my heart stuttering just looking at his straight, bold, masculine script. I can hear his brogue and the deep timbre of his voice in the words on paper. I tremble a little. This feels intimate. It’s the most intimacy I’ve ever had with him.
Dear Fiona,
Happy eighteenth birthday.
I thought for a long time about what I wanted to give you. I knew it had to be something special… to commemorate your moving from childhood into adulthood. And when I saw this locket in the jeweler’s, I knew it was yours.
It’s unique, one of a kind… like you.
It’s sturdy and strong… like you.
And it’s beautiful… like you.
Inside I put a picture of you when you were just thirteen, the year I met you. I want you to remember that girl. Whenever you’re sad, or lonely, or scared, look at her. And remember how far you’ve come.
With love,
Lachlan
My hand shakes as I remove it and slide it over my head. I close my eyes and draw in a breath.
I read the note over and over again, until I have it memorized, but there are two lines I will never forget.
It’s beautiful… like you.
With love, Lachlan.
Chapter 2
Lachlan
I leave when the party’s in full swing, even though my heart wants to be right here. With my family. My brothers.
Fiona.
Boner and Tully, two of my Clan brothers, are waiting for me at the Craic.
I never go anymore. I used to, when I was younger, but now even looking at the women there feels like a betrayal to Fiona.
But that has to change.
I can’t think of her that way. Never should have to begin with.
Up until today, it was easy enough to tell myself that she was too young for me. That my feelings for her were no more than brotherly affection. That I’d take care of her for no other reason than because it was the right thing to do.
It wasn’t until we took her family away from Stone City, to the McCarthy family mansion of Ballyhock, that things began to really change.
The day we went to her family’s house, I came to help Nolan. He didn’t tell me who’d be there. Hell, I’m not sure he knew himself.
I can still feel the chill of that night when the sun set, as we piled into the car and drove to Stone City. I can still see the dilapidated streets, still smell the scent of stale cigarette smoke and whiskey lingering in the air. I can still see her home, dingy and dark, with a worn front step and smudges on the windows. I can still see her, the very first time I laid eyes on her.
Though petite, she held herself with confidence, proud even as a young lass. She was the spitting image of her sister with her flaming red hair, freckled cheeks, and pouty lips.
I’ll never forget that day. I was only a lad, straight out of St. Albert’s, and she was only a lass, handed a crap deal in life. Living in utter destitution with Ireland’s poorest of the poor in Stone City, she did her best to rise above. She was stunningly beautiful, her innocence and purity miraculously intact. I’m neither a superstitious nor romantic man, but I swear, when I first laid eyes on her, something inside me whispered one word that rocked me off my axis: her.
I blinked in surprise, struck by a frisson of awareness that passed between us when our eyes met. It wasn’t sexual, and it wasn’t platonic, but something else altogether.
I asked her name, and she answered, her sweet voice carrying through the small room like church bells in summer.
“Fiona,” she said. I told her her name was beautiful.
Like you, I supplied in my head. Like you.
We brought them home, and the need to protect her, to ensure that she never lost the innocence in her eyes or the sweet, trusting smile, consumed me. I went to bed that night and punched my pillow before I tried to rest, but I couldn’t.
I told myself it was because the children we’d rescued that night shared a similarity to me: orphaned at a young age, I craved family and stability. The McCarthy clan gave me that. But the very next morning, when I saw her at breakfast, I knew it was no hero’s rescue that distracted me.
She flushed when she looked at me, and I couldn’t help but respond with a smile and warm welcome. It was dangerous. I denied the truth staring me in the face. She’d felt