Page 30 of Modern Romance July 2025 #4-8

PROLOGUE

R EBECCA M URPHY HAD never been so happy to see the sights of home, even if the drive to her parents’ cottage was a bit bumpy and therefore painful on her poor, shattered hip.

Oh, she’d been through the surgery and recovery so that she could walk and do most things. Certainly go back home.

And the Desmond Estate was home. Maybe her family wasn’t the wealthy, estate-owning type, sharing it generation to generation, but she understood the history of the land and the horses, and felt she belonged exactly here.

She liked to think, despite her modest upbringing, that was what Patrick Desmond had seen in her. She smiled a little, despite the pain.

Patrick had promised a ring when she returned from Cork, and to announce the engagement to his family. Though Rebecca had been a bit…concerned about how his father would take the news, the Desmonds knew her, knew her family. They’d helped fund her equestrian Olympic bid.

Cut short now.

She ignored the pain in her leg—both physical and emotional. Everything would be fine. She would be Patrick Desmond’s wife, and that would take up her time. She would throw herself into the role. She would be everything he—and they—wanted.

She instructed the driver to let her off at the main house rather than her parents’ cottage out by the stables. Patrick could drive her out there, and they could share the happy news. Hopefully it would cushion her parents’ worry and concern over her recovery and the loss of all their dreams.

And maybe more than that… She needed something positive to keep her going. Something to look forward to. If she didn’t have that concrete promise from Patrick, returning home with her Olympic dreams shattered into a million tiny pieces might end her.

She knocked on the door and grinned at the woman who answered.

Who shrieked in excitement and threw her arms around Rebecca. “Oh, our little Rebecca. Back home. Just where you belong.”

Rebecca desperately wanted to believe that as Maeve’s arms held her tight. Yes, she belonged here. On the Desmond Estate. At Patrick’s side. Maybe she’d never ride professionally again, maybe it would be years before she could ride at all, but she’d been leading a new, different life.

“Is Patrick here? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Oh.” Maeve’s hug stayed tight for another moment, then she pulled back, looked away. “I take it you haven’t been down to see your parents?”

“No, I just wanted to…” Get this crossed off the list, she supposed. Have something happy to bring them.

Before she could really read into Maeve’s strange response, Patrick appeared. “Maeve, I thought you were going to…” He trailed off when his dark eyes spotted her. He stopped midstride, there in his nice suit, looking perfect.

And shocked.

“Rebecca.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t cross to her. He stood there, looking at her like she was a ghost.

Which made Rebecca feel suddenly…in the wrong place. At the very wrong time. Which was ridiculous. “I texted…”

“I didn’t…” He shook his head, then looked behind him. “Rebecca, you shouldn’t have come here. Not yet. We need to… It’s only that…”

“Pat?” It was a woman’s voice. One Rebecca didn’t recognize.

A vision appeared. A willowy blonde on the highest of heels, dressed in the kind of perfectly tailored and gorgeously pastel sundress that likely cost more than what it cost to feed the horses on the Desmond Estate.

There was a ring on the woman’s left ring finger. Bright and sparkly. It seemed to wink at Rebecca as the woman wound her arm around Patrick’s. “Who’s this?” she asked, smiling brightly with lots of cheer, but there was a suspicion in her eyes all the same.

“Love,” Patrick said, patting her hand on his shoulder. His expression was…blank, as he called this woman love . Right here. Right in front of her. “This is our horse trainer’s daughter, Rebecca.”

Horse trainer’s daughter.

Rebecca glanced at Maeve, but she had her head down, staring at her shoes. Something was happening, and even though deep down Rebecca knew what it was, she couldn’t seem to access the brain cells needed to stop it.

“The almost Olympian?” The woman smiled brightly, and Rebecca felt all the worse because the woman didn’t seem to mean to be cutting. Perhaps she didn’t know how much that almost hurt and echoed through her.

She was an almost . Now. Forever.

Rebecca couldn’t manage any words. She stood absolutely still and mortified, trying to work through what was happening.

Love. Almost.

“I know you’ve been a dear friend to Patrick, especially after his mother passed. We simply must see you at the wedding.”

The wedding. She looked from the woman, to Patrick, to the ring on the woman’s finger again.

The wedding.

Not her wedding.

Their wedding.

“How kind,” Rebecca managed to mutter. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely. Congratulations.”

The woman beamed, then bussed a kiss across Patrick’s cheek. “Well, you two catch up. But don’t take too long. I need you to play peacemaker between me and my mother once we get to flowers.” She sent Rebecca a sunny smile, then sailed back from where she came.

Patrick stood there, and to his credit, Rebecca supposed, he looked miserable.

“I’m sorry. I… My father…” He stood there, looking a little contrite. But only a little. “Bridget is…the right choice.”

“Of course she is,” Rebecca agreed. Her voice even sounded like she believed it, though her face no doubt betrayed her. So she worked as hard as she possibly could to smile. “You have a nice…life, Patrick.” Then she turned and left.

She wanted to run, but she couldn’t without hurting her aching hip. So she walked.

And cried the whole way home.