Page 25 of Twist of Fate
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. So, it was true. I’d assumed as much, but seeing it in black and white was heartbreaking, especially knowing how much Ash loved her mom.
I read the obituary. She passed away three months ago. Cancer. However, the part that really stood out to me was the ending: “Deidre is survived by her daughter, Aisling Farrell.” That’s it. No one else is mentioned.
“So, what are you going to do?” Rian asks as I silently slide his phone back across the table. He takes it and puts it back in his pocket.
“Nothing,” I answer. “She’s an employee. I’m her boss.”Boss’s boss’s boss,I chant in my head, like the distinction makes some sort of difference.
He gives me an incredulous stare, his brows rising so high they could touch the ceiling. “The girl of your dreams just happens to fall back in your life—again—and you’re just going to ignore it? Ignore her?”
“She’s not the girl of my dreams.” But even I know that’s a lie. “She’s just a girl I once thought—”was the one?I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t. “No, too complicated. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to date anyway.”
He eyes me wearily and sighs. “Okay, but do you have time to finish a couple more pints?”
A grin tugs at my lips. “Definitely.”
“What about wingman duty? You still up for that?”
“I thought you said you were done with women?”
“When did I say that?” he scoffs.
“About ten minutes ago,” I remind him. “You said you were done with relationships and women.” He finishes his ale and gestures to the waitress. “Relationships, definitely. Women? That’s just crazy. Now, come help a lad out. I need to get reacquainted with my homeland.”
EIGHT
Aisling
PAST
“There is not enough coffee in the world for this,” I grumble as my mother laughs. It’s barely eight in the morning, and she is the walking, talking epitome of sunshine. It’s disgusting and, frankly, just downright rude. Where does she get the energy from? Aren’t you supposed to slow down with age?
“Still not a morning person, I see.”
I shoot her a dirty look as we step out of the hotel. The smell of the ocean helps alleviate the sourness of my mood for a millisecond, but then I’m struck by the sight of him.
Finn, the fucking tour guide.
Of course, Finn is a morning person. He looks rested and refreshed, as if he just had the best damn night’s sleep of his life. Meanwhile, I probably resemble something closer to a trash panda, with dark circles framing my face and bloodshot eyes. I tossed and turned for hours last night because my overactive brain decided that two in the morning was a perfect time to keep me awake while I figured out what I was supposed to do with the stack of wedding presents sitting on my kitchen island that had arrived before I left.
Send them to Theo. Let him deal with them.
Joke’s on me for being an organized bride and deciding to send the save-the-date cards so early.
Apparently, not everyone had gotten the news.
“We’re on vacation,” I explain to her as we head toward the bus, wishing I had opted for that second cup of coffee with breakfast. “I don’t see why we can’t start our days a tad bit later.”
“We have lots to do.” She smiles, placing a reassuring hand on my back. “You didn’t come all the way to Ireland to sleep.”
I didn’t come to Irelandnotto sleep, I want to say, but I decide to let it go. We step into the small queue that has gathered to board the bus, and I immediately hear that Irish accent that I loathe. Want to loathe? Should loathe? Dammit. Does his voice have to sound so damn hot?
Fucking Finn.
Yesterday, he spent the entire information session ignoring me, and then…and thenwhen we all gathered in the hotel restaurant for our first official group dinner, he waltzed, scanned the room, and when he saw me, he chose a seat on the opposite side of the room.
Like I had the fucking plague.
I get that it’s a bit of an awkward situation, but it’s not like we slept together. We flirted for like a nanosecond. Does he have to be such an ass about it?
