Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series) (17 page)

“To spare your blushes, I’m willing to roll with a change of subject. Do you still like sci-fi and fantasy? I remember you buying a lot of those when I used to work here years ago.”

“Yeah, I do. Also crime fiction. No need to give me any of Jonas’s books. He’s already given me replacement copies for the entire series.”

She raised a teasing eyebrow. “Signed, I hope?”

“Of course.”

At the sight of his sexy half smile, the butterflies in her stomach came to life. “I’ll pick out a few books and leave them at the counter. How does that sound?”

“Like excellent customer service.” His upper lip was covered in cream from his scone. He licked it off with his pink tongue, and she noticed his tongue piercing for the first time. A jolt of sexual longing hit her groin. She swallowed, shifted position, and moved into the book room to search for his books.

Every once in a while, she stole a surreptitious glance in their direction, her green eyes darting away the instant they met Gavin’s blue ones. She selected six books for him—two fantasy, three sci-fi, and one techno thriller—and set them beside the cash register.

“He’s a bit of a ride, isn’t he,” Sharon said in a voice loud enough to shatter glass. “And the chemistry between you two is flaming sizzling. I can totally see why you got married.”

“Sharon,” Fiona said between gritted teeth, “could you keep the volume down please?”

Her assistant chomped on her gum and stared at Fiona through eyelashes thick with jet-black mascara. “I don’t think he heard me. Sure, look. His back’s turned.”

Fiona felt heat creep up her cheeks. Unless Gavin was deaf as a post, there was no way he hadn’t heard Sharon’s bellowing.

Shite.
Her life was devolving into a slapstick comedy with her as the unwitting star of the show.

Luca and Gavin finished their scones and beverages, and Gavin paid what he owed, adding a generous tip. Armed with his new dino book, Luca looked very pleased with himself.

On their way out of the shop, Gavin paused. “Luca, can you wait for a sec? I need to have a word with Fiona.”

Oh, crap on a cracker. He was going to mention what Sharon had said. How mortifying. Fiona buried her curls in an account book and tried to look absorbed.

“Fiona, I’ve been thinking,” he began. “It’s probably a daft idea, but you wouldn’t consider moving to the UK, would you?”

What the feck?
She blinked at him, uncomprehending. “Why would I want to move to the UK?”

“I’ve been doing some research. If you and I were to live in the UK for a while, we could file for divorce there.”

Fiona’s belly cramped. “You want us to move to the UK to speed up the divorce process?”

“Yeah.” He flashed that bone-melting smile of his. All she felt was ice in her veins. “I don’t want to leave Ballybeg permanently, but I could cope with living abroad for a couple of years. The divorce would be done and dusted in half the time it’d take in Ireland.”

“Right,” she said faintly. “And I’m to do what, exactly, during our time in the UK?”

He beamed at her. “You could teach. I looked it up on the net. Your Irish teaching qualification should be accepted in the UK.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to give up my job in Dublin, postpone my travel plans yet again, and move
my entire life
so you can get back with Muireann sooner?”

The smile faltered. “I don’t know that Muireann would have me back. I just thought a quicker divorce would allow both of us to get on with our lives faster.”

“I’ll sum up our present situations, shall I?” Her mounting anger was making her cheeks burn. “
You
are unemployed and unlikely to find a job in this area as long as my uncle wields influence over the building trade whereas
I
have a permanent teaching position and a home in Dublin—not to mention plans to travel once Bridie is well enough to take over the shop.”

He blinked. “Bridie mentioned something about you going to Australia. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, you self-absorbed twat. The same trip I’ve had to postpone to stay here and help Bridie. You’re not the only one whose life plans got screwed.”

“Steady on.” As if realizing he’d raised his voice, Gavin’s gaze darted around the shop. “I didn’t know the ins and outs of your trip.”

“Why would you?” she snapped, losing the battle to keep her temper in check. “You’re too caught up with your own woes to spare a thought for mine. There’s a sense of
déjà vu
about all this. You thought only of yourself the morning after our Vegas wedding, and you’re just as selfish now.”

