I saw the steel in her eyes and knew she wasn’t going to let this go, not tonight anyway. It was one of the reasons she made such a great sponsor. She wasn’t afraid to tell me how it was and she never gave up. They were admirable qualities, just not when they were being directed at me personally.

“Fine,” I relented. “I’ll get the test.”

“You said that before.”

“I’ll get it, Sarah,” I told her, jaw tight. “I’ll get it.”

She narrowed her gaze, trying to figure out if I was fobbing her off. I was, sort of, but I was hoping my acting skills worked this once.

“Okay, I believe you,” she said finally, then gave me a small smile. “Let me know if you need someone there to hold your hand.”

“Piss off.”

She grinned. “Hey, I know what big babies you rugby boys can be.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said and made my way to the lobby entrance.

“You better,” she called after me.

As soon as I got inside my phone started ringing. I pulled it out quickly, hoping it might be Eilish. I hadn’t called her, though I’d wanted to. She’d been the one to disappear this afternoon, and calling seemed like pushing. I wanted her to come to me, as it needed to be what she wanted.

Anxiously glancing at the screen, I saw a number I didn’t recognize. This aggravating day really didn’t want to end. That certainly seemed to be the case when I answered and was met with a haughty female voice.

“Hello?”

“Bryan, this is Cara Cassidy.”

. . . Cara Cassidy?

Wasn’t that Eilish’s mother?

Oh, jeez. Having been friends with Sean for years, I’d heard many stories about what a ballbuster this woman could be.

“Cara,” I said, putting on my most charming voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to invite you for brunch at my house tomorrow morning, eleven sharp. I apologize for calling so late, but I had a time locating your number.”

“Yeah, I’m unlisted.” I smiled a little at this woman’s tenacity. Still, I wondered about the invite. “I might not be able to make it tomorrow. I already have—”

“Whatever plans you have I’m sure you can cancel them. After all, you’re a father now, Bryan. It’s time you stepped up to your responsibilities.”

Did she really just say that? Clearly, news had traveled fast, but I couldn’t think of who might’ve told her. It didn’t seem likely that Eilish would, and I knew for a fact that Sean would rather cut off his thumbs than give his aunt information like this.

“I’m perfectly aware of that and I am taking responsibility,” I replied.

“Then I’ll see you at eleven,” Cara finished, leaving me no option to refuse without coming across as a major arsehole.

I gritted my teeth.

If I knew anything about Cara Cassidy and her ilk, I knew that this was no innocent invitation. She had an agenda. People like her, like my father, always did. It was a good thing I was well used to dealing with her type and was immune to high society manipulations.

I was just about to refuse—and in doing so, take full ownership of my arsehole nature—when a thought occurred to me.

“Will Eilish be there?” I asked.

“Of course,” Cara rushed to confirm. “Eilish has assured me she’ll be in attendance, leaving your son with my nephew for the morning.”

“Fine.” I nodded once even though she couldn’t see me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I’d rather accede another defeat to the Welsh than go to brunch at this woman’s house.

But I would go.

To see Eilish, to spend time with Eilish, my stubborn, sweet-as-hell Eilish, I’d do just about anything.

Chapter Eighteen

ECassChoosesPikachu: If you don’t hear from me in an hour, a blue blood has poisoned my tea with narcissism or strangled me with grandmother’s pearls.

LucyFitz to ECassChoosesPikachu: Your cousin says “She better put a ring on it.” Any idea what he’s talking about…?

*Eilish*

Ten minutes.

I was only going to stay for ten minutes.

And don’t forget, everything you say and do is wrong.

I reminded myself of this simple fact as I crossed the street and climbed the stairs leading to the old Georgian mansion. I’d texted Josey earlier and pushed back our Sunday coffee. The café was nearby, so as long as I left my mother’s house in under half an hour, I would still make it on time.

No matter what, you are wrong. Go ahead and claim the sky is brown and the sun is purple. Just like old times.

Gathering a deep breath, I held it within my lungs as I stared at the huge double doors. They were imposing; at least I’d always thought so.

Ringing the bell, I waited, glancing up and down the road. Nothing had changed, not really. Margaret Donovan’s roses were still that same color of bright pink that my mother despised and Mr. Grady’s topiaries were still shaped to look like harps.

“Miss Eilish.”

I turned at the sound of my name, finding Jameson, my mother’s butler.

That’s right, my mother had a butler. And he took the role seriously. Good on him, I say. Superb butlers, according to my brother Charles, were hard to come by.

“Jameson, I hope you’re well.”

“Tolerably,” he responded, taking my coat. “Your guest has arrived and is with Mrs. Cassidy in the blue room.”