Page 33 of An Angel's Share
His eyes take on a golden hue in the sunlight, I can see the natural caramel highlights in his chocolate brown hair. His face is deadpan, no emotion on it. Oh no, I’ve said the wrong thing. I can blame it on the love hormones. The madness of oxycontin. I go to try and pull away, a bit embarrassed of my clingy irrational behaviour. And my statement.
“No, don’t move away from me.” He tightens his hold on me. “I thought it was only me that was feeling these crazy feelings. I knew you were special in America. I was going totry and find you when I went back there this autumn. I thought about it before, but got sidetracked at home.” He pushes the hair from my face, enabling him to watch every nuance. “And I also felt it was madness. How can you feel so deeply about someone you just met? Picked out at an event. But I did. When that condom broke, I never noticed. I was too far gone. To focused on you, how special you were, and are.”
His face has changed from blank and deadpan to every emotion crossing it, but pouring out of his eyes is love. Or at least I think it’s love. His look is how I feel. Can this actually be happening?
His hands move down to my tummy, to caress the baby. “I told you I would be there for your body because of the child. But I want more than that. I want it all. Us, together. I know it’s quick. Hell, it’s crazy even for me. But what if this is right? What if this is it? I’m prepared to go for it. We’re not young eighteen-year-olds, we’re adults. Been out in the world for a long time. I told you I was all in. I meant it, Aoife. What about you?” His voice is certain, commanding, conviction streaming out of him.
It’s a good job I don’t have a heart rate monitor on, it would have broken the ECG machine with as fast as my pulse is racing. My fingers trace his brow, following the divine bone structure down to his full lips. His tongue pops out and licks my fingertips.
“I want to be an ‘us.’ I want to be together. I’m going to tell my dad tomorrow. I’ll sort Liam out after the board meeting. I don’t want to rock the boat any more before that if I can help it. Create more enemies before I get in that room. Will you give me time to tell him? I’m not going to tell Mammy. I can’t deal with her at this point. But I want Daddy to know the truth.” I fix my eyes on his as he moves closer tome, kissing me, pouring his whole self into it, and I return his ardour.
“I agree. I’ll come with you to tell him. I’ve already told Marshall.” I suck in a breath at that. “I couldn’t not tell him. He knew I was going loco over you when I hit Liam. But he won’t say anything until we do.” He doesn’t look repentant about what he’s done. He thinks it was the right thing to do.
I look at his angelic face. “I love you, Jonno. I know you might run a mile, but I’ll risk it if you do.”
“Dr Aoife O’Clery, the risk taker. Well I’m right there with you, Doctor. I’ll definitely risk it, because I love you, too.”
15
Jonno
That’s it,it’s official, my sanity has gone. My family has always known I love crazy. The more insane the better. But curiously I don’t feel out of control. I feel in full control of my faculties. My decision making on-point. My reasons are valid. The woman called to me in California. In a haze of glorious passion, we created a baby together. Fate stepped in and took its course. Well I’m down with fate. I’m down to run wherever it takes me. Because this, her, my son—fucking amazing in my book. So bring it the fuck on.
She leans on me as I lead her out of the old stable block and we meander our way back towards the house. It’s early evening, the heat of the day abating a little, and the sun has gone beyond the front of the house, casting it into shade and shadow.
It’s a beautiful sandstone building, the colour of the stone holding the light and warmth. The frontage is grand and imposing, built to impress anyone who walks or drivesup to it. A huge sweeping drive and a turning circle separates the lawns from the house. And they’ve maintained the huge portico, which would have held at least three carriages in older times, allowing guests to alight undercover.
Oversized oak doors with inlays of lighter wood welcome you into the house. But they’re also there to confer the grandeur you will experience on the inside. Even today, the splendour makes you gasp. The windows all around the house are unusually large, floor to ceiling even in the bedrooms two storeys above. It’s an amazing place. But it’s also a working home, and it feels very lived in. Well-used and comfortable. Not starchy, not a show house, nor a museum to the past. It lives and breathes, continuing to embrace its incumbents.
