Dirty Beautiful Rich Part Five

Dirty Beautiful Rich

by

Eva Devon

Part 5

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Dirty Beautiful Rich Part Five
Copyright
©
2015 by Maire Creegan

All rights reserved. No redistribution is authorized.

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

For more information: [email protected]

This story would have been impossible without Kati, Theresa, Missy, Misty, Barbara and Patricia but most especially I must thank Lindsey who always holds my hand and tells me to jump. And Jenn. . . Who gave me an unintended push.

For my son.

May you always know how loved you are.

Chapter 1

              The club pulsed and Julie couldn’t draw breath. She walked blindly, only guided by Fion’s hand at the small of her back. She was going to be fine. It was going to be fine. It had to be. Somehow she was going to survive what she’d just done to Damian. To herself. Because god, it felt like she’d cut her own heart out when she’d said those cruel, necessary words.

              Would she ever forget the look on his face? No.

              “Julie, darlin’,
”
Fion said right against her ear in the loud, packed in space. “We should leave. You’re in no state to keep on.”

              She shook her head. “It’s your birthday. You shouldn’t go. But I think—I think I have to. Is there a back exit?”

              There was no way she was going to chance that Damian was still out there.

              Fion nodded and took her hand. But instead of heading toward the back, he took her to the bar on the ground floor. He gestured to one of the efficiently moving bartenders.

              Within seconds, a bottle of Krug was passing over the bar accompanied by two glasses.

              Fion gestured with his jaw to the back. “Come on then.”

              She almost groaned. Tomorrow, she was going to want to die. She was already plastered. So, who cared then right? Her sorrows deserved a good drowning.

              Fion took the lead, heading into a narrow dark hall.

              Maybe she was being crazy. Fion was a stranger. But she didn’t fear him. There was nothing tigerish about the beautiful blond Belfast man. Oh no. He seemed as sweet and safe as a docile cat which one might keep tucked by the fire.

              He shoved open a door and they stumbled out into a little alley. It was out of this world, from a different century even. Barely three feet wide, and paved with cobblestones, it was lined with boxes and packing cases.

              Fion pulled up a crate. “A seat, my lady.”

              She laughed and perched on it, her dress hiking up her thighs.

              Fion poured champagne into the flutes and passed her one. He raised his glass. “To your independence.”

              She opened her mouth to respond but then took a swig of champagne instead. She lifted her glass. “To your birthday!”

              And they drank.

              He fiddled with his glass. “You know, you were magnificent back there.”

              She lifted her brows. “I was, was I? I felt a right —”

              “Don’t.”

              She sighed. “Don’t what?”

              “Demean yourself. You stood up for you and that is a good thing.”

              She tilted her back, eyeing her sandy haired companion. Why couldn’t she want him? Why couldn’t she want to devour Fion? Why did she have to want a man who had built her up, pulled her down, then showed up begging for more? She started to laugh.

              “Oh dear…
”
he teased. “The drink has taken effect.
”
             

              She nodded. “Yes. But also no.”

              “Would you care to explain that?”

              “I never thought much of myself,
”
she said frankly. “Not until recently. I had big dreams. None of them came true and then all of a sudden things started to work out. You know? It was amazing.”

              Fion waggled his brows. “And then he came along?”
            
 
“Actually, no. He came along and then the dreams started to come true.”

              “Oh.
”
Fion nodded and braced a foot against the brick walled building. “But he didn’t quite live up to your knight in shining armor fantasy?”

              “Excuse me?”

              “That’s the problem isn’t it?
”
Fion said gently. “He didn’t live up to the dream? He proved mortal flesh?”

              “He slept with me then jumped on the first plane to Asia,
”
she countered quickly. She didn’t like it at all the way he was making her less of a victim. God, was that what she wanted? To be the victim in all this?

              “That’s what happened,
”
she added.

              “Classic man pain,
”
he lilted.

              “Yeah well, it gave me pain too.”

              Fion swallowed his champagne then poured himself another glass. “Why are you in this alley with me, love?”

              She plunked her chin on her fist and rested an elbow on her knee. “I’m not entirely sure. You seem like good company.”
            
 
Fion gave one shake of his head. “You’re here to get over the man you love.”

              She scowled then swallowed the rest of her drink and held out her glass. “Those are bold words.”

              He winked and poured. “True ones. Anyone who looks at you can see it.”

              She let out an exasperated sigh. “Apparently, because you’re the third person to say so.”

              “There you are then.”

              “But. . . But he abandoned me,
”
she protested.

