Chapter 1 Skye
Skye
‘Brodie, you’ve been amazing, but I can’t ask you to keep funding renovations for a house you hate. I’m the one who wants to keep Montgomery House going and make it viable for the future, and hosting this wedding is the best chance I’ve got.’
My older brother sighed on the other end of the phone. ‘I’m sorry I can’t pretend that I care more, you know how I feel about that place.’
‘I know,’ I said. My brother and I had grown up here – at least until my parents had divorced when I was ten and Brodie was twelve. Then, everything had fallen apart, when our parents’ fractious marriage had imploded.
There were undoubtedly bad memories but maybe I’d just been better than my brother at remembering the good ones. He’d been older and so had probably shielded me from the worst of our parents’ breakup, to his own detriment.
I’d been sent to a boarding school in the west of Ireland, and Brodie had been sent to another in Scotland. Our mother had stationed herself first in New York and was now in Switzerland with her new husband. Our father moved between Scotland and London.
And our house, which had been in our family for generations had just..
. started to crumble. It had belonged to our maternal grandmother, handed down to her by her father.
A wedding present. She’d lived with us until I was five.
Those had been the halcyon days, because everything had changed after she died.
It was called a house but really, it more resembled a small castle. And it stood in acres of its own grounds, complete with a little wood, and a walled garden, overlooking the Irish Sea just outside Dublin city. There was a stone family chapel in the wood.
There was even a mosaic-tiled lap pool. But it was in bad need of a clean and refurbishment. Needless to say, in Ireland an outdoor pool was far down the list of priorities.
No matter how much money was spent patching things up or upgrading them, the work was neverending.
As if reading my mind, my brother said, ‘Skye, it’s a money pit. Are you really sure you want to invest all this time and effort into it? If these events don’t take off, your job doesn’t come close to paying enough to maintain it.’
Brodie was right and I hated him for it.
I had a job but it was for a small marketing firm and it basically paid me a living wage, certainly not enough to be the chatelaine of a two-hundred-year-old mini castle.
Any kind of inherited wealth our family had once had was no more.
Brodie was successful, but I didn’t want him to feel tied to a property he had no love for.
So I had to figure it out on my own.
Because I did love Montgomery House. Everyone had dispersed from it after the divorce but it had remained for me like a solid secure anchor. I’d moved back in after I’d left secondary school, becoming its de facto caretaker, but I needed help.
I’d been clearing weeds and brambles near the driveway when Brodie had rung and I was sitting on a large stone looking at the ivy-clad walls of the house.
Probably one of the only things still holding it together.
The old granite that had been quarried locally was visible in patches.
The roof needed serious TLC. I just hoped the weather would hold up for the next fortnight as it had been forecast.
But the windows sparkled in the sunshine, as if unaware of the imminent peril.
The majestic entrance with its huge wooden door, castellated walls and round towers on either end gave the house fairytale vibes, but our parents’ marriage certainly hadn’t been a fairytale. As if hearing my thoughts. Brodie said, ‘Have you spoken to either of them recently?’
I pushed down the old hurt. I shouldn’t still be affected by our parents’ careless neglect at twenty-six. They did love me and Brodie but just... never enough.
‘No.’ I stood up now and kicked at some dirt and gravel.
Our parents had done quite a number on us – giving us both a smorgasbord of issues, ranging from lack of trust in loved ones, me, and a very unhealthy attitude to relationships and a toxic dose of cynicism, Brodie.
‘Any plans for your birthday, sis? I’m really sorry I can’t come over, but this deal is going through...’
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling, ‘God forbid I’d get in the way of one of your deals, Brodie.’ My brother was a property developer but on a massive scale for things like football stadiums and prestige national projects that usually involved cutting-edge architecture.
He groaned. ‘Don’t make me feel bad. I’ll make it up to you, next time you’re in London.’
I knew Brodie loved me but I couldn’t help the pang that I’d be alone. Our father would call on the day, distracted and flustered – he was a writer. Our mother would call a day late, apologising and telling me how much she missed me.
‘It’s fine,’ I said, and added, ‘but you’ll be making it up to me by taking me to a show and for dinner at the Shard.’
‘Done. And when you’re ready to admit defeat with Montgomery House, I’ll have investors lined up within hours.’
I shook my head. ‘I’m not giving up, yet. Caitlin and Liam’s wedding is the perfect opportunity to showcase it for future events. This is what I’ve been building towards. If this is a success, then there’s hope for the future.’
