25. A Dance of Desire #3
I can picture Callan’s ever-present scowl, his brooding silence meeting its match in Amelia’s razor-sharp tongue.
And then there’s Casey—his effortless charm usually lets him slide through life untouched, but somehow, Amelia remains uniquely immune to it.
The image tugs a smile from me, warmth blooming in my chest, admiration swelling like a tide I don’t fight.
“You are mighty, Auntie,” I say, shaking my head. “I’d have paid to see their faces when you said that.”
She smirks, clearly enjoying my amusement. “The big one—Callan—looked like he’d swallowed a stone. Hasn’t made eye contact with me all day.”
I shake my head, marveling at her unmatched boldness.. “I wish to be as brazen as you when I’m older.”
She pats my hand as we stop just outside the grand doors leading to the party. “Stepping into that room wearing that dress is your first step to finding that part of you. You are a fearless warrior, my girl, and I have every confidence that tonight, you’ll shine brighter than any star in the sky.”
I nod, straightening my shoulders as I meet her gaze.
Her smile is steady, her eyes shining with a fierce pride that settles something deep within me. “You carry great strength within you, my darling girl. Tonight, the world will see it too.”
Nothing in my wildest dreams could have prepared me for this.
I haven’t visited this room in my aunt’s villa before, but I’ve seen ballrooms—none like this. The very air seems alive, humming with divinity, the grandeur both overwhelming and enchanting.
The ceilings stretch impossibly high, frescoes unfolding above me like a celestial tapestry. I recognise the story from the carvings alone—ériu’s story, the same tale my mother told me night after night as a child. Seeing it here, immortalised in paint and stone, leaves me breathless.
“I can’t believe it,” I murmur, my voice barely audible. “To see this here… it’s incredible.”
Amelia steps closer, her smile soft, yet tinged with pride. “I may not live in my home country, but I bring it with me wherever I go,” she says, the weight of nostalgia woven into her words.
Towering marble columns line the walls and are adorned with gold leaves that catch the light. The chandeliers are massive, each flame encased in a glowing orb of ethereal light that seems to pulse as I stare.
The floor is a mosaic of polished stone, its green and white hues familiar. Amelia catches my expression and laughs.
“Connemara marble,” she says, tapping it lightly with her foot. “One of the strongest marbles you can find, and you can only find it in—”
“Ireland,” I finish, grinning as our eyes meet.
She nods, pleased, and places a hand on my shoulder.
The air is thick with a fragrance too beautiful to belong to this world. It clings to the room, softening every breath. Music drifts through the space, a supernatural symphony that hums with divine energy, threading itself into the laughter and movement around me.
Hundreds of flowers spill across the tables, their vibrant blooms bursting from perfectly placed arrangements. The sheer beauty of it steals my breath, striking me as both overwhelming and deeply moving. Amelia did all of this—for me. To celebrate my homecoming , as she’d called it.
Patrons dance with carefree abandon, their movements more expression than coordination.
Their attire is a spectacle in itself—flowing gowns adorned with shimmering embellishments, richly coloured tunics, capes that glisten under the chandeliers.
Their confidence is effortless, fused into every laugh, every step.
The sheer joy in the room is palpable, swirling through the air like a tangible force.
Eyes fix on me—some curious, others admiring. The attention doesn’t unsettle me. Instead, it fuels something stronger, a boldness I’ve never fully embraced. I stand taller, the nerves that once gnawed at me dissolving into something heady and exhilarating .
Confidence drapes over me like my gown—deliberate, daring. I feel worthy of the celebration.
“Auntie, this is—” Words slip from my grasp as I stand there, mouth partially open, trying to take it all in.
“This is all for you, dear,” she says, her voice warm but laced with something bittersweet.
“For nineteen years of missed birthdays and holidays. For moments I should have been there, but wasn’t.
Time I can’t get back, no matter how much I wish I could.
But tonight—tonight is ours. Tonight, I wouldn’t have it any other way. ”
She takes my hand and pulls me along, her energy urging me forward.
Whether it’s keeping me from crumbling under the weight of her sentiment—or to shield herself from lingering in the same thoughts—I can’t be sure.
But I let her guide me, my heart full and my throat tight as I silently promise to make this night one to remember.
Casey spots me first, standing in the far corner with a drink in his hand.