              “So, what. He’s got issues. Show me one person that doesn’t.”

              Julie scowled, barely able to believe what Fion was saying. It was shocking her slightly drunken brain. “Excuse me?”

              “Has he been abusive to you?”

              She thought about that. “He kind of stalked me by following me tonight.”

              “So, that’s a problem, I grant you. Does he make a habit of that kind of behavior?”

              She frowned. “No. Actually, he urges me to be independent.”

              “Has he isolated you from your friends?”
            
 
“No.”

              “Called you names?”

              “No.”

              “Hurt you aside from his epic slide into male stupidity?”

              “No.”

              “Right then. Don’t give him the shaft.”

              “But. . .”

              “Demand he get some therapy,
”
Fion declared. “You know, embrace the modern world and let all that Neanderthal nonsense go. The man probably just needs a hug.”
            
 
“Fion, you’re an odd duck.”

              “Don’t I know it? But you know, my da was a man’s man. A footballer to the core. He never shed a tear in my presence. Never let on he was in pain and when I grew up I looked at him and thought,
No, that’s not for me. I want to be happy
. I saw a therapist, did yoga, and had a good cry in front of him. You know what happened?”

              She shook her head.

              “The old man, hugged me, told me how much he loved me, then had a good cry himself. Now, mind you, fifteen minutes later, he was down at the pub drinking pints, and slapping his mates
’
backs to re-establish his manliness. But sometimes, a fellow like that just needs someone to let them know it’s okay to take a break from being a rock.”

              She gaped. Fion made more sense than anyone she’d talked to in a long time. “His family keeps warning me he can never love me.”

              “Are you willing to surrender his and your fate to a predetermined mind set? I never thought you to be one for doom and gloom Julie Doyle.”
            
 
“You’ve known me for about two minutes.”

              “And yet, I feel I know you very well. You know that people can change and deserve love.
”
Fion gestured out toward the main street. “That man, who showed up outside this club tonight? He wants to change. If not, he would have stayed in Asia. And if he was a total nutter, he wouldn’t have left gracefully.”

              Fion had a point.

              He poured out the last of the champagne. “What your man needs is a good therapist or grief counselor or something.”

              She frowned. “Why grief counselor?”

              “Because your fella is Damian Fitzgerald.”

              Julie gaped. “How do you know?”

              Fion rolled his eyes. “Please, love. Everyone in Ireland knows who Damian Fitzgerald is. He’s in the gossip mags all the time.”

              “You read the gossip mags?”

              Fion waggled his brows again. “With pride.”

              She eyed the last of her champagne and considered putting it down but then she thought of her mom and how she’d say, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound
’
.

              You only lived once after all.

              She swallowed it and for the first time in weeks she felt light. A chat with Fion, free of judgments and too much backstory, had lifted her spirits.

              She stood then nearly keeled over.

              Fion reached out and caught her arm. “Steady there, love. You’re clearly not in an Irish drinking class.”

              She laughed. “No. Not yet.”

              “It’s all right to stay in the shallow end of the pool, you know?”

              “What? Plunge in, I say!”

              “Julie Doyle, you’re drunk.”

              “I am, aren’t I?”

              Fion took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “And you’re absolutely adorable.”

              For one brief moment, she feared he might kiss her, making their new friendship extremely awkward.

              Instead he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “Right then, let’s get you back to your friends, you drunkard.”

              She let Fion guide her and she grinned the entire way.

Chapter 2

              It was quite possible that Damian was only good company for his grandmother’s dogs. After Julie had left him standing with his guts in his hands, he’d been very tempted to find the nearest bar and get totally pissed. He hadn’t. One because it almost certainly would have ended up in the papers and two because well, he just didn’t get pissed these days. Lack of control didn’t look good on Fitzgerald men.

              He strode down the hall, the smell of coffee drawing him like a siren’s song.

              The castle seemed different. Usually, when he came home, he had to force himself to block out certain memories and images so that he could enjoy his beautiful birthright. For some reason, this morning it hadn’t been the case.

              He’d made the three hour drive from Dublin to Castle Clare with nothing but clouds and starlight over head and he’d felt a strange sort of peace settle over him.

              Julie had finally acknowledged what no one had dared to do before.

              He wasn’t
okay
.

              Okay was such banal word and yet it was perfect. Something deep inside him was a seething mess of pain and when he wasn’t careful it splashed out onto the people he loved. He shook his head, not daring to think along those lines and headed into the dining room where food was waiting in heated silver servers and coffee was steaming from the silver pot.

