Page 69 of A Very Irish Christmas
I keep my grasp on his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but he takes hold of my hands and removes them from his body.
‘This isn’t right,’ he says, sounding as lost as I am. ‘I have to go.’
‘It is right! Nothing has ever felt so right. Don’t leave. Stay here with me.’
My fingers are curled inside his, and the heat is still there – even a shadow of that kiss is enough to make me reckless.
He gazes into my eyes for what feels like an eternity, obviously wrestling with himself, and then says: ‘No. You’redrunk, Cassie. You’re drunk, and you’ve had a hard day, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. It’s your Nanna Nora on my shoulder like a devil, telling me to follow my heart.’
He gently pushes me away from him, disentangles his hands from mine. He softly touches my face, sweeps aside my hair, and gives me one more kiss – a chaste one, on my forehead, that is a pale imitation of what came before it.
‘Damn,’ he says, his eyes bright and shining as he drinks me in. ‘Look what you’ve gone and done.’
‘What have I done?’ I reply.
‘You’ve gone and made me break one of my hard-earned rules, that’s what.’
He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I frown in confusion.
‘No, I haven’t! I’m not married, and I don’t really live in the village – I’m only visiting!’
He laughs, and turns to leave. As he reaches the door he looks back and adds: ‘I’ll let you ponder that one, darlin’. Now get some sleep.’
CHRISTMAS DAY
‘The magic of Christmas lingers on,
Though childhood days have passed,
Upon the common round of life,
A holy spell is cast.’
Old Celtic verse
TWENTY-NINE
BANCROFT MANOR
I wake up early, in the bedroom I used on my very first night here. It seems so long ago now, so much has happened.
To start with, I know how to make a coal fire, which I do immediately. I also seem to have acquired a dog – one who doesn’t seem especially enthusiastic about getting off the bed.
‘Oh Eejit,’ I say, ruffling his fur. ‘You’ve come so far, boy! When I first met you, you were a street dog – look at you now, snuggled up in four poster luxury!’
He agrees by thumping his tail once on the comforter, and keeps his eyes on me as I open the balcony doors. The snow is still here, but has been trashed by a couple of days of rain. The sky is dark grey, and even the village below looks dim. So many people have gone home for the holidays that it feels a bit like a ghost town.
I go back inside, and check my phone. It’s in the early hours back in the States, but I smile when I see a message from June. Well, more a string of Christmassy emojis and some love hearts to be accurate, but it’s the thought that counts.
I start to compose a message of my own – to Ryan. A simple one, wishing him a happy Christmas. One that should be easy to write. Except, of course, that it’s not – because Ryan no longerjust feels like a flirtatious friend who I can share casual greetings with. Ryan feels like something altogether more dangerous.
I’d woken up the morning after our kiss feeling absolutely terrible. It was a combination of a hangover, the emotional rigours of Nanna Nora’s tale, and, most importantly, a big fat dollop of embarrassment. No, not just embarrassment – it was more than that. I didn’t just invite him to kiss me, I practically begged him to stay. I threw myself at him, and he turned me down.
I’d rolled over in bed, my head clanging and my mouth dry, gratefully grasping the soda he’d left for me.
I felt sick, and nauseous, and deeply ashamed. But underneath all of that, I could still remember that kiss – I could still remember how he made me tremble. How much I desired him. I’m glad that he went when he did – glad that he acted honourably – but part of me still wishes that he hadn’t.
I’d also been left with the mystery of his rules, and it was really hurting my brain trying to understand what he meant. His rules dictated that he wouldn’t fool around with anyone married, anyone who lived in the village, or… anyone he thought he might fall in love with.
