggest house I’ve ever seen.
“Home sweet home,” Conal says.
Of course, the mansion is nowhere near as big as the massive casinos on the Strip, but compared to the average home, this one looks more like a museum than a house.
Actually, maybe villa is a better word to describe it. The Spanish architecture makes it look warm and inviting, despite its imposing size. The limo comes to a stop between a beautiful fountain and a grand entrance lined with flower pots that are nearly as tall as me.
Once inside, I try to keep my jaw from dropping, but I’m not sure I succeed. It’s hard to take it all in, from the gleaming marble floors and the huge wrought iron chandeliers to the stunning filigree detail on the railings of the staircase that gracefully curves up to the second floor. Another staircase curves down to a lower level, and other rooms lead off in several directions.
I can’t believe we’re going to be living here. Yet the men walk in as if this is just another day for them.
They head directly upstairs, where they deposit our things in an enormous bedroom. It’s so big, it contains a full living room area with a couch, chairs, fireplace, a tv, a large desk, and a wet bar. Of course, there’s an extra-large bed, and the sight of it stirs up images of what they did to me this morning. I can only imagine what we’ll be getting up to in this bed.
“Those are for you,” Conal says, gesturing to a stack of shiny pink shopping bags and boxes on the desk. “Just some underwear.” The wicked grin he gives me contradicts his nonchalance.
Before I can respond, he says, “Sorry we have to run, Hazel. We’ll be in the studio downstairs. Make yourself at home, feel free to explore, and I was told there’d be food in the kitchen, so help yourself when you’re hungry. You’re welcome to stop in and listen to us if you want.”
As I nod, he adds, “Don’t be alarmed if you hear people coming and going. There’ll be others joining us in the studio; we’ve got some session musicians helping out. Our assistant might stop in, and there’s a housekeeper around here somewhere, too.”
“Sounds good. I hope you have a productive day!”
“Thanks, babe.” Conal kisses me, followed by Bron and Rafe, and then they start for the door.
“Wait!” I call after them. “Don’t forget you told your PR manager that you’d call him this morning.”
Conal shakes his head. “He can wait. Thanks for the reminder, though.”
Then they leave, and I’m alone for the first time since I got married. I take the opportunity to draw in a deep breath, pause, and try to mentally and emotionally catch up with everything that’s happening. Thankfully, my hangover is gone, but my head is still spinning.