              He poured the black brew into a cream colored Lenox cup then went to the windows that were as tall the room itself. He gazed out at the rolling ground leading up to the rugged Connemara Mountains and just let himself breath it in.

              Sometimes, it was all too easy to forget what a beautiful place he lived in. And his bones came from this land. His DNA was etched with it.

              “Your American isn’t here.”

              Damian closed his eyes. His mother’s voice should have been soothing. Wasn’t that what sons were supposed to find when their mothers spoke to them? A sense of love and peace?

              Alanna didn’t really know how to offer those last two things. He knew that and couldn't entirely blame her.

              “She’s in Dublin,
”
he replied.

              There was a long silence and then to his shock, his mother silently crossed the room and placed a hand on his forearm. “Then why aren’t you in Dublin?”

              He stared down at the beautiful woman’s face which had grown colder over the years. Once, he couldn’t wait to run to her arms, or stroke her blond hair. She’d been his world but their shared trauma hadn’t made them closer. It had driven them apart. So, the sudden concern in her stunning blue eyes sent a shudder of pain through him.

              “You don’t like her,
”
he replied tightly.

              “But you do.”

              “And?”

              “Damian, I’m not nice to anyone. Not really. Not anymore. But that girl. Julie. . . There’s something special about her. I think she’s just what we all needed. Someone to shake us up and force us to look outward instead of inward.”

              He could barely believe the words coming form his mother’s lips.

              “If I were to like a young woman you brought home, Miss Doyle would be she.
”
Alanna nodded as if to confirm her own statement. “You should fetch her.”

              Fetch. Ha. “She’s seen through me, mother.  She knows. . .
”
His throat tightened.

              “What does she know, my boy?”

              Jesus. He hadn’t expected this. It was tempting to throw off her hand and sudden kindness. “That. . . Th-that I can’t be fixed.”

              HIs mother stared at him for a long moment, the pulled him into her arms. It didn’t matter that he towered over her. Somehow, Alanna Fitzgerald managed to cradle her son in her arms. And she shushed against his ears as though once again he were small.  “I love you, Damian. I love you. And I’m sorry for never showing you. I’m sorry for letting you think you didn’t deserve love, because, my sweet son, no one deserves it more.”

              A great racking sob choked out of his body and he immediately wanted to recall it. For Christ’s sake he was a man not a child. But something about finally hearing those words from his mother, about being in her arms broke through the last of the fortress he’d built around himself.

              And for the first time in almost two decades he allowed himself to wrap his arms around his mother and take comfort as he had always longed to do.

***

              “Up! Wooohooooo, Julie!”

              Julie groaned, grabbed the comforter and tried to haul it over her head.

              “I don’t think so,
”
exclaimed Kat, snapping the blanket back.

              Cool air brushed Julie’s body and she swallowed back a dose of last night’s revelry.  She winced then cracked her eyes open. “What time is it?”
            
 
“Almost twelve.”

              She wanted to die. Or at least not feel her body. She felt like she’d been hit by a truck. How had that happened?
              Oh, right. Fion and his booze and sympathy. She smiled. Actually, it had been a damned good night.

              “Aha! A smile.
”
Kat plunked down on the bed.

              Julie moaned. “Stop. Please let me wake gradually.”

              “I’ve only a week in Ireland there will be no gradual anything.
”
She shoved a glass of water into Julie’s hand. “Drink that, then we’re going out.”
            
 
“Oh no,
”
Julie muttered. She was going back to bed.

              “Oh, yes
.
Stella is already downstairs eating another batch of soda bread and butter. She’s waiting for us.”

              “To do what?”

              “One, hear all your dirty deeds from last night and two, visit Christ Church to see where they filmed The Tudors, of course.
”
Kat frowned. “Do you think we might see Jonathan Rhys Myers? They say he hangs out a lot in Dublin.”
              Julie laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Kat had had a massive crush on the Irish actor who’d immortalized Henry the VIII on Showtime. She hadn’t missed a single episode. In fact, Kat watched the show so often that she could quote parts and often did.

              “Okay.
”
Julie forced herself to sit up and when she wasn’t hit by any really bad nausea she let out a sigh. Not too bad considering she’d drank like a fish.

              Kat wrinkled her nose. “Shower.”

              “Shower,
”
Julie agreed as she stumbled to the gorgeous bathroom that was all marble. The shower had seven jets in it. She cranked them all on to scalding, dropped the t-shirt she’d shoved herself into last night before falling into bed, and stepped in.

