I could’ve fled Ireland and left everyone in the lurch, but I loved my ancestral home too much. The legends. The history. The people. No matter what happened, I’d fight to the death before I left the life I’d built, or the life I’d rebuild after I paid off all my debts.
Screw Shane and his empty promises. He wouldn’t win.
I drew in a deep breath. I didn’t have time for this. Self-pity and violin playing could happen later over a glass of wine. There was a wedding to plan. I unclenched my fists and smoothed my palms over my skirt to iron out any wrinkles.
The cubic zirconia diamond weighing down my ring finger twisted backward and caught a few threads, plucking them loose.
“Shit. Crap.” I wrenched the princess-cut bauble free, and then stretched the material taut to pull the nylon threads back into place, hoping I appeared somewhat professional. Since all of my old designer clothes and most of my shoes had found new homes via eBay and consignment shops, my current wardrobe came from discount warehouses and second-hand stores. I wasn’t as pristine or as put together as I’d like, but I’d have to do.
With one last glance in the rearview mirror to check for out of place hairs and smudged lipstick, I grabbed my knockoff Birkin bag and laptop and stepped out of my clunker car.
The Derryveagh Mountains, already draped with snow, gave a postcard-perfect backdrop. Despite being in a valley and surrounded by hundred-year-old Scots Pines, gnashing wind from Lough Veagh bit my cheeks and yanked my hair. The beach curls it had taken over an hour to achieve now looked like a snarled bird’s nest of tangles. So much for looking put together.
Oncoming snow scented the air. I sent up a silent prayer to the Universe and the bloated gray clouds requesting rain instead. Ireland and snow weren’t a good mix. Six inches or more would cause an Irish Armageddon. The airports would close, people would ransack supermarkets, and the infrastructure would stall. Those kinds of headaches were something I didn’t need. Guests would arrive in a few days. If the weather forecast was right, and the end of the world was nigh, I’d have to figure out how to get members of the glitterati from various airports around the country to the castle. But fretting about what hadn’t happened yet was energy I didn’t have to spare. I’d take things minute by minute. What else could I do?
Violet wanted a small wedding and had invited fifty of her closest friends. Next year, she and Archer would have a showbiz bash, and I hoped with every cell of my being, if there were no major hitches this week, they would hire me to organize it.
Their Christmas wedding would make my career in Ireland, but their second wedding would establish my career worldwide.
My spiked heels crunched along the pebbled courtyard, and I gazed up in wonder, as I always did, when the clustered towers of Oak Castle came into view. History surrounded me, and I imagined the lords and ladies and kings and queens who once traveled the path I now walked.
Winter-stripped branches scarred the rough stone walls and knocked against arched windows, giving the castle a gothic feel. The serenity and stillness of the wooded estate filled me with hope and possibility.
Christmas had always been my favorite holiday, but the wonder of the season combined with a wedding chased goosebumps up my arms.
Nothing could go wrong. Nothing.
****
Flames danced and snapped in the grand fireplace surrounded by thick, smoke-blackened stone, and the tick-tock of a grandfather clock echoed around the vast foyer. Two red renaissance style sofas sat on either side of the fire, and rich tapestries depicting ancient battles hung on the walls. Besides the dated and dusty décor, the castle couldn’t be more perfect. Most of the furnishings were original, ornate, and luxurious, and no way could money buy a finer or a more authentic atmosphere.
A damp, earthy smell infused the air, and in the distance, clanging tools sang as contractors fixed the antiquated electrical and plumbing systems. I’d kept the wedding venue top secret, and the construction companies I’d hired had no idea why they were fixing the castle up under such a tight timeframe. Everything was on a need to know basis. The FBI could interrogate and torture me, and I still wouldn’t reveal the secret. I’d signed my soul away when I’d signed the contract and NDA.
“What the fuck’s going on he-yah?” barked a brash New York accent.
Barb Crawford. For the past week, I’d spoken to her every waking hour on the phone and had received over sixty emails a day. Whenever Violet changed her mind, or had a random thought like should her guests do a body cleanse before the wedding, or should her bridesmaids go on a rice-cake only diet, Barb emailed or called me.
Pasting on my most professional smile, I walked toward Barb, who marched down the sweeping staircase at the back of the foyer.
My nerves jumped and jangled, but I refused to show any trace of worry or anxiety. Appearing anything other than confident would get me eaten alive.
“I don’t care… Do this for me, you pathetic piece…” Barb acknowledged me by holding up her finger in a one-minute gesture.
I nodded in response and examined the ass-kicking woman in front of me. The fillers plumping up her pinched face made it hard to gauge her age, but if pushed, I would have said mid to late fifties. Her Valentino suit was as dark as the ebony razor-cut skimming her chin. Her hair contrasted with her ghostly skin, scarlet lips, and sharp steel-blue eyes that could flay the flesh from bones. Intimidating didn’t come close to describing her.
Barb stabbed the
