The Claddagh Trilogy: Irish Affair - Irish Love - Irish Heart

by Amanda Heartley

  I shrug and shove my phone back in my pocket.

  “Alright, but one drink, okay? I don’t want to make it a late one. I have a flight in the morning.”

  * * *

  We go to a nearby club that’s supposed to be hard to get into—unless you’re a celebrity, of course, in which case, they let you walk right in. Ben’s soon showing his moves on the dance floor, and has several women hanging off him. He’s throwing back drinks like they’re going out of fashion, while I sit at the bar, working on the same shot of whiskey I started with when we got here half an hour ago.

  All I can think about is Amelia, and what happened at the music club earlier. Did me getting swamped get to her that much? I have no idea how I even lost her. I looked up one minute and she was there, and then the next moment, she was gone. I searched everywhere for her, and when I went to text her, my stupid phone had gone flat. It wasn’t until I got back to the hotel to charge it that I saw her messages.

  I check my phone again for messages, but there’s none. Ben walks over to me with three girls in tow. He throws his arm around my shoulders and introduces them. I groan as they immediately drape themselves over me and subtly slide myself away from them, not wanting to offend.

  “It’s been nice meeting you, ladies, but I’ve an early flight tomorrow and I’m heading back to the hotel. And besides, I’m really not in the party mood, tonight,” I say. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself enough for the both of us, though, Ben.” I say with a grin.

  “Oh, I am,” he says with a laugh as his hands roam over the shirt of the blonde hanging off him. I shake my head and laugh.

  And he wonders why he’s never setting foot near my sister.

  * * *

  When I wake the next morning, the first thing I do is check my phone. Nothing, and it’s nearly nine o’clock. She must be up by now. I shake my head, concerned at the silent treatment she seems to be giving me, and wondering why.

  She’s an amazing girl, but maybe this is more trouble than it’s worth.

  I slide out of bed and walk into the living room, where my breakfast is waiting on the table, along with the morning paper. I flick through it, and I’m horrified when there, on page three, is a huge photo of me with two girls hanging off me from our visit to the club last night. Shite. Although it was a completely innocent moment, that’s not how it looks in this picture.

  According to their ‘reliable source’, I was drunk off my face and throwing myself at every woman in sight. I gasp, shocked at what I’m reading. I’d barely had half a drink, and I hadn’t done anything with anyone the whole time I was there. Annoyed, I toss the paper across the room, shouting out a string of obscenities.

  What will Amelia think if she sees this?

  I can just imagine. I try calling her again, but there’s no answer. She’s probably ignoring me. This just adds a whole new layer of complications to my life that I don’t need right now. I glance at my watch and curse. I don’t have time to deal with this now, as much as I want to. If I don’t get to the airport, I’m going to miss my flight, and I’m due on stage for a sound check at nine-thirty tonight. I hurriedly pack, then text her again, asking her if she’ll meet me at the airport. I’m doubting she’ll even show, but I’m running out of options.

  After I check out, I’m sure two of the girls behind the desk are talking about me, but I do my best to ignore it.

  “Can you sign this?” one of them asks shyly, thrusting the newspaper photo of me in my face. I grab it and screw it into a ball, shoving it in my pocket before storming away, leaving them wide-eyed and shocked.

  A group of reporters are waiting outside for me when I walk through the entrance. I cringe, hoping they didn’t see my outburst at the front desk. They’re hounding me, asking questions, but I ignore them and barge my way through to where Ben is waiting for me with a car. He opens the door, and I climb inside, scowling at him.

  “You’re popular this morning,” he observes, cheerfully, leaning inside.

  I glare at him. “I’m surprised you’re even up this early.”

  “Shit, dude. Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed, today.” He whistles, rolling his eyes. “I’m glad I’m not the one driving you to the airport. What’s up? Is it that chick?”

  “I take it you haven’t seen today’s headlines yet?” I ask, handing the screwed-up piece of newspaper to him. He straightens it out, chuckles, and then coughs to try and hide his amusement.

