Page 23 of One Night Only
I am horrifically hungover. Queasy stomach, pounding head, kill-me-now hungover. My binge drinking last night coupled with the jet lag coupled with the fact I am not twenty-one anymore has left me in pieces.
Uneven, fragile pieces.
It’s not how I wanted to spend my first official day in Ireland.
But after Declan’s little exit speech last night, neither Annie nor Paul questioned my decision to move past the moment by grabbing two bottles of Pinot Grigio and escaping to my room.
And now I pay the price.
“What do you think?”
I wince as the words bounce around my skull and glance at the man beside me.
Connor.
My future husband.
In another life anyway.
In this one, he’s a little young for me, but he has an easy smile and eyes Claire would definitely describe as sparkling. He attached himself to my side as soon as we boarded the shuttle bus this morning but, in the state I’m in, it took all my effort not to puke all over him. I’m already dreading the journey back.
“It’s…strange,” I say as the guide leads us up the hill to the castle.
“Strange?”
I try to find the right words in my sluggish mind. “I’m used to things being three centuries old at most. Isn’t it weird to think about? All the people who were here before us?”
“I guess.”
I smile at his confusion. “You’re immune to it.”
“Hey, you want ancient, we’ve got Celtic tombs that are five thousand years old. This thing’s practically modern to us. Mind your step,” he adds holding my arm as he helps me over a hidden dip in the ground. His hand lingers a little longer than necessary and I glance back pointedly at Annie who’s struggling to hide her smile.
But even if my head is splitting in two under the morning sun, I find the castle fascinating. The stones so solid beneath our feet, smoothed down by generations of footsteps. The different-colored bricks hinting at new additions and repairs over the centuries, the moss and plants that have grown up around it but are unable to conquer the building itself. I listen enraptured along with the rest of the group as the guide details the families that lived here and the lives they led. Annie’s dad puts his selfie stick to good use while her mom, an ardent fan of any romance novel featuring a lord, a castle and a stormy night, presses the guide’s knowledge on the more salacious details of family history.
The only person who doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself is Mary. Though Declan’s mom gave me a cheerful hello when we boarded the bus this morning, she hasn’t said anything to me since and now lingers on the outskirt of the group, shooting me nervous glances every few minutes.
“She’s waiting for you to talk to her,” Annie whispers. “She feels bad.”
The more terrible part of me is glad she does. I want to cross my arms and pout like a child.Good. But I’m not a child. And it’s unfair of me. How was she supposed to know what was going to happen? What had already happened?
With a reluctant nod to Annie, I wait behind as the group climbs the stairs to the next floor. Mary waits too, pretending to be fascinated by a corner of the room.
Now what?
Hi again, Mrs. Murphy! Remember me? The woman who slept with your son?I struggle with where to start but before I can speak, she turns to me, miserable.
“I’m very sorry about last night.”
I falter at the sincerity in her tone. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“There’s plenty apparently.” She sniffs. “My eldest had words with me.”
I wince at the thought of Paul talking to her about it. Even though I’m the one who asked him to. Last night feels like a very long time ago.
“I think I ruined your dinner.”
“No. It was…” I reach for a word to describe the most awkward hour of my life. “Interesting.”
