Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Vendors lined the streets, their striped awnings fluttering in the breeze, creating pockets of activity where handcrafted goods were displayed—intricately woven wool sweaters, delicate lace shawls, carved wooden toys and gleaming silver jewelry. The murmur of bartering voices rose and fell, punctuated by the occasional cheerful shout of a vendor promising the best wares in all of Tipperary.
Children dashed between the stalls, their faces streaked with bright paint as they clutched sticky toffee apples and waved wooden swords, their giggles ringing through the air. A group of lads were daring each other to try the strongest cider, their voices rowdy and slurred as they clinked their pints together.
Sitting just outside the doorway of a pub, an accordion and fiddle struck up a lively reel, the fast-paced rhythm of a bodhrán keeping time. A small crowd had gathered, clapping along as couples spun and twirled in effortless steps. A man with a weathered cap and a face full of joy called out the next steps, guiding the dancers as they laughed and stumbled, caught up in the revelry of the moment.
I looked forward to this fair every year. Every bit of this spoke to who I was on a cellular level as an Irish woman proud of her heritage.
But tonight… I think it was forever ruined.
I walked beside Brian, his voice droning on about bloodlines and business, his words blurring into the background like a noise I no longer cared to hear. Because my heart wasn’t here, but rather with someone else.
Brian strode beside me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive wool coat, his chest puffed out just slightly as if he were walking through the town streets to be seen rather than to actually enjoy any of it. His voice was steady, confident, full of self-importance as he launched into a monologue about his family’s latest acquisition.
“Cost a small fortune, of course, but worth every penny. His bloodlines trace directly back to St. Simon, and Da says he’ll be the future of our breeding program. A real investment in the future and one I know yer father will approve of.”
I forced myself to pay attention, though my thoughts kept pulling elsewhere—to the cool night breeze on the hill under the hawthorns, the press of Tommy’s body against mine, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I blinked and focused back on Brian, who was watching me expectantly.
“What do ye think, Fiona? Impressive, isn’t it?” He smiled, clearly waiting for my approval.
I gave a noncommittal nod. “Aye, sounds like a solid investment.”
“Solid?” He scoffed, shaking his head as if I didn’t understand the true magnitude of the stallion’s worth. “It’s a game changer. A horse like this can transform an entire operation. We’ll send him to Kildare for the season, and after that, we might even syndicate him. A stud fee that high will draw global attention. Ye won’t find bloodlines like his anywhere else in Ireland.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from sighing. He was talking as if owning a fine horse was the same as owning a fine suit—as if breeding was only about money and reputation, not about heart and instinct, about knowing a horse’s spirit as much as its pedigree.
“It’s not all about the bloodlines,” I said before I could stop myself. “Ye can have the finest breeding in the world, but if a horse doesn’t have heart, it won’t amount to much.”
Brian chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s a romantic notion, Fi, but ye’re thinking like someone who rides for fun. Businessmen—real horsemen—don’t leave things to sentiment.”
I bristled at that. “Ye think I don’t know horses?”
He lifted a hand, placating. “Now don’t get cross. I just mean ye’ve never had to think about the bigger picture. The money. The deals. The legacy. Ye ride them, sure, but ye don’t have to make the hard choices. Yer father does all that for ye.”
I stiffened, his words hitting deeper than he probably intended. I wanted to make those choices. I wanted to prove that I was more than just a girl waiting to be married off, more than someone expected to smile and nod while men like Brian handled the business.
But before I could respond, Brian stopped at a small stall selling leather gloves and wool scarves. He picked up a mint green scarf, the color close to my eyes, and turned to me with a grin.
“This would suit ye.”
I frowned. “I don’t need it.”
“I insist.” Before I could protest further, he handed a few notes to the vendor and draped the scarf around my neck himself.
I forced a tight smile, my stomach twisting. He wasn’t cruel, not really. He was trying. He thought this was what I wanted—what any girl would want. A man to fawn over her, to buy her things, to secure her future.