  “I can’t help but feel slightly responsible,” he says. “But that’s the press for you. It’ll all be forgotten in a day or two.”

  “Slightly?” I growl. “Amelia’s not answering my calls, and I don’t know if it’s because she saw this, or because of yesterday.” I sigh, knowing it’s not his fault. “I’ve asked her if she’ll meet me at the airport, but I’m not expecting her to show up.”

  He winces. “Ouch. Okay. Well, I’m sorry this happened. The price of fame, and all that, I guess. Not something I know too much about. You just get there and catch your plane, and I hope she turns up to see you off,” he says, closing the door and waving me off.

  I sit back in my seat and take a deep breath, trying to diffuse my foul mood. If I don’t calm myself down, I’m going to end up doing, or saying something I might regret, and no doubt there’ll be half a dozen reporters there, waiting to catch it all on camera.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amelia

  I read the article for the hundredth time, examining the photo, and my heart sinks each time. No matter how I try to put a positive spin on it, it looks just as incriminating as it sounds. I let out a deep sigh and toss it across the room, wishing Clare hadn’t pointed it out to me. I could’ve happily lived in denial and let myself believe I’d let him go again without feeling like a damn fool. Again.

  “You know, it might be completely innocent.” Clare frowns at me from her spot on the couch opposite me.

  “Right, because it looks so innocent,” I snap.

  She rolls her eyes. “Look, don’t take it out on me. Maybe if you’d spoken to him last night on one of the fifty times he tried calling you—”

  “Oh, so it’s my fault he went out and picked up God knows how many women?” I hiss.

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” she sighs. “I’m just suggesting that you don’t jump to any conclusions until you speak to him. Making assumptions can be a dangerous game.”

  I scowl as she kisses me on the forehead and then leaves for the gym. I’m annoyed, because I know she’s right. I woke up just after midnight and turned my phone back on to a heap of messages from him, asking me to call him. I didn’t. Instead, I convinced myself I’d be better off ignoring his calls until he left. That it would be much easier to let him down gently when he was in another state. Or better yet, another country.

  Alone with my thoughts, I let out another huge sigh. I can’t help but think the worst. It’s what I do and have always done. I start off hopeful, but it seems it’s in my nature to assume things will go wrong. How can I not after everything that’s happened? Things always seem to fuck up when it comes to me. It’s a learned behavior.

  Which was why I didn’t want to be with him in the first place.

  When I realized who he was at the concert, I thought then that I couldn’t cope with his fame. If this is what I’m like now when we’re not even properly together, imagine being faced with something like this if we were married, maybe with kids. This was nothing compared to how much harder his fame would be to deal with once we were in a committed relationship.

  I busy myself with cleaning house, because it’s the only thing keeping me sane. That, and because Clare’s apartment looks like it hasn’t seen a vacuum cleaner in years. I’m halfway through attacking the grimy kitchen sink when there’s a knock at the door. I pull off my rubber gloves and walk over. I know it can’t be Rory, because he’ll be halfway to L.A. by now. He’d left me several messages, asking me to meet him at the airport, and several times I’d almost gon
e, but I promised myself after Garrett that I wasn’t going to do this. I wasn’t going to chase another guy anywhere, let alone to Ireland, just to have them screw me over. I open the door. It’s some guy. I’m not sure who he is, but he looks happy to see me.

  “Hi,” he says with a grin. “We’ve never met, but I’m Ben. A friend of Rory’s.”

  “Oh, him. And…?” I stiffen, ready to slam the door in his face when he quickly continues.

  “I just wanted to talk to you for a minute,” he says. “Can I come in?”

  “One minute.” He steps inside and, immediately, I notice his eyes fall on the open newspaper on the coffee table.

  “I assume that’s why you’re here?” I ask.

  “Yes. I want to explain a few things to you. I stopped in to see Rory last night. He was moping around his room, trying to get hold of you, and when he couldn’t, I took him out to celebrate the end of the New York gigs. To take his mind off things before his flight. But, you know what he did when we got to the club?”