“Calm down, Fiona.” He held his palms up in a gesture of peace. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“No? You never mean to insult or hurt anyone, Gavin, you just bloody do.” She slammed the accounts book shut. “You never even asked me if I was okay with you paying Drew Draper not to register our marriage. You’d decided you’d made a mistake and to hell with what I thought.”

His mouth gaped. “You wanted us to stay married?”

Yes, she had—with every atom of her being. Watching him walk out that hotel room door and out of her life smashed her heart to smithereens.

She took a shuddery breath. “I’m not bloody well moving to the UK for your convenience. How dare you suggest I uproot my entire life to suit your agenda?”

“I’m sorry, Fee,” he said, taking a step back. “Forget I mentioned it. It was a stupid idea.”

“Too right it was a stupid idea. The only person you care about is yourself. What happened to you, Gavin? Back when we were teenagers, you used to have a personality. You used to have dreams. Now you’re yet another Celtic Tiger cliché—selfish, entitled, and mercenary.”

He flinched as though she’d struck him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then obviously thought the better of it. “I’d better go. We’ll talk another time, yeah?”

She glared at him, piercing him with her gaze. “You have Aidan Gant’s number. Call him if you want to arrange another meeting.”

After Gavin and Luca left the shop, she noticed the pile of books she’d selected for him by the cash register.
Feck.

Sharon sidled up to Fiona. “You handled that well, boss. Sarcasm intended.”

“Sarcasm unwelcome. Keep your snout out of my business.”

“Keep your granny pants on,” Sharon said. “I was only going to share a few words of wisdom.”

“Wisdom?” Fiona looked her assistant up and down. “How old are you, anyway? Twenty? Twenty-One?”

She stuck her chest out. “I’m a mature nineteen.”

“When I was a mature twenty-one”—Fiona made quotation marks with her fingers—“I married the eejit who just exited the shop.”

Sharon cocked a painted-on eyebrow. “And the moral of the story is…?”

“Stay the feck away from Las Vegas.”

AFTER CLOSING THE SHOP, Fiona headed for Cork University Hospital. She drove faster than she should, foot to the metal.

Damn the man!

One minute he was Mr. Nice Guy, his maple-syrup smiles making her forget every morsel of common sense she possessed. The next, he’d reverted to selfish mode, the change swift and brutal, like battery acid on an open wound.

Well, feck him. She’d just dumped one selfish manhole. She was damned if she’d let another screw her around, lawfully wedded husband or not.

When she arrived at the hospital, visiting hours were drawing to an end. St. Ignatius ward was the quietest she’d ever seen it. Bridie’s room was half empty with only a couple of beds occupied. Her aunt was propped up in hers, lounging on pillows and leafing through a magazine.

Fiona kissed her plump cheek.

Her aunt peered over her spectacles. “How’s my shop? Still standing, I hope?”

“The shop’s grand,” Fiona said with a little too much force to come off natural. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“How are you getting on with Sharon?” One corner of the woman’s mouth quirked.

“Sharon is… an interesting employee.”

Bridie guffawed with laughter. “That’s one way of putting it. She’s a good girl at heart, though, and she hasn’t had the easiest of lives. She deserves a chance.”

Fiona’s smile froze. “Sure.”

Bridie sighed and lowered her magazine. “You’ll have seen the numbers by now. Business is bad.”

“Yeah.” Fiona pulled up a chair and sat down. “But if I’m going to be in Ballybeg for a while, I might as well make myself useful. I’ve come up with few ideas to attract more customers into the café.”

Her aunt’s cheery look faded. “I can’t afford a major investment at this time, and the bank won’t loan me any more money.”

“Don’t worry about the money. None of my plans require a major cash-out. For starters, I’ve bought a new coffee machine for the shop.” Bridie started to protest, but she cut her off. “Consider it a get-well-soon gift. Besides, it was an act of self-preservation. If I’m to work at the Book Mark for the next few months, I need decent coffee.”

Bridie’s eyes welled with tears. She blinked them away as if they’d never existed. “You’re a good girl. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Truth be told, I should’ve had this operation months ago, but I couldn’t afford to pay someone to run the shop in my absence, and the business would fold if I closed it while I’m out sick.”

Fiona ached at the sight of her usually hale and healthy aunt so poorly. “Concentrate and get back on your feet—literally and figuratively. I’ll keep the shop afloat.”
And Sharon in line.

