Chapter 26
Bonnie
I don’t let myself fully analyze why I feel zero guilt about the first-class seat Ethan booked me to Dublin. Or the luxury airport transfer to Clonmel—his text about the driver waiting for me only came in once I touched down in Dublin.
Maybe it’s my preoccupation with the delicious soreness between my thighs, which has me clenching them together again as I remember this morning, that has me so agreeable.
Perhaps it was the dizzying tour of his home and the promise of a full tour of the grounds, stables, and nearby lake when I return.
Or the way he dropped me off at the airport with a parting kiss that left me breathless and my toes curling in my new pumps.
I’m not sure how he managed it, but by the time I had breakfast, a few changes of clothes and shoes, some even in leather, were laid out on the bed. He’d taken my size from my dirty clothes, so they were a perfect fit. I’ve never been so pampered in my entire life, which is precisely why I should be feeling all kinds of guilt right now.
I don’t because Ethan Hawthorne is a fucking god.
I thought I was crushing on him before? Right now, I’m so infatuated that if he asked me to jump off a ledge, I’d seriously consider it. Holy smokes, what a way to wake up from a ten-year slumber.
I needed comfort, distraction, and respite from my shock and grief, and he gave me everything I needed and more.
My grief is still profound and not something to easily recover from. After all, Nan was the only family I had, but in the wake of my loss, I feel like I gained something just as profound; a lover, and a friend.
Someone who gets me because he pays attention. All the times it seemed like he didn't see me or care, it was him trying to conceal his interest. He was right the other day in his office. I’ve held his attention from day one.
The cloud of euphoria I floated on all the way from New York vanishes, however, in a mist of dread and disbelief the moment the Rolls-Royce pulls up in front of Nan’s bungalow on Pykkar Street.
There’s a beat-up old van with red lettering. The Harmonia Sect IV.
It’s not the same van from ten years ago because that one could not have lasted this long. Somehow, they’ve found a van just as rickety to replace the old one. God forbid they splurge on a new one. Not that they’d keep any money around for that purpose.
Dread spreads through me like an ink stain, and I’m rooted to my seat. A whooshing sound begins in my ear in the same rhythm as my heartbeat. I feel sick.
Through all my grief over Nan’s passing and the ecstasy I found in Ethan’s arms, I didn’t once think that coming here meant I might see my parents again. Nan is my father’s mother, but he didn’t speak to her while she was alive. Nan was vehemently against my father’s choices and lifestyle.
Throughout the four weeks she was in the hospital after breaking her hip almost two years ago, and the five months I spent when I moved back to look after her, my father didn’t call or visit her once.
Somehow, I didn’t think he’d care if she died.
Twiggy said he’d wait for me at Nan’s place, but he didn’t warn me that my parents had turned up. He couldn’t have known that I haven’t seen them in ten years, since I never mentioned them to him. He only knows I ran away from home at seventeen.
I can’t do this. I can’t face my parents. Not without Nan to back me up.
My father has always been firm and rigid, the one who laid down the law while my mother and I obeyed. Well, my mother obeyed. I always rebelled and questioned things.
When I ran away, I heard that they were distraught for a few weeks, but when Nan told my mother that she found me in Clonmel, they stopped looking for me. I guess it was less embarrassing for me to be sequestered away in Clonmel than to be under their nose, the epitome of corruption, while they tried to purge others of their own vices.
I imagine what they would see when they look at me now. Edgy, curly pixie-cut with dark purple highlights, earrings lining my ears, ending with large hoops on my lobes, my tan silk shirt, tight designer jeans, and black Louboutin heels, all of which probably cost more than their van.
It’s only 9 a.m. I’m sure they’ll be gone by evening. I’m debating leaving and coming back after they’ve gone when Twiggy comes out of the house and rushes towards the Rolls-Royce. I get out of the car to greet him.
“Bonnie! That was quick, love, ye gettin’ here so fast.” He looks at the car, “And would ye look at that car behind ya? Dressed to the nines, ye are too. Like ye've a million quid in yer back pocket.”
“Thanks, Twigs.” I look anxiously over his shoulder to the house. “Is my father in there?”