  “Yeah, I can see for myself what he did. So why are you here again?” I say, curtly.

  “What’s in that paper is bullshit. He sat at the bar, nursing a drink the whole half hour he was there. I was out on the dance floor making an idiot of myself with those women you see, and who I, foolishly, brought to the bar to meet him. Of course, they pounced on him, but he shrugged them off and told me he was going back to the hotel.”

  “And that’s it?” I’m not sure I believe him. “Did he send you here to tell me that? To cover his tracks?”

  “I promise you. I swear on my life that nothing else happened. Rory is too hung up on you to even think about letting his hair down. The guy has fallen for you, hard.” He pauses long enough to look at me. “I don’t know him that well, Amelia, but enough to know he’s a decent guy. Maybe do yourself a favor, and it would certainly do him a favor, if you go to the airport and talk this out before he leaves for L.A.”

  “It’s too late, even if I wanted to go. He’s in the air already,” I mumble.

  “Maybe not,” Ben grins. “I happen to know his flight’s been delayed by three hours. He’s still waiting in Departures.”

  “How would you know that?” I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious if he’s telling me the truth.

  “Oh, because someone just may have called the airline, and put him on a later flight.”

  “Really?” I say. “And who would have done that?”

  He shrugs. “I like to keep my clients happy.”

  * * *

  After he leaves, I weigh up my options. I can either listen to Ben, go to the airport and talk it out with Rory, or I can ignore what I’m feeling and regret it for the rest of my life. It’s not a hard decision to make, really.

  I quickly change into a fitted top, and a black skirt then run a brush through my hair. I gather it up into a loose ponytail, my heart racing as I stare at myself in the mirror.

  Here I go again, chasing a guy.

  I hope with all my heart it works out, but I do wonder why this will be any different. Why is he any different? The thing is, I can’t give up on finding that one special person. If I do that, then what’s the point of anything?

  “You’d better be worth it, Rory,” I mutter.

  Once outside, I hail a cab. Clare still has my car, not that I really mind too much—I hate driving through the city anyway. I sit forward, suddenly remembering there’s something I have to do before I speak to Rory. I need to clear things up with Garrett. My hands are shaking as I reach for my phone. Before I dial his number, I read through his message one more time. I thought about replying to his email, but I feel I owe it to him to speak to him personally.

  Taking a deep breath, I press call. I’m almost hoping he doesn’t answer so I can leave a message and avoid this whole awkward conversation. I still care for Garrett, but what I feel for Rory is so much stronger. The fact that there’s still something there confuses me. I need to see if it’s still there when I speak to him.

  “Amelia,” he murmurs when he answers. “Wow, I never thought I’d hear from you again. I’m guessing you got my email?”

  “I did,” I say. “I’m glad you explained things to me. It makes me feel a lot better about what happened and why, but I can’t be with you.”

  “Oh,” he says, sounding dejected. “Can I ask why?”

  “I’ve met someone else,” I say, honestly. “I need to give us a chance. I’ve been so let down by everyone else I’ve given my heart to before.”

  “You mean me,” he says, his voice flat.

  I wince, then compose myself again. “Whether you meant to or not, you did. You could’ve called me earlier. You could’ve emailed me earlier. You could have told me about your wife and daughter. You could’ve done a lot of things differently, but you didn’t. I’m sorry, Garrett. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. Goodbye.”

  I end the call, feeling a hundred times better. I needed to get that out. I needed to put Garrett behind me before I moved forward with Rory.

  * * *

  The taxi pulls into the airport. I jump out and race inside, overwhelmed by the number of people here. I find his gate on one of the screens in Departures, only to discover I’m probably too late since it flashes alternately ‘Boarding at 12:45’ and ‘Proceed to Gate 23’. He must have gone through security by now.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter.

  Coming here has been hopeless, and I’m disappointed I’d built up this moment in my head to be a wonderful reunion. Defeated, I walk over to the window and sit down in the corner for some privacy. Tears well in my eyes as I stare out the window at the planes, wondering which one he’s on, and if I could see him. I know it’s futile, and it’s only now I realize I shouldn’t have left it so late. I should have called him last night. Hell, even this morning, I could have answered one of his many calls and texts.