              It was bliss. As much as she loved Castle Clare, hot water and glorious showers were a bit hit and miss.

              Kat kept chatting, but Julie wasn’t really listening. Instead, she kept thinking about what Fion said. In fact, the words were repeating so intensely she began to feel a strange dose of anxiety.

              Maybe it was because she needed Damian. Seeing him last night and awoken it.

              What if he’d already left?
              Well, if he had, given Fion’s logic, she’d have her answer. Damian didn’t really want to change. But if he’d stuck it out and was still around. . .

              Julie turned off the shower and headed straight for her phone. She hit the speed dial.

              “Yes, Miss Julie.”

              “You are a spy and a sneak O’Neil and I love you for it.”
            
 
“Glad to hear it, Miss.
”
There was a long pause. “He’s already left.”

              Julie’s heart sank. “Really? Oh. I see.”

              “He departed for Castle Clare the moment he left you at the club.”
            
 
“Castle Clare?
”
she echoed.

              “Yes.”

              “Thanks, O’Neil.”
            
 
“Shall I bring the Bentley around immediately?”

              “That would be great.”

              “We’ll be back then in say—”

              “O’Neil, we’re doing a bit of sight seeing.”
            
 
“But Miss Julie—
”
protested the chauffeur.

              “No, O’Neil,
”
she replied firmly. “We’re going to hit up Christ Church and then we’ll go west.”

              “Yes, Miss.”
            
 
She smiled at the phone. She could hear the chauffeur's annoyance but grudging acceptance.

              “See you in ten minutes.
”
Julie hung up and pulled on a pair of leggings and a comfy peacock green dress. Her new leather jacket went on like a dream and she slipped her feet into a gorgeous pair of Jimmy Choo flats. Sometimes indulgence was the best thing ever.

              Well, not the best thing. But it certainly happened to help deal with her rioting insides.

              Frankly, all she wanted to do was get in the Bentley and urge O’Neil to break every traffic rule in existence to get her home as soon as possible. But Kat and Stella had come a long way and frankly, she needed a little more time before she went running to Damian. She needed the breathing space to set her mind to rights so when she saw him she could say what needed to be said. Otherwise, she’d just fling herself into his arms and that wouldn’t be for the best.

              So, when she and Kat went downstairs, it was all Julie could do not to snort.

              Stella, who usually ate nothing but meat and salad, low carb devotee that she was, was feasting on Irish brown bread slathered in butter.

              “Oh. My. God.
”
Stella let out a groan that was so orgasmic that half the people in the area turned and looked.

              “That good, eh?
”
Julie asked.

              “You’ve no idea.”
            
 
“That’s what happens when you don’t eat bread for five years,
”
Kat put in.

              “Shhh. To call this manna mere bread is the worst possible insult. It’s divine. The butter is divine.
”

              Julie bit back another laugh. “No doubt, the cow that gave forth the cream to make it is divine too.”

              Stella nodded enthusiastically and took another huge bite then swallowed back what appeared to be black tea with cream.

              “Is there sugar in that?
”
Kat asked.

              Stella shifted in her seat. “Uh. And what if there is?”

              “Ireland has transformed you,
”
Julie said.

              At last Stella grinned. “It has.”

              “Well if we can tear you away from your manna. . . We have a cathedral to visit.”

              Stella wiped a linen napkin over her mouth, unabashed by the crumbs that fell to the table cloth. “Do you think they’ll let me take some bread?”

              Julie grabbed Stella’s hand. “I promise there is bread at Castle Clare.”
            
 
“This good?”

              “Better,
”
Julie drawled just before she hauled Stella up and out of the chair.

              She and Kat dragged their bread drunk friend out to the street and to the Bentley.

***

              After a day of desperately waiting and forcing herself to enjoy playing tourist, Julie ran up the castle steps, leaving Stella and Kat gaping.

              She knew she should stay with her friends, but she was driven by an all consuming need to see Damian which had only intensified with each mile they traveled from Dublin. Now, she felt totally wound up. Her mouth was full of words she was desperate to speak and her brain kept looping her imagined conversation with him.

              She’d been barely rational the last hour, answering all inquiries with uh-huhs and nods of her head.

              She half expected to meet Margaret, dogs in tow but it was Alanna who was arranging a bouquet of lilies in a Waterford vase.

              Julie slowed, still viewing Alanna as a bit of a hurricane. She had no idea if the woman would be a cold eye of the storm, or wild force. Or maybe, just maybe that had passed.