Chapter 3
Maeve
Brontide (n) the low rumble of distant thunder
Thirty-six minutes, I think, as I check myself in the mirror for what has to be the hundredth time.
I have thirty-six minutes before this will no longer be a horrible joke, but a screwed-up reality.
In thirty-six minutes, I’d be standing face-to-face with him.
He would be in my house, in my space. Anxiety wraps around my ribs, tight and relentless, and I shake my hands loosely at my sides, trying to dissipate the thick air surrounding me.
“Well, if nothing else, at least I look good,” I say with a sigh to my reflection.
The black mini-bodycon dress clings to my curves like a secret, falling just above mid-thigh and showing off the sheer back seam stockings and platform Mary Janes I’d paired with it.
The top half is modest enough, though, with its square neckline and three-quarter sleeves hiding the markings on my body that I’m not ready to share with anyone else.
I fluff the loose curls in my strawberry blonde hair and lean closer to the mirror to check my makeup.
I’d decided on a dramatic smoky effect with a bold winged line because it makes my eyes and freckles pop.
I run my fingertips under my eyes lightly, my breath fogging up the mirror.
I straighten up and fidget with the rings on my fingers, indecision adding to my anxiety.
Earlier, I’d slipped on Callum’s promise ring without thinking, and now, I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to wear it tonight.
Could be fun, I think, as I gaze down at the beautiful sapphire surrounded by tiny white diamonds.
He might shit himself when he sees me wearing it.
I look back up at my reflection and nod. Yep, that would be some fitting karma.
I hadn’t worn the thing in forever, of course.
I do, on occasion, pull it out when it catches my eye, but for the most part, I avoid anything and everything to do with memories of him like the plague.
And it isn’t easy to do. Callum and I had grown up together, so he’d spent a good bit of his childhood at our estate.
Everything here is tainted. The house. The grounds.
My mother’s garden. The only room in the house he’d never been in, at least in its current form, is my library.
I’d renovated the space a few years ago when I was getting my interior design business up and running, so it’s one of the few spots that really feels like…
mine. I wish I could disappear in there now, cozy up in my overstuffed reading chair, and lose myself in a book.
But instead, I’ve got to head downstairs for the world’s most awkward dinner party.
Just then, Biddy knocks on my door and peeks her head in, giving me an empathetic look.
“Your father asked that you come downstairs to wait with him in the foyer.”
I take a deep breath and release it in a whoosh.
“Thanks, Biddy. I’ll be right down.”
She nods at me and smiles, then closes the door behind her.
I look in the mirror one more time to ensure my dress is smooth and my tattoos are covered.
I catch a glimpse of my eyes again, and I pause to study them.
Something is different, and it isn’t the makeup.
They look… sharp, somehow. Excited and bright.
Must be the nerves. Before I move, I catch a glimpse of a photo of my parents in the Mount Congrave Gardens in Ireland.
My parents were so young, and my mother was so beautiful.
They had just gotten engaged, and I couldn’t think of a better place for my dad to have chosen.
I run my finger across the photo, wishing she were here right now, wondering what she'd think of all this.
I cross my bedroom and head into the hallway, my heart racing.
As I descend the stairs, I see my father in the foyer.
He’s nicely dressed in a dark navy suit and matching tie.
I watch as he adjusts his cufflinks—gold, bearing the Collins family crest. An anniversary gift from my mother.
She’d been gone for well over a decade, but he uses everything she gave him as if she were still here to see it. I smile despite my nerves.
He turns sharply toward me as he hears my heels click on the wood floor. He claps his hands together once and says, “Ah, there you are! You look beautiful, Mo Grian! They are coming up the driveway now.”
For a moment, I freeze in place. It feels like lead has been suddenly dropped straight into my stomach.
He hadn’t called me that since…since mom passed.
Mo Grian, My Sun. Why now, after almost sixteen years of grim silences?