“Aye, he is. Both of yer parents are. But don’t be worryin'," he says, a steely glint in his eyes. "I reckon he's more vexed with me than he ever will be with ya."
Although I’ve never told Twiggy about my parents, you only have to be in a room with my father for two minutes to feel the weight of his disdain settle over you. As a Sect master, he spends every waking hour sitting on his high horse passing judgment.
“Did you tell them—?” I ask, wondering if he told my dad about his sexual preferences.
“Aye, I did. I told 'em I fancy men. None of their business, really, and they didn't ask, but I just wanted to see ‘em squirm. I’m sorry, Bonnie. I know he's your da, but…” He tilts his head toward the house, incredulous, “Has he always been that way?”
“As long as I’ve known him, yes. I haven’t seen him in ten years, so take it with a pinch of salt,” I murmur distractedly, still wondering if it’s a good idea to go in.
The widening in his eyes tells me he's surprised by this. “Well, at least yer not like me, eh? I'd wager that's the biggest sin in the book.”
“Surprisingly, it’s not. It’s hoarding money and befriending someone outside the cult. I mean, the Sect.”
I happen to breaking the most sacrosanct rules. Again. And this time unrepentantly. Fornicating with a billionaire and loving it. How do you like the sound of that, Father?
Twiggy looks like he might be sick. “Look, let's get inside, aye? We can't keep dawdlin’ out here. The undertaker’s comin’ for a chat soon. And your da? He's been gawkin’ out the window since ye rolled up.”
Meeting my parents again after ten years is everything I’ve dreaded. And worse. It hurt far more than I anticipated it would.
Paul and Hana Ruaidhrí have aged, Ma more so than Da. My father’s face has deeper lines and grooves around his persistently frowning mouth and on his forehead, his hair grayer and receding more, but he still stands tall and proud.
I’ve never known my mother as a happy person, but right now, the small woman looks miserable. I want to put it down to Nan’s passing but I know it's not.
Her tanned skin is sallow, and her thick, curly hair, which was once lustrous and coal black—a testament to her Polynesian heritage—looks dull and stringy. And is it me, or does her posture seem more stooped? She isn’t even fifty yet!
Tears sting my eyes because the little girl, the troubled teen, or the young adult who needed them badly was never chosen over their piety and religious beliefs.
And they still continue to deny me, going by the hostility in my father’s eyes and the hurt disappointment in my mother’s. How loveable could I be if my own parents think I'm beyond redemption?
“Hi, Ma, Da,” I say, hovering by the door, my voice already cracking. This house is more home to me than any place I’ve ever known, but because of these two people in the room, I don't feel like I belong here.
To my surprise, my mother’s face breaks into a tremulous smile. “Siobhán.” She comes over to me, and I see that her eyes are glassy, but she keeps a smile on her face. “Siobhán.” She holds me at arm's length, looking at me intently. My hair, my earrings. She looks like she wants to say more.
After what feels like an intense battle, she pulls me into her arms and hugs me tight. I want to push her away. Instead, I start to sob. She still smells like mint and cloves. I feel her body shaking with silent sobs, too. Her hold tightens, almost painfully, around me and then abruptly, she sets me apart, dabbing discreetly at her eyes.
“Siobhán, it’s been so long,” she says in a surprisingly strong voice. She looks like a different woman from the one who took me in her arms just now. “Y’ know yer always welcome back home, no matter what’s been done.”
That’s not my home anymore. It’s not been my home in a decade. Maybe it's never even been my home.
“I’m so sorry about Nan,” I say instead.
“We all feel it, love.” Her eyes skitter away from mine, nervously glancing back towards where my father watches with disapproval. I don’t think he’s too happy with my mom’s reception. “Greet yer da.” She nudges me toward him.
I go to my dad because he won’t come to me. He was standing by the window when I came in and hasn’t moved an inch since. He’s still looking into the street. At the Rolls-Royce.
“Dia dhuit, Da." Hello, Father .
My father eyes my hair and expensive clothes with distaste. He doesn’t move to embrace me. “Still livin’ the high life, I see.”
“Paul, please, not now.” My mother’s soft, pleading voice floats over the sudden roaring in my ears.
