Prologue: Unicorns & Margaritas

A white house stood atop a green and brown hill overlooking the San Francisco Bay. The setting sun cast a magical glow over the massive structure, hitting the white pillars and glass wall. The golden light effect gave the illusion that the house was on fire and imbued the dwelling with a grandeur that went beyond its imposing size.

A small child played in the blue waters of a sparkling pool which seemed to stretch all the way to the ocean. The white and rainbow inflatable unicorn toy floated majestically alongside the girl.

The two women of mature years and young hearts sat sipping margaritas at the intricate wrought iron table some distance from the pool.

“Elizabeth is growing so fast.” The woman with a short silver-haired bob and thick accent remarked.

“She is indeed,” Magdalen replied, glancing in the direction of the infinity pool where her great-niece played happily. “I can’t believe she’s five today.”

The two women looked again towards the small girl as she splashed around the pool, dancing and jumping with her new toy, frequently falling off of the unicorn and then scrambling back up again.

Magdalen chuckled softly as she watched, “What a wonderful birthday gift. You’re very good with her.” She turned towards her friend in time to see Camille’s smile falter.

The decades of friendship between them had taught the two women many things about life and about each other.

Magdalen hesitated before speaking because she knew well what her friend was thinking. But she asked anyway, “What’s wrong, Camille?”

“Oh, the usual, Magdalena.” Camille took a breath before sipping her margarita. She stared out at the horizon and the Golden Gate Bridge. “I’ve made so many mistakes with Isabelle. I never knew how to be a mother. My mother was not . . . well you remember. She was not loving. I received more love and attention from your father, Alejandro, than I did from Adriana, rest her soul. Your father was a good man.”

“Yes, he was,” Magdalen agreed.

They both took a sip of their drinks and sat in silence.

“I know I’ve said this to you many times, but I don’t blame you, Magdalena,” Camille looked at her friend thoughtfully. “I’m glad Isabelle had you to turn to all those years ago.”

Mags swept a long strand of hair out of her eyes, “It was nothing.” She thought carefully before continuing, “Have you spoken to her recently?”

“Not since she made it clear she didn’t want me at her wedding a year ago,” she paused remembering something else, “I’m told that they’re expecting a child.”

Mags nodded, confirming what Camille had already been told by the man she employed to keep her informed.

Camille’s lips set in a line, her jaw tensed. “She wants nothing to do with me . . . and perhaps that’s as it should be. My life . . . has never been easy, and she felt it more than anyone.”

Elizabeth fell off of her unicorn once more with a splash that demanded the women’s attention.

They were grateful for the interruption.

“Lizzie loves coming here, you know.”

Camille smiled, “Your visits are delightful and your life-long friendship invaluable.” She reached across the table to squeeze the weathered hand of the woman who had known her since birth. Magdalen was twelve years her elder, but they’d grown up together, they were more like sisters than friends.

Magdalen thought again of the question she’d intended to ask, “Camille, if anything should happen to me . . . well you know our situation . . . I’m all she has. Could you—?”

Camille held up a hand, not letting her finish, “Of course, I will always be here for Lizzie.”

The two women looked back towards the five-year-old as she launched herself out of the water and back onto the unicorn. Elizabeth shrieked with delight.

Camille spoke softly, “I hope she has an easier time than we did finding our way in the world.”

Mags considered for a moment, imagining what her great-niece might see or do or accomplish in her lifetime. “I think she’ll be all right. I look forward to seeing what life has in store for her.”

“As do I,” Camille agreed. “Although I hope she doesn’t make a mess of it as we both have in our own ways.”

Magdalen’s voice took on a mischievous tone, “Oh, I don’t know. Life can be quite the glorious mess.”

The two women exchanged a knowing look and laughed. They clinked glasses and looked to the sky, enjoying the pink and purple hues left behind by the dying light.

Chapter 1: Irish Homecoming

She made the final turn just as the sun broke through the clouds and the golden light spilled out onto the rolling green hills.

The trees stood on either side of the little house—the guardians of Rhia’s cottage and the lough that lay beyond. They swayed in greeting just as they’d done all those years ago.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and released the steering wheel of the rental car she’d hired at the airport. It had taken nearly a month to go through Magdalen’s house in Berkeley before the sale.