Not only that, but I can feel his excitement about tonight’s festivities.
All of it makes me feel both elated and indignant.
Why is this the affair that brings him joy?
Why not birthdays, vacations, or either of my graduations?
I shake it off and smile back at him.
“Thanks, Dad. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“You flatter me,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Are you ready for our guests?”
“Do I have a choice?” I mutter under my breath.
“That’s the spirit!” he says brightly as Biddy opens the door for the Egans.
Niall and Aisling Egan smile brightly at us and move through the threshold easily, no trace of awkwardness or hesitance in their movements.
My father moves forward to shake Niall’s hand, but Aisling, or Mrs. Ash, as I’d always called her, heads straight toward me and wraps me in an embrace so tight and familiar that I feel an ache in my heart and tears prickling in the corners of my eyes.
I squeeze her back, thinking about all of the times I’d missed her so desperately over the last nine years.
She’d been like a mother to me after my mother, Imogen, had passed away in a car accident, but after the falling out between our families and between me and Callum, I hadn’t seen her much. A wave of guilt washes over me.
She pulls back, her hands on my shoulders.
Her piercing blue eyes, so like Callum’s, are searching mine.
I can’t help but notice that she remains incredibly beautiful.
Her dark hair is long and sweeps gracefully over her shoulders, and her navy blue evening dress accentuates her ivory skin and lithe figure.
“You look so much like Imogen when she was your age,” she whispers with a small smile.
I smile back, but turmoil churns in my heart as memories of my mother blaze into my mind.
Maeve 9 Years Old
“Evie!” Mom yelled from across the garden, “It’s time for lunch!” I popped out of my hiding spot that Callum and I had created inside the tall bushes. Callum and Ronan helped me keep it up, so there was always a clear space inside them.
“Coming, Mháthair!” I told her as I emerged.
I started running as soon as I cleared the opening in the bushes.
I caught up with her at the steps leading to the back door, falling into step with her as she started up the stairs.
Her hand found the center of my shoulder blades.
Biddy met her at the back door with a crystal vase for the roses she had in her other hand.
“Thank you,” my mother said warmly as she placed the flowers in the vase.
“Mo bhláth,” Momma said to me as she sat beside me, running her hand down the back of my head until reached the ends of my hair, where she ran her fingers through them. “Are you excited to spend the evening with the boys?”
“Yes! We decided on a movie, but we're going to build a fort first. They're the princes, and I am the princess.” I told her, straightening my posture to imitate the way a royal would sit.
“Oh, is that so?” She mused, continuing to stroke my hair while I ate my Irish stew and soda bread.
“Well, remember, we will be out late at the gala, so you three shouldn’t stay up waiting for us.
” I looked at my mother, my mouth full of stew, and gazed into her eyes.
They looked like mine. Her strawberry hair was wavy and blowing with the breeze drifting through the open glass doors, not far from where we sat.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said after swallowing my food. “Can Orin and Thadg come stay, too?”
“Sure, I will let Cian know that they need to be sent over before we leave.” Her smile was kind, but that kindness was reserved only for those she cared about. The landline rang, and Biddy walked quickly to answer it. Momma and I waited patiently to see who was calling.
“It’s for you, Miss,” Biddy told my mother while her hand was over the speaker to muffle their voices. My mother nodded her head as she walked over to where Biddy stood with the phone.
“Hello? This is she. Wait, who did you say this was?” My mother looked at the phone, confusion etched on her face, and then slowly hung it back up before turning to face me.
“Who was that, Momma?” I asked, curiosity got the best of me. Her eyes were sharp, and she had a fire burning behind them.
“Oh, I’m not sure,” she said, her voice a bit rougher, like she was holding back.
She called Biddy over and whispered something in her ear before she walked back over to where I sat.
Momma kissed me on the head, taking a deep breath before stroking my hair once more.
She was always gentle with me, but those not in the inner circle didn’t get that part of her.