We pass the front and walk around the side of the house facing the fields. Strategically placed trees draw the eye toward the horizon with the Wicklow Hills in the background. The floor to ceiling windows reflect the sunlight. Whichever O’Clery built the place clearly loved light rooms, and amazing views. It’s five stories high, with old servant quarters in the roof and attic areas. A separate wing was added a few years later, but as yet no one lives in it, the family shrinking in size over the past generations.
Patrick told me he wanted to move his senior managers in here. Thankfully, Seamus vetoed it. Family only ever in the house. I wonder whether Aoife will want to use it. Bring that wing back to life.
We walk closely together. I want to touch her, but it would be too dangerous. She wants to keep up the charade at least for a few more days, and I have to respect that. I don’t want to make this meeting harder than I think it’s going to be already.
Turning the corner, we head towards the back of the house. A terrace showcases plants and the gardens beyond. Formal gardens draw your eye, taking you out towards the distillery in the background. You can just see it peeking through the trees almost a mile away.
Marshall, Seamus, and Dermot, are all sat drinking whiskey, and as our footsteps sound on the flagstones, all their heads swivel towards our approaching voices. Seamus blushes like an underage schoolboy and tries to hide his drink under the table. The look of relief on his face when he realises it’s not Mae is comical. He grins mischievously at us both and puts his small glass back on the table.
“Purely for medicinal purposes, Daddy?” Aoife grins at him, her face lighting up at his look of guilt.
“Well, you’re a doctor. I tell everyone it’s what the doctor ordered.” His smile gets wider, and he blows a kiss at his daughter and she comes to stand beside him.
“I’m not that sort of doctor and you know it.” She laughs at him, picking up the glass and sniffing it. “Our new range,” she states, drawing in a large breath and taking in the aromas of the whiskey. “Glorious.”
Marshall grins and points around at them all. “Taste testers.” He’s addressing her, but regarding me, his keen blue-grey eyes missing nothing. He knows we’ve been together, he knows the tell-tale signs, notices my slightly dishevelled looks. But he looks away and shakes his head a little. It’s a good job he’s laid back. Although living with my sister and her two husbands and a load of kids, he would have to be.
“We’ve been at the old stable block,” Aoife tells her father. “Jonno had some ideas about renovating it. He was thinking more along the lines of a corporate space, with maybe accommodations above. People could stay over thenwithout bothering us in the house. Corporate away days, do a distillery tour, eat, play golf at Killclery golf course.” She lists things her brain has just manifested. I’m impressed, her brain clearly thinking along the same lines as mine. “Marshall, do you think Evie would come and take a look for us? Jonno says she’s amazing at ideas for old buildings.” She turns her bright-eyed stare onto Marshall.
Before anyone can get a word out of any sort, Liam and Patrick strut out on the terrace in full business suits. “Oh please, stop with the renovating ideas, Aoife.” Liam dismisses her in front of everyone, wafting his hand away just in case we misunderstood his rude words. “Patrick and I already have ideas in the works regarding the golf club. Were you not saying we have no money?” He looks around at us all, pure condescension on his smug face. “How are you going to pay for it all?”
His arrogant stance and belittling tone make my blood boil. I’m bristling. Marshall imperceptibly shakes his head at me, begging me with his eyes not to start an argument with the prize dickhead.
Aoife’s face changes from pink with excitement to bright red with embarrassment. Her dad’s face goes white with anger. I open my mouth to put this arrogant prick in his place, but feel Aoife’s hand touch my arm, a gentle reminder she can fight her own battles. And I’m all for that.
Her tone matches Liam's condescension and raises it. “Liam, that’s so rude and uncalled for. I’m open to any ideas on how to generate income. If,” she pauses, “it is cost effective.” She emphasises that point, and I make no attempt to school my grin. “Don’t insult our intelligence by intimating that you and Patrick have the monopoly on brilliant ideas. Because, to be fair, if the accounts are anything to go by, that is as far from the truth as it gets.”
Patrick swells like a bullfrog. “My ideas are only for the betterment of this company. I refute your insinuation. Nothing has been wasted. We are in profit.”