It would have made more sense to pay someone to take care of it all, but she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t have strangers going through her great-aunt’s belongings.

Mags had been gone for nearly five years and it had taken her all of that time to go back.

“Five years . . . ,” she said to herself.

She stared at the cottage in front of her.

Five years.

Five years since she’d pulled up to this very cottage and her life had changed forever.

Double semi-lancet arched windows flanked the bright red front door. The pitched roof was a dark black-gray color with a chimney. The lake was there peeking out on the right side waiting for her.

It was quintessentially Irish. Every bit of it was blissfully the same.

She tried to remember what she’d thought then.

What had she thought she would gain there? Peace? Enlightenment?

She shook her head, laughing at the memory. How wrong she’d been . . . and how right.

She got out of the car and grabbed her luggage, there had been a reason she’d come to the cottage first and not told anyone she was coming home early.

Her brain was filled with the memories of the past, memories of California, of the house, of the strange business with Camille, of Mags, of the life she had spent a decade building . . . and then after Mags’ death, mere weeks tearing down.

The large shipment she’d sent herself from California, which included some of Mags’ personal belongings, the picture albums, the diaries, the porcelain dishes, along with some of the larger furniture pieces from the house in Berkeley, including her favorite blue couch, wouldn’t arrive in Ireland for a few weeks. There would be time to finish processing it all. Finish going through the boxes of papers and hard drives, and all that remained.

She thought of what it would mean to finish. To get to the end of all of Mags’ mysteries—nothing left of the woman she loved. It was an unbearable thought.

She shook her head and took another deep breath, trying to change the direction of her thoughts. She was home in Ireland now. All she needed was a shower, a glass of wine, and the gleaming waters of Lough Rhiannon. They would work together to relieve her tension and soothe her soul.

She set her luggage down, leaving it by the car and took the small undefined path to the right of the house as she had done all those years ago, again careful not to look inside.

The sky had turned purple and gold, a tingling sensation ran up her spine—she anticipated the scene that awaited her on the other side of the cottage. The breeze found her, greeted her, beckoned her forward to the beautiful lake that had changed her. She could hear her footsteps quickening, even as she began to lose control of her body. Lough Rhiannon called her.

And then it was there, stretching out in front of her in all its glory. Four or five golden rays broke through the purple expanse of clouds, hitting the water, setting it alight in a delightful display. The green below her feet and indeed everywhere that was not sky or water was greener than green, a green which she’d only ever found in Ireland.

She breathed it all in, let it bathe her in its magic.

California was still home. It was where she grew up, where she’d shared a life with Mags. But Ireland? Ireland was a home for her deepest self . . . her soul.

It had always been thus, she just hadn’t known it until she’d stepped foot on the Emerald Isle.

“Hi Rhia, hi Mags,” she said faintly, letting her words be carried by the breeze.

The wind kicked up, caressing her face and blowing her long brown hair out behind her in wild waves.

They were finally coming home to live again, permanently.

There would be visits to her French Château and visits with family and friends—they would still travel—but after spending the better part of four years flitting from place to place, never spending more than a couple of months anywhere, they’d decided to come back to live in Ireland.

To take up permanent residence at Castle Bannon and be still for a while.

“A while,” she said under her breath. Mulling the words over in her mouth.

That was the plan . . . settle down in Ireland in their beautiful castle, the castle that had once held so much darkness for Connor, and now held so much light.

He had redone it from top to bottom himself after his father had died, trying desperately to rid himself of that man’s darkness, but only succeeding when Elizabeth had waltzed through his door, healing old wounds and giving him the life he’d always wanted.

Now they had renovated the castle again, this time not to rid themselves of darkness, but to create a life that they both wanted together.

That was the plan . . . to settle down. That’s what they had decided, that’s what made sense.

Even as the thoughts crossed her mind her hand went reflexively to the letter in her back pocket. The offer.

She shook her head trying to clear her mind, trying to be present. There would be time for that. Time to figure out what she wanted. Time to reconnect with her voices.

It had been so long; the buzz and bustle of life had taken her all over the world. She had all the beautiful memories and experiences of a life well-lived. And the photographs to prove it.