I can't say anything because my throat has closed up.
“We were never enough for yer tastes, were we?” He points to the luxury car sitting in the street.
I was the one who was never enough for you.
“I’ve got a job now, Da, in New York. And that’s just the airport transfer,” I tell him, hating how I feel like I have to justify any part of my life to him.
His eyebrows shoot up. “All the way from Dublin? Wasn't the 717 bus good enough? Or a regular taxi? But no, ye roll in with a Ghost, flauntin’ how far ye've come from the Limerick days.”
I’m too shocked to say anything. Shocked because the Harmonial master, the ultimate peddler of poverty, knows that the car is a Rolls-Royce Ghost. I can bet my life that Mother wouldn’t have the foggiest clue about the make, much less its model.
Red-faced now, he continues, “Ye've been an embarrassment to yer ma and me and the entire sect with all your gallivantin’. It's clear as day yer still at it in the States.”
“Now look here—” Twiggy begins.
“Hold your tongue, lad. Yer only still here because t’was ye that discovered the body,” my father warns.
I’m hit by an unexpected bolt of pain.
The body. The body! My beloved Nan, reduced to those two cruel words. I crumple to the nearest chair, suddenly unable to stand as it hits me afresh that the only person who gave me a home worth coming back to is no longer here.
Twiggy marvels at my father’s callousness. “Bloody hell! Ye’ve not seen yer daughter in ten years, and this is how ya greet her? No wonder she ran away.”
“She ran away because she wasn’t willin’ to atone for her wrongdoings, and I’ll talk however I see fit. I’m her da and her Sect master. Maybe if ye heard some hard truths yerself, ye’d not be as off the rails as ye are.”
“Spittin’ seed and a babe from yer crotch doesn’t make ye lot parents,” Twiggy snaps.
“Now, see here—” my mother begins but is interrupted by my father.
“Get out!” my father booms at a smirking Twiggy, and I flinch involuntarily, springing up from my seat. The terror that bark always induces in me is not something I can rationalize.
I can’t stay here.
“Excuse me.” I slip out of the door before anyone can react. Although Twiggy is the one being thrown out, I’m the one who leaves.
Back in the Rolls-Royce, I sit there confused and not knowing where to direct the chauffeur, who is currently looking at me in puzzlement, but my head is scrambled.
Should I just go back to New York then?
Twiggy taps on the window, and the chauffeur lets him in at my nod.
The door opens, and he sits down next to me. “Bonnie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. But seein’ them... your folks... I can't believe ye put up with all that shite for two decades.”
“It’s okay.” My head is still spinning. “I just need to go, maybe I can come back when they’re not here?”
“Where are ye stayin’?”
“I don’t know.” I’d planned to stay in Nan’s, but I can’t anymore.
“Right, so, head to my flat in Dublin.” He fishes a key out of his pocket. “I'm stickin' by ya through all this, no matter what yer ma and da think. And to be honest, I wouldn't put it past him to leave ya out of the loop for the funeral."
“I don't think they’ll want me there. Sect folks might be there, and I don’t want to cause them embarrassment.”
“Tough fucking luck. Yer goin' to give yer granny the send-off she deserves, whether they're happy about it or not,” Twiggy orders.
“I didn’t think they’d be here right this moment. I guess I didn’t think about anything other than getting here. And Ethan only told me about the car after I got here. I didn’t know it was going to be a Rolls-Royce!” The tears come freely now. “I didn’t mean to show off or anything.”
“Lass,” he coos and cups my face. “Ye don't owe me or anyone an explanation. Especially not them! Okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
“By the way, ye never mentioned havin’ a fella. Ethan, is it? Sounds like a catch, good on ya, lass.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my boss, and he was being nice.” Why does that statement depress me?
“In that case, I think I’ll need to shoot me gaffer.”
“You don’t have a boss.” I smile
“Aye, but if I did, I’d off him. Look how yers puts ye up!”
I bite my lip. I’m still too raw from my father’s scathing comments to want to hear anything about being “put up” by a man. I take a deep breath before continuing, “I have to go. I can’t stay, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly, I’ll get the details off yer parents and see ya at the house later.”