  “The one good thing in my life, and I’ve fucked it up,” I mutter.

  “Do you always talk to yourself like that?”

  I spin my head around, my heart racing. My mouth drops open and my eyes widen when I see Rory sitting casually on the other side of the row of seats, smirking at me. I’m so happy to see his handsome face. I was so sure I’d missed him. He stands, walks around and sits next to me.

  “Rory? What are you doing still sitting here?” I ask, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

  “I don’t know. I got here to find there’s been one almighty cock up with my reservation. They said I’m booked on a later flight instead. Now, I’m glad. I was hoping you’d still show up, which is why I waited here.” He takes my hand in his, then leans over and kisses me. “I’m guessing you saw this morning’s paper. Nothing happ—”

  “I know,” I say, stopping him. “Ben came to see me. So, what now?” I ask softly.

  “Well,” he says, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got a flight to L.A. in an hour. I’m hoping you’ll come with me.”

  “To the music awards?” I say with a laugh. Clare would be so jealous. She’d kill me.

  “Sure. I’ll get you in, and we can have some fun when we get back to the hotel,” he grins.

  “This hotel better be classy,” I tease.

  “Would I accept anything less?” he smirks, scooping me into his arms. “Let’s go get you a ticket right away.”

  “But…what about clothes?” I laugh. “These are all I have.”

  “I’ll buy you more once we’re there. Though I kind of like the idea of you not wearing any,” he says, grinning.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rory

  It’s nine o’clock on Sunday, and as I wait backstage for my name to be announced, I lean against the wall feeling sick from nerves. How the fuck am I going to go out there and sing when I feel like I’m about to pass out? Come on, Rory, lad. You can do this. It’s no different to the hundreds of performances you’ve done before.

  I nod, agreeing with the voice in my head. I can do this. I just have to go out t
here and sing. Once I start, I’ll be fine. Knowing Amelia is in that crowd, and at the front of the stage, makes it easier too. Ben pulled some strings and got her one of the best seats in the house. I owe him so much after the last few days. It’s like, everything I could wish for, all at once. Amelia, the music awards, this place. Everything.

  I force myself to stay focused, but all that goes to shite when they call my name. My heart pounds like a hammer in my chest as I walk out onto that stage. There are so many people, but this is different to a normal concert. These aren’t my fans. They’re my peers. It’s so much more nerve-racking singing to the people I look up to most in the world. I glance around and spot singers and artists who were my idols growing up. Having to sing in front of them is pure torture.

  I can’t do this. I stand there in silence, ignoring the actions of the producer urgently signaling me to start my performance. Then I see my beautiful girl in the crowd. She nods at me, smiling, her eyes full of concern. I take a deep breath, my eyes focused on her. The moment I open my mouth, all my nerves begin to melt away as I start to sing.

  The whole time, I stare at Amelia. She is this song. Every word of it is about her. Tonight, is the first time in a long time where I can really feel the music. I’ve found what was missing in my songs with the most beautiful American girl, who I can’t drag my eyes away from. I don’t doubt for a second that she is the difference. Without her here, cheering me on, I’m sure this would’ve ended badly.

  When I finish, the standing ovation the crowd gives me feels amazing. My idols are on their feet, whistling and clapping for me. I smile and wave, before walking off the stage. I can’t get my head around how this is my life right now. I feel so humble, and grateful to be here.

  * * *

  As I lead Amelia back to our room, I can barely keep my hands off her. Maybe it’s the one of a kind, designer dress she’s wearing that clings to her body like a second skin, but she’s been irresistible to me all night. My hands are already fumbling to undo the buttons on the back of her dress when I open the door to our room. She sighs as I peel it from her body and toss it aside. I take off my suit jacket and shirt, my cock twitching at the sight of her standing there in her bra and panties, fresh from Victoria’s Secret.