But now what she wanted was to be still and hear those glorious inner voices again. The ones that never failed her, the ones that always knew the right way—her direct line to the Universe.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and took in the sounds of the lake, the calm water gently swaying and lapping against the shore, the birds whistling their familiar tune, and the breeze rustling through the trees.

The air left her lungs all at once, a deep sigh that signaled peace, like Shavasana at the end of a long yoga session.

She opened her eyes and gathered herself, turning back to the cottage and making her way around the other side of the house.

She had passed the first window without looking inside, but when she came upon the second a flash of movement caught her eye. The defined flesh of a naked chest filled her vision first, and then she looked up towards a face and found the electric blue eyes she knew so well.

Connor was standing there in only a pair of old jeans, his eyes fixed on her, confusion colored his features and then a glorious smile transformed his already beautiful face. His Christmas morning smile.

Butterflies danced in her stomach and a warm sensation crept into her chest, her breathing came faster, and she felt her mouth turn up instinctively, mirroring his expression.

She was suddenly running alongside the cottage, making her way to the front, she was sure he was doing the same.

She reached the red front door just as it opened and found her bare chested, barefoot Irishman standing there waiting to wrap her in his arms.

Either she jumped or he bent down and picked her up, but they were suddenly enveloped in each other’s arms.

Connor let her go just long enough to bring his strong lips down on hers, tasting her, and letting his love show in the way his lips moved and his tongue tangled with hers.

After a few seconds or a few minutes, they released each other, their faces flushed, their breathing fast.

He beamed down at her, “What are you—I mean how are you . . .,” he shook his head, trying to process her sudden apparition.

“I changed my flight, came a day early.” She raised her eyebrows, “Good surprise?”

His jaw dropped, “Brilliant surprise!” His Irish accent was thicker when he was excited.

She bit her lip trying not to let out a little scream. Her time in California had been filled to the brim, so much to do at Mags’ house in Berkeley, and her flat in the Marina, and her brief but intense secret return to the law on Camille’s behalf, she hadn’t allowed herself to think of Connor or their reunion.

Now that he was there holding her, kissing her, her happiness spilled over, making her want to jump in place or scream or attack him and hold onto him until her limbs went numb and tingly. She wanted nothing more than to be bound to him for days, weeks, months.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Connor scolded.

She raised her eyebrows. “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, “I suppose not,” he agreed.

Elizabeth bit her lip again. She’d come a day early because she’d hope to have peace at the cottage first. Hoped to collect herself before dealing with all the bustle and voices of others. Have a chance to process everything before life got in the way.

She hadn’t been sure how Connor would fit into that equation. Perhaps she would’ve taken a few hours to herself and then walked up to the castle to surprise him then.

Or perhaps she would’ve taken the entire evening to herself and stayed the night at the cottage.

She would have probably taken a few hours and then walked up to the castle, unable to resist the pull of her husband sleeping a couple thousand feet away.

The truth seemed too complicated to explain. “Wait, what are you doing here?” She looked down again at his bare chest, jeans, and bare feet.

She noticed for the first time that part of his jeans were wet. “Oh no. Don’t tell me the plumbing has gone haywire again! I thought they were supposed to finish the week I left for California?”

He let go of her completely, realizing all at once that he stood to get her wet as well. “That would be correct. They were supposed to finish nearly a month ago. The truth for the delay lies somewhere between us having an extended issue with the bathroom on the ground floor and the fact that the men aren’t nearly as afraid of me as they are of you.” He chuckled to himself.

She raised an eyebrow.

He stopped laughing. “They’ll be finished by tomorrow, I promise.”

“Uhuh, sure.” The day she’d spent traveling had taken its toll, the words came out harsher than she’d intended.

A few years ago, when she’d first stepped foot in the cottage, she remembered having the same thought, that her words came out harsher than she had intended because she had been exhausted from traveling.

Her lips turned upwards at the memory. She softened, “I’ll believe it when I see it, Bannon.”

Connor could read the thoughts as they crossed her face. He had made the connection as well. His features transformed as he remembered her bursting into the cottage, holding a long umbrella, and demanding to know who he was and what exactly he thought he was doing crashing her much needed break from reality.

His energy changed, his brows knitted together as he gave her a more intense look. A look of longing and lust. “I remember having other thoughts that day,” he said. Taking her in his arms again. “You were so . . . ravishing—”

“No, I wasn’t! I was a mess and completely exhausted.” She protested.