My best friend from university was getting married here in just under a week’s time.
She’d come here once for a weekend while we were in university and had loved it.
As soon as I’d floated the idea, she’d jumped at it.
I’d warned her that it might be a bit rough around the edges, but she’d assured me that didn’t matter.
She’d moved to New York in the past couple of years, had fallen in love and was now getting married. Well, she and Liam had officially got married in New York already, but they wanted to do the blessing and reception here to include their Irish family and friends.
She had a new brother-in-law who happened to be a billionaire and was insisting on financing the wedding, as a present. So I was getting the top going rate for venue hire and an events company were doing all of the wedding fitout and decoration.
She’d also insisted I be her maid of honour. Something I was less enthusiastic about, but secretly moved by. I didn’t have many close friends. See above: trust issues. The people I loved most had left me behind.
The wedding prep was seriously underway today. Vans were pulling in and out of the driveway and men carrying sections of a marquee were disappearing around the side of the building. The place was buzzing with activity. The guests would be moving in the day before the rehearsal dinner.
I said, ‘Brodie, if you could see the place, it’s coming back to life already, and it’s going to look amazing.’
My brother snorted in my ear. ‘Good luck tackling that jungle of a garden. The walled garden disappeared under weeds years ago.’
I omitted to mention the fact that the head landscaper, hired to tidy up what was admittedly a mammoth job ahead of the wedding, had walked off the job a few days ago leaving a motley crue of landscapers behind.
Instead, I said, ‘Actually, Caitlin’s husband’s best man happens to be a hotshot landscape designer and he’s coming over early to help out and save costs.’
‘Well, good luck sis, really, I know how much you love the place.’
I said goodbye to my brother, stuck my phone in my back pocket and put on the thick gloves I’d been using to try to tidy up the driveway border.
Then I stopped. Speaking of hotshot landscapers, I hadn’t seen this guy yet.
Caitie had told me, ‘He’s pretty gorgeous, but he knows it too, so be warned. He’s a bit of a playboy in these parts, known for avoiding commitment like it’s an infectious disease.’
I’d responded dryly, ‘I think I’ll be safe, Caitie. I have no time for big-headed players.’
‘And when was your last play date, exactly?’ she’d asked mischievously.
I’d fobbed her off, not wanting to admit that my dating dry spell had gone from weeks to months. I pushed that conversation out of my head, because it led down paths I had no desire to visit, and got back to clearing the weeds.
I only heard the sound of something cutting into the the bush from the other side when it was almost all the way through to where I was standing.
I stepped around it to see a half-naked man wielding a strimmer.
Low-slung shorts on slim hips. But the rest of him was not.
.. slim. He was bulging with muscles. I didn’t know where to look first. His pectorals were lightly fuzzed with blond hair.
His abdomen was a six-pack of light and shade.
There was a provocative line of hair that descended down under his shorts.
He was rippling with a masculinity I’d never seen before.
I looked up at his face. His jaw was covered with a short beard. Fuzzy. His hair was messy. Strawberry blond? His eyes were bluey green. Mouth... full and sensual, tipped up in a smile.
He was quite literally the most disturbingly gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Even if he could do with a good shave and a hair cut.
I realised I was staring at this complete stranger. I felt oddly flustered and too hot. I wasn’t used to noticing men like this. On such an immediately visceral level.
He turned the strimmer off and the silence was suddenly deafening.
I put my hands on my hips. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
If my cool tone had any effect on him he didn’t show it. He looked me up and down, slow and appreciative, and then he smiled even wider and drawled with a voice dipped in dark honey, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.’
I barely registered the American accent but I did register the gold chain around his neck and the tantalising glimpse of a couple of tattoos on his arms adding up to a general impression of rough around the edges.
‘Well, I’m not surprised, the way you were wielding that thing. Do you have any idea what you’re doing? This is a prizewinning rose bush.’
His eyes twinkled. Twinkled! at me and there was a suspicious twitch around his mouth. He put up his hands. ‘Listen, I’m a bush guy, and I’d never harm one unnecessarily. I do know what I’m doing here.’
That conjured up an image in my mind that made me blush for the first time in years. It was not welcome. I’d locked down those gauche responses after being taught a lesson in public humiliation in university.
He was altogether too scruffy and disheveled and sexy and downright disturbing. And it was only at that moment that I had an awful sinking feeling in my gut.
I folded my arms across my chest. ‘Who exactly are you?’