“I feel awful you’ve had to cancel your trip, love.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll spend a few weeks traveling once you’re back on your feet.” She squeezed her hand. “That’s what family’s for.”

“I wish Bernard shared your feelings,” Bridie said with a sniff. “If that bastard hadn’t ripped us off, I wouldn’t be in this mess, and you’d have money in the bank.”

Fiona stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

Her aunt opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again when a nurse arrived with the tea tray.

The tea was black to the point of being stewed. Fiona dumped a lump of sugar into her cup and added a splash of milk to Bridie’s. Once tea was served, she focused on her aunt’s pale face. “What’s all this about Bernard ripping us off?” She lowered her voice so the woman in the next bed wouldn’t overhear.

Her aunt sighed and took a sip of tea. “Don’t mind me, love. I should’ve kept my trap shut. I’ve no proof.”

“Ah, come on. You can’t leave me hanging.”

“All right. But what I’m about to tell you stays between us.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The last thing I need is Bernard suing me for slander.”

Fiona’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Surely he wouldn’t sue you. You’re his sister.”

“Sister or not, I wouldn’t put anything past Bernard.” Bridie cradled her cup of tea, and the grooves on her forehead deepened. “My father did pretty well for himself. The farm was large and prosperous, and he invested in property back when prices were low. When he died, I inherited the cottage and the house on Patrick Street. Your father inherited the house you lived in until your parents died, and Bernard got the house in Cobh that he now rents out to holidaymakers. The farm and the surrounding land were left to Mammy.

“Mammy always said she’d split the farm house and land between me, Michael, and Bernard when she died. We all knew Bernard was her favorite, but she was a fair woman, and I can’t imagine her cutting me and Michael out of her will.”

“Yet that’s what happened,” finished Fiona.

“Yet that’s what happened,” Bridie said with a sigh. “Your father predeceased her, making you the rightful heir of his share of the farm. Only when my mother died and her will was read out, she’d left everything she owned—house, land, family photos—to Bernard.”

Fiona exhaled sharply. “I knew the land had been unfairly divided between the siblings, but I had no idea you thought there was something fishy about the will. What makes you think something was amiss?”

“Put it this way—the will was dated two months before Mammy died, and the witnesses were Deirdre and a woman called Ann Dunne, one of the nurses at the nursing home where she lived for the last year of her life. I don’t know what her previous will said, but I’d bet my porcelain dog collection that it was a three-way split.”

Fiona thought of Wiggly Poo’s ornament-smashing rampage and made a mental note to get cracking on finding replacements before Bridie got home.

“Soon after Mammy died, Bernard sold the farm and much of the land surrounding it and bought Clonmore House with the proceeds. I’m not saying he’s not a shrewd business man, but I’ve always felt there was dirty dealing going on.” Bridie put her mug of tea on her bedside table and looked out the window. “But I’ve no proof. And even if I did, Bernard has so many politicians in his pocket that I’d have no chance of getting justice. It’s not what you know in this country. It’s who you know and who you’ve paid off.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Fiona’s mind was racing, weighing her aunt’s words and their implications. Bernard was a loathsome toad. She’d never liked him, not even as a child. But would he stoop to defrauding his only sister and his orphaned niece of their inheritance? She had her answer before her brain formed the question. She sensed the truth in her gut, in all its acidic glory. “What about the land he’s using to build the shopping center? Was that part of my grandparents’ estate?”

Her aunt nodded. “That’s the only parcel of land he didn’t sell right after our mother died. He’s clung to it all these years, biding his time until he had the money and planning permission to build the center.”

Fiona visualized the vast stretch of land spreading out from her grandparents’ old farmhouse. Theirs had once been one of the largest farms in the area, back when farming was still a reasonably profitable endeavor. She thought of Bridie’s precarious financial situation and her own years of studying and working in order to scrimp and save to put a down payment on a one-bedroom apartment in Dublin, then of her struggle to put money aside for her world trip. In contrast, Muireann had never needed to do more than play at working as an interior designer and got to swan off to London, Paris, or New York on shopping trips. It was hard not to indulge her inner green-eyed monster.