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)
Of course, that was probably my own bitterness projecting onto my da, because I was so angry at him—nearly to the point of hate—for making me come home.
For sending Tommy away.
For ruining my happily ever after.
Siobhan and I sat cross-legged on my bed. She’d barely left my side since I’d moved back in, knowing that I wasn’t bearing just the weight of Rory’s loss but of Tommy’s as well.
Our voices were hushed, though there was no real reason to be. The house was silent save for the occasional creak of the old wooden beams, the distant whisper of wind sneaking in through the windowpane.
“Da invited the Kavanaghs to dinner,” I murmured, my fingers twisting a loose thread on my sleeve.
Siobhan sighed, flopping back onto the mattress, her red hair spilling over my pillow. “It was inevitable.”
“I told him I’m still in mourning and didn’t want to attend.”
She snorted, turning her head to look at me. “And how long do ye think he’ll let ye use that excuse?”
I sighed, rubbing at my temple, exhaustion creeping into my bones. “He didn’t let me use it this time. I was ordered to attend.”
Siobhan propped herself up on her elbows, her brow furrowed, frustration simmering in her green eyes. “Ye’re not actually considering it, are ye? I mean… I get ye came back home to save Tommy from getting in trouble… but Fi… ye can’t marry Brian.”
If only Siobhan knew the real truth. I really came home to save her. Sure, I didn’t want Tommy to get in trouble, but if it weren’t for Siobhan, I would have made a run for it. Of course, I could never tell her that. She’d be riddled with guilt and I wasn’t about to put that on her.
“Of course I’m not marrying Brian.” I sat up straighter, but my stomach twisted as I spoke. “But for now, I have to play Da’s game.”
Siobhan’s expression darkened. “I’m sorry yer going through this. It’s not fair.”
My heart ached with love for my little sister, sharing space with the fear I held for her future. I was at a loss on how to save us both and that was my ultimate goal, but I couldn’t afford to be reckless.
“I’ll figure something out,” I said, though I had no clue what that something was.
Siobhan smirked. “Maybe we should make ye as unappealing as possible at dinner.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “What? Like do my makeup all wrong? Talk with my mouth full? Belch and fart at the table?”
She cackled, rolling onto her side. “Oh, absolutely. Maybe spill wine on Brian’s lap too.”
I shook my head, laughing despite the sick feeling in my stomach. “If only it were that easy.”
A beat of silence passed between us before she asked softly, “Do ye miss Tommy?”
My throat tightened, my fingers curling into the blanket beneath me. “With every breath I take.”
I knew he’d made it home safely because Kathleen passed on the message after he called her. He hadn’t asked to speak with me. I didn’t know if that was because he didn’t want to make things harder for me or because he was hurting too much himself. Either way, the ache in my chest hadn’t faded—it had settled, becoming a dull, constant throb that would never let me forget what I’d lost.
A knock at the door made us jump.
“Fiona,” my mother’s voice called from the other side.
Siobhan and I exchanged glances before I rose, smoothing my skirt and opening the door. My mother stood there, her expression unreadable, her hands folded in front of her like she was trying to keep them from shaking.
“There’s someone here to see ye,” she said.
I frowned. “Who?”
“Come down to the sitting room,” she instructed and turned away from me. I glanced back at Siobhan who scrambled off my bed. “Could it be Tommy?” she asked with glee.
I refused to let my heart hope for that much. “Let’s go see.”
We demurely went downstairs, although I was so curious I wanted to go stampeding. When we entered the sitting room, I saw a tall, middle-aged man standing just beyond my mam. He was dressed in a dark suit and carrying a leather satchel and his presence alone made me uneasy.
He smiled at me and inclined his head. “Ms. Conlan, my name is Mr. Keane. I’m a solicitor handling Rory Conlan’s estate.”
My gaze darted to my mother as I wondered why a solicitor would want to talk to me. My mam stood at the window, looking out of it, her arms folded over her chest. She was listening but by giving us her back, she was telling me that she was not a part of whatever this was.
“Please… have a seat, Mr. Keane,” I said, motioning to one of the chairs. I perched on the edge of the sofa, Siobhan sitting right next to me as if she were my own attorney there to protect my interests.