Page 5 of An Angel’s Share (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #1)

Jonno

There are times I swear Marshall drives me to distraction. This is one of them.

Things just don’t bother him. He either genuinely doesn’t care, or he has no concept of societal polite norms.

We’ve landed in Ireland, at his family home, and walked straight into an engagement party. He never mentioned a thing. So either he forgot—despite his mind being razor sharp—or he is just not bothered.

I actually don’t think he gives a shit. His life has been one long take me as you find me. And if you don’t like it, well, there’s the door. It’s a mantra I can absolutely get on board with. Have tried to emulate it. Every day.

Luckily for me, I had a business meeting today before we set off for Killclery House.

Which means I look like I’ve dressed appropriately in a full-black, top of the range business suit.

Crafted to fit me to perfection, it’s designed to intimidate any other business associate.

And it works every time. Now, however, it’s having to double up as formal wear .

Marshall, as unconcerned as ever, is in old, very worn jeans, and boots. But at least he has a nice shirt on. Evie bought it for him for Christmas, claiming it matched his eyes. It’s clean and not too creased from the suitcase. He thinks he’s dressed to the nines.

Marshall hates being the centre of attention, so we slip into the back of the house, handing off our small amounts of luggage to the house staff as we enter. Marshall rang ahead and our rooms are ready, mine in the guest wing, Marshall’s in the family wing.

We shuffle into the old ballroom. It’s one of my favourite rooms in this house.

I walked the circumference daily when I was here last year.

Years of history have played out in this old room.

Antique oak panelling lines the walls up to about three quarters high.

The wallpaper above, extending to the ceiling, duck egg blue.

Small, white, hand-painted flowers add life to the silk, a small fortune even back in the last century.

Another impressive feature of this old house, the large floor to ceiling windows and doors are decorated with grey silk curtains and left open tonight, allowing the late summer breeze to flow into the room, whispering tales of the summer to the avid celebrants.

The orange and red sunset showcasing Ireland's beautiful countryside gives us all a show with its darkening summer skies.

Everyone is seated, a dull chatter filling the room.

It doesn’t stop when we wander in unannounced.

Large round tables seating twelve are strategically placed around half of the ballroom, leaving some of the old wooden parquet flooring exposed.

Probably for the dancing that will no doubt start as soon as the food and speeches are done.

Fresh flowers accent the decor, and the scent is heavenly. Fragrant orchids and primrose mingle with foxgloves. Candelabras sit as the centrepieces on the tables, where all the Irish have more drink than food lined up. It’s clearly going to be a great night.

If I hadn't spotted the ‘Congratulations on your Engagement’ banner hiding in the corner, I would have thought this was a wedding.

The speeches are just finishing up as we scuttle in.

Seamus stands proudly at the other end of the room.

Not quite as tall as Marshall, he still tops out at six foot.

His hair would have been the same colour as Marshall’s, as flecks remain, but it’s almost all grey now.

He’s greyer now than he was last year. His body is certainly thinner than last year, and I can see more lines on his face.

His complexion looks slightly better than when I was last here, when his heart had been under severe pressure, but not by much.

He does, however, command everyone's attention. It’s natural, and I see the similarities to Marshall.

Quiet, determined, steely. Mae, his wife, is sat on his right, beaming up at him, love and pride shining in her face.

He’s clearly nearing the end of his speech, his voice wobbling with emotion as he talks about his only daughter.

We stand to listen, hiding in the shadows. Marshall would never in a million years want to upstage his brother on what is clearly a very important day for him.

“My daughter Aoife, the most loving daughter a man could wish for. Whip smart, and beautiful. Liam, I hope that you will love her as she needs to be loved. My heart, my daughter. To Aoife and Liam.”

Seamus raises his champagne flute towards the couple sat at his table, and my heart stops beating. I seem to be seeing the scene frame by frame. Tall, beautiful, porcelain skin, brown eyes. Red hair…

RED.

The woman from California .

No, it can’t be. She had jet black hair.

My brain is trying to compute the similarities whilst trying to dismiss the truth. But the closer I look, the more I see.

Let’s be open and honest here. I got a good look at her. Up close and incredibly personal. It is her—Miss Roulette, her name for the night.

What the fuck is she doing in Ireland? And at my in-law’s home? Being kissed by my sister's uncle. Being feted like a returning queen.

Oh, shit. She’s the daughter? Seamus’s daughter. The one who was in America? But she was in New York, not California. It can’t be her.

But it is.

Then she stands up to kiss her father. Her green dress highlights and compliments her russet red hair. The silk of the dress ripples like a waterfall over her fantastic tits. Stretches out over her pregnant body.

Pregnant.

She’s fucking pregnant. She’s very fucking pregnant.

My world stops spinning, my heart stops beating. But my mind is whirring at one hundred miles per hour.

“Is that Aoife? Seamus’s daughter?” I ask Marshall. My voice faltering over her name.

Marshall looks at me like I’m an idiot, bearing in mind the back end of the speech we just heard. Sure, I saw photographs in the house last summer, but none were recent. Most in the library were of a little girl on one pony or another.

“Yes,” he nods, not taking his eyes off his oldest brother.

“Got back from America two months ago. She needs to be here. Seamus is handing the company over to her. America was a red herring. A sales tool, nothing more. She’s finished her schooling, and she needs to be here.

Running this side of things.” His voice shows his approval of her. His respect for her.

He starts to move towards his family and I follow slowly behind as he continues to fill me in.

“Her fiancé was in America with her, but he came home a few months before her.” His tone changes when he mentions the fiancé to one that is not complimentary at all.

He sounds dismissive of him. It’s a tone I’ve heard before when he’s picking out duds at a horse auction.

Well, well, wow. What a cheating low life she is.

My opinion of her has taken a nosedive. In that club as a single woman.

Clearly had a man at home in New York waiting for her.

Probably thought no one would know. It was an exclusive event, no real names and on the other side of the country. Well, well, well.

I smirk at the memory of our night. She certainly was as fiery as her real hair colour. If that is the real one, and not the black. Now the name makes sense. I smile wider as I think of Miss Roulette. Red or black indeed.

Her first time in that sort of place, she’d said.

To be fair, I would have to say I believe that is true.

Or she was a brilliant actress. But some things you just can’t fake.

And I pride myself on whittling out liars.

She got past me though. I must be slipping.

But then I was probably concentrating on other matters.

I grin again as I picture that room, sliding my fingers under the collar of my shirt, giving it a tug to get some air in. Yeah, it was that hot.

I watch her as we scoot around at the edges of the room, keeping in the shadows. Marshall is certainly trying to go undetected for as long as humanly possible.

I keep my eyes fixed on her as she smiles at her dad. She’s nearly the same height, the love shining out of them both. Then she turns towards her ‘fiancé’. Not the same smile. Not by a long way. This place is getting more interesting by the minute.

“How long have they been together?” I ask Marshall, keeping my voice as casual as possible whilst my heart rate is picking up.

“No idea. Seamus only sent me an invite a month ago. Don’t think it’s been planned for a long time. Aoife only came home in early June, after she got her doctorate. So it can't be long if I only got the invite in July.”

He shrugs, he’s not interested. But he smiles wider when his brother spots him, and we make our way over to the family table. Me trailing behind Marshall, partially hidden from view, as the music starts up, and the party cranks into full gear.