Page 66 of The Bossy One

“Are you going to the festival tonight?” I asked abruptly.

“No, I just got home.” She yawned, overly casual. “I was going to have a quiet night in. But I’d love to have my favorite granddaughter stay the night. If, hypothetically, there was somewhere you needed to be.”

I glance at an old family photo I had on my desk, of all of us together. Mum, Da, Sinead, me. That photo used to show everyone I cared about. But that wasn’t true anymore. It didn’t have Catie. It didn’t have…anyone else.

I looked at that photo and made my decision.

20

OLIVIA

“Istill can’t believe you asked Declan to come here,” Molly said, shaking her head over a pint of Heineken. “Way to poke the dragon.”

She, Oisin, and I were clumped near a hedge in the O’Rourke mansion’s famous garden—famous, that is, to fans ofThe Deer and the Warrior. Unlike Declan’s wild, overgrown garden, this place was manicured to within an inch of its life. Hedges were orderly, trees were tidy, and flowers were organized by color.

The only thing unruly was the bonfire, which various village men were busy coaxing higher and higher. The fire was blasting so much heat, I worried it would melt the ice in my drink.

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” I protested, mostly because I didn’t want it to be a big deal. I knew I should have stayed calm and talked it out with him. But as soon as he’d said the wordsI forbid you, I’d seen red.

Oisin cleared his throat. “The thing is, Mark O’Rourke is kind of the worst. Everyone knows it, but if you stay in Ballybeith, you have to pretend he isn’t, because sooner or later you’ll need something from him. A house to rent, a loan, a job. The only person who always fought back was Mr. Byrne.” He sipped his beer. “And when he died, Declan took up where his dad left off.”

“So…it’s not just Declan being upset about his dad’s accident?” God knew that was a big enough reason for Declan to be upset.

“The accident is likely most of it. But it’s also about Mark O’Rourke being a proper bastard.”

“If he’s so bad, why do you come to his party?” I asked, feeling a little indignant.

“Because it’s good craic,” Molly said. “And it’s not really Mark’s party. It’s ours.” She said the last part with quiet pride, nodding to all the people around us.

People were laughing, telling stories, and eating and drinking. Two young women stood farther away from the noise, rocking their sleeping babies as they chatted. The musicians returned from their break—a fiddle player, a flautist, an accordion player, and a man with a flat hand drum. They settled back into their seats and started playing. Once the music started, people stomped their feet and sang along. An older woman stood up and start stomping and shuffling her feet with rapid fire movements I couldn’t quite follow.

It was like I’d said to Declan—like Molly had said just now. Mark O’Rourke might have been hosting the party, but it didn’t belong to him. It belonged to all of Ballybeith.

Still, I was beginning to understand why Declan had lashed out so viciously and the line I was asking him to cross.

I spotted Declan’s friend Thomas across the fire and waved. He was with his wife, Bridget, who I’d met when she’d stopped by to pick up her daughter after Catie’s playdate.

Thomas waved back enthusiastically and led Bridget around the fire toward us. “Olivia! I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“Molly invited me,” I said.

“Cheers to that,” he said, and we all clinked glasses.

“Want to hear something funny?” Molly asked. “Olivia asked Declan to come.”

Thomas sprayed a mouthful of beer directly into Oisin’s face.

“Youwhat?” Thomas said.

Bridget handed Oisin a paper napkin.

“I didn’tknow,” I said, beginning to feel worried. I thought this thing between me and Declan was just a normal fight. But what if my coming here had broken his trust in some fundamental way that was never going to heal?

The conversation moved on, thankfully. Then the musicians shifted into a catchy song everyone but I knew, and the couples abandoned me to dance around the bonfire.

I wrapped my arms around myself. Without my friends to distract me, I noticed the evening air had turned chilly. As I watched all the couples dance in the golden, flickering light of the bonfire, I felt a wistful ache. I wanted someone to dance with. I wanted to belong.

Youhavesomeone to dance with, I reminded myself.You just stormed off to the one place he can’t follow you.

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