“I’ve barely spoken to him.”
“But you’ve kissed him.”
“A kiss can mean nothing.” Caera spoke with authority.
“Or it can mean something. Why don’t you enjoy him, while he’s here.”
“He’s not a bag of crisps to be enjoyed.”
“Sure he is.” Sorcha tossed her hair. “I plan to enjoy Paddy Fish.”
“Ah, Sorcha,” Caera sighed. “Will you wait until after the concert to break his heart? I can’t have him backing out because you’ve done him in.”
Sorcha nodded. “If you want.”
“Thank you.”
“If you give the American a chance.”
Caera looked at her friend in exasperation. Where Sorcha used sex as both weapon and shield, Caera’s past had made her wary.
“Sorcha…”
“Another kiss. See where it goes.”
Caera was quiet for a moment, then whispered, “He’s a musician.”
Sorcha stood and came around Caera’s side, hugging her. “That doesn’t mean he’s terrible.”
“I know that,” Caera said, voice small, “but I couldn’t trust him. I just…can’t.”
Sorcha said something more, but Caera was lost in her past, remembering the foolish girl she’d been. At seventeen, she’d been full of confidence and life. She’d aced her exams and would be attending Trinity College in the autumn. She landed a job serving chips and gravy to people she’d known all her life in the local pub. When she wasn’t serving, she was singing or playing. She’d been hired as much for that as for her serving.
She planned to study classical music and make her name as a traditional musician busking on Grafton Street between classes.
And then he’d walked into the pub.
Older, beautiful, with a lush Spanish accent and long hair that made the old men sitting at the bar frown, he was exotic as parrot in her little town in the west. He heard her play and sing, told her she was beautiful and talented. They were things she’d always heard from family and friends, but now a stranger was saying it. A beautiful stranger. A musician.
She’d run away with him, expecting to play beautiful traditional music from their homelands in smoky bars and jewel-small theaters. When they landed in Central Europe, she’d met his band, a rock group that cared nothing for traditional music. She’d confronted the man she thought she loved, bewildered, and he’d laughed and kissed her so hard her lips bruised against her teeth.
It had taken weeks for her to figure out that everything had been a lie and six months to spiral into the darkness of life as a groupie, until she found herself standing on the balcony of hotel, prepared to jump. Only her fear of the mortal sin had brought her down. She’d left, walked away with nothing. It had taken her another six months to work her way back across Europe, tending bar and serving to make money. When she reached England, she stopped, too ashamed the cross the Irish Sea. There she found a job at a hotel and quickly worked her way out of the bar into the catering and events office. When she finally returned to Ireland, she held her head high to hide her shame and declared that she now had a career in hospitality. She’d returned home only once, leaving when she saw the sadness and disappointment on her parents’ faces. Saw how her disappearance had aged her mother.
“Hey there, miss. There’s nothing good in dwelling on the past.”
Caera shook herself. Sorcha was rubbing her back.
“There’s plenty of good. I won’t make the same mistake again.”
“You know that not every man would treat you that way. Not every man is so cruel.”
Caera nodded, wondering if Sorcha would be so anxious to set her up if she knew all the details. Caera had told Sorcha much of her past as they lived and worked together to open Glenncailty, but there were things she was too ashamed to admit, even to her closest friend.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I know.” Caera squeezed Sorcha’s hand, then stood, carrying her teacup to the sink and rinsing it out. “We should get some sleep. Tomorrow’s the big day.”
“What time is the management meeting?”
“Seven.”
“I’ll be there for part of it, but I want to keep my eye on breakfast, make sure our important guests get fed.”
“Okay, I’ll wake you up before I go.” Caera opened the kitchen door.
“Wait.”
She turned and raised her brows. Sorcha stood in the middle of the kitchen, the small overhead light making her hair glow copper and gold.
“Don’t punish yourself forever. You’ve suffered enough.”
Caera breathed deep, taking in Sorcha’s words. With a nod, she left, waiting until she was in bed to let the sadness out—a single tear that tracked over her temple, disappearing into her hair.
~
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Destiny's Knight: A Fallen Angel Protector Paranormal Romantic Suspense Book (Guarded Souls 1) Page 24