His jaw drops, his expression frozen in disbelief, before he hurriedly claps Callan on the back with enough force to make him flinch.
Callan turns, irritation clear on his face as his conversation—with a small group of partygoers, mostly women—comes to an abrupt halt.
His narrowed eyes lock on me, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he weighs his options.
Is he really willing to test Aunt Amelia’s warning?
Judging by the tension in his stance, every muscle in his body aches to storm over and drag me away.
The nerve of him—standing there, chatting with women dressed just as boldly as I am, yet looking at me like I’m the one committing some unforgivable sin.
With a mischievous grin, I stick my tongue out at them both. Childish? Maybe. Satisfying? Absolutely.
It’s a minor act of rebellion, one they can’t retaliate against tonight. Not here, not with Amelia’s warning hanging over their heads like a storm cloud.
Taunting them without consequence fills me with a small, delicious sense of victory. They’ll just have to sit with their opinions, because tonight is mine—and I don’t intend to waste it.
Amelia must sense the hesitation in my step because she glances back, her brow lifting ever so slightly in silent question.
I don’t answer with words, my gaze fixed on the boys.
The moment they catch her eye, their reactions are nothing short of comical—Callan stiffens like he’s been caught stealing, and Casey dramatically averts his gaze .
Amelia’s lips twitch with a barely concealed smirk, and I swear I hear her whisper, “ Cowardly bastards ,” under her breath as we continue walking.
“You must have said more than you mentioned, Auntie,” I say, side-eyeing her as her expression remains maddeningly composed.
She merely shrugs, a picture of innocence, though her silence tells me everything.
Despite myself, a laugh escapes me, soft but genuine.
Amelia slows, resting a hand lightly on my arm. When she looks at me, her voice is gentle but resolute.
“You have a soul so beautiful, Triona, it radiates outward. You’re gleaming—and I want you to stand tall tonight.”
Her sharp, kind eyes meet mine. There’s no room for deflection in her gaze—only quiet insistence. “And I want you to stop denying yourself the things you’ve been pushing away.”
My voice catches, and it’s thinner than I mean it to be. “What do you think I’m denying myself?”
She lifts her brows slightly, her expression unreadable but knowing. “Only you can answer that.” A pause, then with a glint that borders on amused:
“But I’ve my suspicions. And I trust you’ll come to your senses—sooner rather than later.”
The words land with more force than I expect. I’m left wondering if I’ve been more transparent than I thought—or if Amelia simply sees right through me.
With her, the latter never feels entirely impossible.
I realise something unusual as I’m led further into the room: no other woman in the crowd wears red. While the other patrons embrace boldness in their shimmering fabrics and intricate designs, the crimson of my gown stands alone, commanding a unique kind of attention.
“Auntie,” I begin, glancing around the room again, “why am I the only one in red?”
She chuckles softly as she places a reassuring hand on my back. “Triona, you are not the only one in red.”
I turn to her, my brow furrowing in confusion, but her gaze drifts past me, settling at the far end of the room.
A soft smile graces her lips as she gestures with a subtle nod.
I follow her line of sight to a figure standing with his back turned, deep in conversation with Bran.
His outfit catches the light—a deep red fabric that clings to him, adorned with floral embellishments that mirror the design of my gown.
He’s the finest man on the floor.
I’d know it was him whether he was dressed up or in tatters, but to see him like this is thrilling—his presence commanding the space effortlessly, exuding a gentleness and unshakable calm that steadies me in the crowd’s chaos. My everlasting centre-point of serenity.
Bran glances my way, his eyes widening in shock, mirroring the slack-jawed disbelief my brothers wore.
Before my footsteps can even whisper my approach, Finn turns, as if sensing me before I arrive.
The air vanishes from my lungs as I take him in—bathed in the fading light. He looks like a god carved from myth.
Up close, he’s even more devastating.
His hair, normally a touch wild, is pulled back, though a few strands fall rebelliously against his forehead and down the nape of his neck. It softens his look in a way that’s charming. He’s a picture of refinement and ruggedness, all at once.
His eyes travel over me, and the fire in them could set the room ablaze.
He lingers on every detail—from the exposing neckline to the daring skirt. My skin tingles under his focused gaze. It’s overwhelming, as if his fixated look alone can unravel me. Each movement of his throat as he swallows reveals the depth of his restraint.