“Well I didn’t notice,” he fibbed.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Uhuh, sure,” she said, this time in a light and teasing tone.

“OK, I noticed a smidge, but I had other thoughts that day that completely overtook any observations I might have had about your demeanor.” He leaned in and kissed the nape of her neck, slowly tracing his lips up towards her jaw.

Her breath caught in her chest. Accepting his intention and remembering that her thoughts had dipped that way as well, if only for a moment. When presented with a glistening, naked Irishman as gorgeous as Connor Bannon, anyone’s thoughts would lean in that direction, no matter how weary the body or how broken the soul.

And she had been broken then. They both had.

His lips left her skin for a moment, “You’re ravishing,” he growled. He moved his mouth back to her lips, taking her deliberately. He made no attempt to disguise his growing need for her. Each kiss was more unhinged than the last.

“Mmmm . . .” a moan escaped from her chest. How easy it was to lose herself in him, in his body, in their passion.

He broke away then, the heat and love burned in his eyes.

Elizabeth stared up into his beautiful face, allowing herself to feel everything he was trying to convey. And then his electric blue eyes burned deeper, wilder.

His voice was somewhere between a growl and a whisper, “Come ‘ere, wife.” He moved his hands down to her backside and kneaded her before moving them lower and picking her up so she was straddling him.

They’d been married for four years, but she always delighted in hearing the word “wife.”

It had surprised her. She’d never been one to dream about her wedding day. In fact, she’d never thought much about marriage in the first place.

Connor had changed all of that.

He flexed his hands, using his strength to crush her to him for several moments before he started walking towards the bedroom.

Elizabeth was on fire for her husband, but some remote thought kept trying to rise, trying to break through the fog of their undeniable need for each other. “Wait, wait, wait,” she managed between kisses, “I need . . . to shower.”

“No you don’t, Luv.”

She kissed him a few more times before managing to contradict him, “Yes, I do. I’ve been traveling for almost a day, I’ve been on a plane, I’m gross.”

She kissed him one last time and jumped down, her wedge boots connected with the wooden floor with a thud.

“I don’t care!” He tried to reach for her again.

She put her hands on her hips, “I do!”

They looked at each other for a moment, both stubborn in their resolve.

He put his hands on his hips, trying to convince her with his eyes.

Elizabeth stood anchored to the spot.

Connor relented with a quick shake of his head, “Jaysus woman! What you do to me.” His blue eyes had turned electric with a raw emotion she understood all too well. His jaw was clenched, “Fine, then. Go shower.”

Elizabeth tried to hide her amusement, “That’s exactly what I intend on doing.” She patted his bare chest lightly in consolation and made her way to the bathroom.

She looked back, intending to blow him a kiss, just as he declared, “It’s lucky that I made that shower big enough for two, because I’m joining you.”

She could tell from the expression on his face and the tenor of his voice that there was no arguing with him, which suited her just fine. The corners of her lips turned up slightly, she bit her lip trying to suppress a smile.

He flashed her a wicked grin, taking pleasure in his wife’s attempt at hiding her delight, before noticing something else. “Did you come home from America with nothin’ but the clothes on your back, Luv? Or is the luggage coming later?”

“Ahhh, I forgot my bags by the car.”

He nodded, stepping into dutiful husband mode. He gave her a quick salute, calling out behind him, “You go ahead and start without me, I’ll be with you in just a moment, Miss Lara.”

She turned on the shower and quickly undressed. The letter that had been in the back pocket of her jeans fell to the floor. She bent down to pick it up, holding the small ivory envelope in her hands, running her fingers across the lettering as she had done several times over the last week.

It was a great honor, but she wasn’t sure it was one she wanted.

Was she home in Ireland for good? Or would the call of the offer be enough to take her away again?

She heard the door of the cottage open and close. Quickly, she placed the letter back in her jeans and stepped into the shower, letting the drops of water wash away the exhaustion of travel, and the complicated choices of life.

Connor stepped into the bathroom just then, undressing in a flash. He took his wife in his arms, pressing their flesh together. With a kiss to her nose and in his heaviest Irish accent, “Miss Lara,” he began, his words an enticing caress, “welcome home to Ireland.”