Page 19 of Ireland

“Yum. Have a scoop for me.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” he offered, which set off a litany ofAuntie Ireland!calls from Lorenzo and Serena.

“I wish I could, but I’ve already made plans. Count me in if you go again and give me more of a heads-up.”

“Yeah, yeah. Nat and I just came up with the idea this morning. Hang on. Let me move where it’s quieter.” The kids’ voices grew distant as he walked away from them. “Listen, I talked to Dad about Mom’s news, and it turns out he’s known for a while, so it wasn’t a surprise. Guess she found the ring or the receipt—I can’t remember which—and knew the proposal was coming, so she warned him.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

“And now that she’s remarrying, he won’t be on the hook for alimony anymore. So, it’s good all around. They’re both happy.”

“Sure. It’s all great,” she said absently, sitting on the edge of the bed. The memory of her father crying by himself was still fresh and raw enough that she was uncomfortable sharing it with anyone, even her brother. “Thanks for checking in with him.”

“You could’ve asked him yourself,” Christopher admonished.

“Sure. The man who tells me nothing? You got more out of him than I would’ve.”

Chants for ice cream broke the brief quiet on the other end of the line. “I’ve gotta go before they mutiny. Say good-bye, everyone.”

Ireland and the kids called out to each other in unison, then the call ended. She sat there for a long minute with her phone in hand, her mind replaying the scene in her dad’s office. It wasn’t all that unusual for her father to react strongly to a song; it’s what made him so great at his job. And that attuned ear had been passed on to her, so there was no question he’d lied to her. If not about her mother, it was something else.

She checked the time.

Looking across at the mirror, Ireland figured she was ready to go. Sure, she could spend another hour dithering over whichearrings and shoes to wear, but she’d go with her gut on those, just like she was going with her gut about her father.

She texted Ronan.

Hey. I might be a little late, but I’ll be there.

He replied almost instantly.

However long, I’ll be waiting.

Rushing, because she hated to lose even a moment that she could be spending with him, she jumped up and finished getting ready fast. She swiped sunblock, a hat, and sunglasses into a raffia bag. Then she shoved her feet into flat sandals, kissed Blizzard on the top of his head, and darted out the door.

Ireland’s foot tapped impatiently as she rang the after-hours bell at the Vidal Records offices, even though it only took a few seconds for the guard to let her in.

“Good afternoon,” Eady said, pulling the door open. “This is the busiest Saturday we’ve had in a while. We’ve got a full house today.”

“That’s why I’m stopping by,” Ireland fibbed cheerfully because she already felt guilty. If any of her family noticed her name in the log, having a valid reason for visiting the offices over the weekend would help hide her true intent.

Not wanting to chance running into anyone by taking the elevator, she took the stairs. With every story climbed, Ireland’s guilt began to morph into irritation. She wouldn’t have to be underhanded if her family bothered to share information with her.

The pervasive sense of desertion on the third floor was strange and unwelcome. With the overhead lights off, the wide reception hallway between the executive offices was dimly lit, and the space was eerily devoid of the music and conversation that normally enlivened it.

Crossing over to her father’s office, Ireland locked the door behind her. Moving swiftly, she woke his computer by shaking the mouse and then typed in his password, a blend of Christopher’s name and birthday with her name and birthday. As often as they both warned their father to have multiple passwords for his logins, he stuck to what he knew best.

Since she and her father had left the office shortly after she found him, everything on his monitor was precisely how it’d been the night before. It only took a moment to see what he’d been listening to.

“Changes” by Black Sabbath was a sad song about divorce but was not an unfinished new song by any stretch of the imagination.

Ireland rocked back in her father’s desk chair and drummed her long acrylic nails on the desktop. Maybe he’d lied to Christopher, too, downplaying how he was taking the news of his ex-wife’s remarriage. But he’d been awfully detailed about that lie.

With a sigh, she pushed back from the desk. It was something she could work out later when she didn’t have the sexiest man alive waiting to spend the afternoon with her. Monday was soon enough to confront her father.

But she paused at the sight of the partially opened desk drawer.

She pulled it the rest of the way open, finding the papers he had swiped into it when she’d sat in the chair across from him. Right on top was a lined piece of paper with handwrittennotes; beneath it, partially obscured forms and a formal letter on business letterhead.

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