Page 25 of Tempting Irish

Really, Bree, my brain reprimands.You’re going to give up the possibility of seeing your family for a man? Like mother, likedaughter.

I wince inwardly at the last part, but it makes me look up, makes me catch the gaze of the woman that stands a few feet away, now talking with one of theporters.

Fear grips my throat. And I realize why. I’m more afraid that Emerwon’trecognize me than if shewill.

I take a deep breath, pressing my thumb against the ink on my wrist, something I started doing even before I put the permanent ink there, when I used to draw it with sharpie, reminding me that I wasn’t alone. That I was brave. That no matter how far away I went, I would always have ahome.

Except Iwasalone.Amalone. And I don’t have a home. Not unless you call the dump I live in overtop of Ned’s Mechanic Shop ahome.

Emer breaks our gaze, and for a moment my heart sinks into my chest, until her head snaps back in my direction and her brows draw down. Lips purse as she studies me. I know the moment recognition hits her. Her eyes widen, her mouth drops open, and she takes a step towardsme.

“Beatrice?” There’s a hint of uncertainty in hervoice.

I feign shock, mirroring her own expression. “Emer?”

“Oh my God, it is ye. Look at ye all grown up.” Her arms outstretch as she gets closer, and I’m instantly wrapped in a tighthug.

I try my best not to flinch at the contact. I’m not a hugger. Never have been. But there’s a warmth to her touch, one that makes me relaxslightly.

She pulls back, studying me, hands on my cheeks. “I can’t believe it’s reallyye.”

“It’s good to seeyou.”

“And listen to that American accent.” She laughs, letting her hands fall to her stomach. “I hope those Yanks didn’t beat all the Irish out ofye.”

I force a smile, because she has no idea how close to the truth sheis.

“Are ye staying here? At thehotel?”

Inod.

The woman behind her lets out a smallcough.

“I’m sorry. Delaney, this is my cousin,Beatrice-”

“Bree,” I correct quickly. “I go by Breenow.”

“Bree,” Emer says, her smile not faltering. “This is Delaney. Cillian Gallagher’s wife. Ye rememberCillian?”

“Of course. It’s nice to meet you.” I shake the woman’s hand, already knowing her from her pictures on the news and in the magazines. She’s even more beautiful inperson.

“What part of the US are you from?” Delaneyasks.

“Michigan.”

Her already bright smile broadens. “We’re neighbors, then. I’m originally fromChicago.”

I know all the details. Saw all the videos of their epic engagement in front of the Chicago pier. And while I wish her all the best, I have a hard time thinking she’ll find it with Cillian. Unless the guy had a lobotomy in the past ten years, I’m pretty sure he’s still the class-A asshole he alwayswas.

“Ye have to have breakfast with us.” Emer hooks her arm in mine, and before I can protest, she starts leading me towards one of the hotelrestaurants.

“I just came from a run. I should shower and change...” And get my luggage from Owen’s room. Not to mention tell him who I am before he sees me with Emer and figures it outhimself.

Shit. I’m soscrewed.

“I’m not dressed forbreakfast.”

“Ye’re fine the way ye are. And I want to hear what ye’ve been up to. It’s so good to seeye.”

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