Page 43 of The Past

A cold chill crept over me.

She glanced at me, her face unreadable.“As women, we do our duty, and in return, we are taken care of.That is how it works.That is how it has always worked.Brian will provide ye with a life of luxury.”

“I want more than that,” I whispered.

“It doesn’t matter what ye want.”

A lump formed in my throat.“That’s not fair.”

My mother exhaled, her lips pursing.“No, it isn’t.But it is what it is.And as the eldest, it falls on ye to fulfill that obligation.”

I turned away from her, my chest tight, my hands clenched in my lap.

Siobhan shifted uncomfortably in the back seat and then I felt her hand sneak up and over my right shoulder where she squeezed it.I didn’t dare acknowledge the touch as I didn’t want my mother to take it out on my sister for showing solidarity.

For the rest of the drive, I stared out at the passing countryside, feeling a weight settle over me.

A cage, tightening its bars.

And I had no idea how to break free.

CHAPTER 14

Fiona

The Fethard HeritageFestival was in full swing, the streets bustling with people.It was a riot of colors, sounds and scents that wrapped around me as we moved through the crowd.Laughter and music spilled from every corner.The scent of roasting meats, rich and smoky, curled through the evening air, blending with the sweetness of freshly baked pies and the sharp tang of vinegar on hot chips from a nearby stall.

Vendors lined the streets, their striped awnings fluttering in the breeze, creating pockets of activity where handcrafted goods were displayed—intricately woven wool sweaters, delicate lace shawls, carved wooden toys and gleaming silver jewelry.The murmur of bartering voices rose and fell, punctuated by the occasional cheerful shout of a vendor promising the best wares in all of Tipperary.

Children dashed between the stalls, their faces streaked with bright paint as they clutched sticky toffee apples and waved wooden swords, their giggles ringing through the air.A group of lads were daring each other to try the strongest cider, their voices rowdy and slurred as they clinked their pints together.

Sitting just outside the doorway of a pub, an accordion and fiddle struck up a lively reel, the fast-paced rhythm of a bodhrán keeping time.A small crowd had gathered, clapping along as couples spun and twirled in effortless steps.A man with a weathered cap and a face full of joy called out the next steps, guiding the dancers as they laughed and stumbled, caught up in the revelry of the moment.

I looked forward to this fair every year.Every bit of this spoke to who I was on a cellular level as an Irish woman proud of her heritage.

But tonight… I think it was forever ruined.

I walked beside Brian, his voice droning on about bloodlines and business, his words blurring into the background like a noise I no longer cared to hear.Because my heart wasn’t here, but rather with someone else.

Brian strode beside me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive wool coat, his chest puffed out just slightly as if he were walking through the town streets to be seen rather than to actually enjoy any of it.His voice was steady, confident, full of self-importance as he launched into a monologue about his family’s latest acquisition.

“Cost a small fortune, of course, but worth every penny.His bloodlines trace directly back to St.Simon, and Da says he’ll be the future of our breeding program.A real investment in the future and one I know yer father will approve of.”

I forced myself to pay attention, though my thoughts kept pulling elsewhere—to the cool night breeze on the hill under the hawthorns, the press of Tommy’s body against mine, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.

I blinked and focused back on Brian, who was watching me expectantly.

“What do ye think, Fiona?Impressive, isn’t it?”He smiled, clearly waiting for my approval.

I gave a noncommittal nod.“Aye, sounds like a solid investment.”

“Solid?”He scoffed, shaking his head as if I didn’t understand the true magnitude of the stallion’s worth.“It’s a game changer.A horse like this can transform an entire operation.We’ll send him to Kildare for the season, and after that, we might even syndicate him.A stud fee that high will draw global attention.Ye won’t find bloodlines like his anywhere else in Ireland.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from sighing.He was talking as if owning a fine horse was the same as owning a fine suit—as if breeding was only about money and reputation, not about heart and instinct, about knowing a horse’s spirit as much as its pedigree.

“It’s not all about the bloodlines,” I said before I could stop myself.“Ye can have the finest breeding in the world, but if a horse doesn’t have heart, it won’t amount to much.”

Brian chuckled, shaking his head.“That’s a romantic notion, Fi, but ye’re thinking like someone who rides for fun.Businessmen—real horsemen—don’t leave things to sentiment.”

---