Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2) (20 page)

Her lips pursed tightly as she swallowed hard, blinking the tears from her eyes for a moment before she again lifted her trembling chin. Fortified like the castles and keeps that dotted the countryside. She seemed to be encased in granite, cold and strong, shielded from anyone who could cause her pain.

“It was amazing,” I said, “but Trent… Fliss, you were Trent’s girl. I can’t forget that. He was my friend, and I feel like I betrayed him. Betrayed his memory. Because I always wanted you, so much that I couldn’t be around you.”

“Denny, Trent was not good to me,” she began. “We only dated a few months, and he was on a downhill spiral almost from the start.”

“So I should fuck his girl?” I shook my head. “He did so much for me. He got us going on the radio show. He got us the first couple gigs at the Copperline. He
made
the Bangin’ Mofos. And I wanted you. That whole time, I wanted you. I wished him away… and my wish came true.”

“You weren’t the only one who wished him away. I was going to break up with him.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. You were his. If Trent was anything, he was possessive. I’ll be lucky if his ghost doesn’t come back to feckin’ haunt me after that night between us.”

“So is that what you’re doing here, then? Trying to exorcise his spirit?”

“I don’t really know what I’m doing here, Fliss. I just couldn’t leave things the way they were.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “You just… left.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Fliss. That was a horrible thing to do to you.”

She turned and walked across the room to the windows, looking out over the River Liffey as the evening sun sent warm pink and gold streaks across the sky.

“For what it’s worth,” I softly suggested, “it really was amazing. It was everything I thought you would be.”

She looked back over at me tearfully, searching my eyes as though trying to determine if I was speaking the truth or offering an empty platitude. I took a few steps closer to stand before her.

“Denny—” she began, stepping back, but I cut her short.

“I wanted you to know that before you return to Montana. Especially since I may never go back.”

“What?” she said, and a flicker of surprised dismay glinted in her eyes. “Why wouldn’t you go back? The band, all your friends. Your life—”

“I’ve not been legal since I left Tech.”

“Legal?”

“I was there on a student visa,” I explained.

“You haven’t been a student for a couple years, Denny,” she said, shaking her head slightly.

“Right,” I nodded. “So, I’ve not been legal.”

“
Jaysus
,” she murmured, and, in spite of the dreadful feeling in my chest, I choked out a small chuckle at the Irishism she’d quickly adopted. “How did you get away with it for so long?”

“It’s amazing how easy it is to do in a place like Ophir. You Montana folk are really too relaxed for your own good.”

“Well,” she shrugged faintly, “our only foreign ports of entry are with Canada, and they’re not exactly beating down America’s doors to get in.”

“Right,” I said with a sad smile. “But, it’s one thing to be there, it’s another to get there in the first place.”

Fliss walked around me to curl up in a chair angled by the couch. Kicking off her shoes, she tucked her feet up, wrapped her arms around her bent legs, and rested her chin on her knee.

“Do you
want
to stay here?” she asked quietly.

“I was born here,” I said, “but, in all honesty, I miss Montana. I’d do about anything to go back.”

Fliss gave me a long steady look before lowering her gaze as she looked towards the small kitchen.

“Have you eaten?” she finally asked. “I’ve got a big pot of coddle I could warm up with some soda bread.”

“You’ve taken to Irish cooking, have ya?” I smiled sadly.

She looked down with a melancholy twist to her lips. “Irish food is comfort food.”

I nodded. “It is.”

“Besides,” she continued, “I’ve always cooked. Only child… daughter to a single father.” She glanced back up at me.

“Did you ever get around to black pudding? Beans for breakfast?”

“No,” she said with a low, emotionless chuckle. “I’m not sure I’m wanting to test my limits these days.”

It occurred to me that she more than likely wasn’t referring to food. The hollow ache I felt expanded some, and I found myself nodding.

“I’d love to stay,” I said, “for a little while.”

So we had a quiet dinner at the little table in Fliss’ little flat. Things were strained, not as easy as they’d become in those first couple days we’d spent in Dublin, but it seemed like we found a thread of that bond again. There was a simple comfort in just being together.

I was going to miss her more than she would ever know.

“Have you told anyone in the band?” she asked, referring to my possible permanent residency in Dublin.

I shook my head. “Only that I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. I think they may know a bit of why I’ve not come back yet. They know I’ve never really formally gotten permission from Uncle Sam to stay in the US. I don’t know that they even expect me back at this point.”

“So why don’t you apply for a new visa?”

“I might. It takes a long time, so I don’t know how soon I’ll be back. By the time I make it, they might have all moved on to other things.” I shook my head. “I just show up all ready to party and pick up where we left off, they’ll all be settled down with wives and children. Well, maybe not Justin.”

Fliss smiled a little at that last comment, but her smile faded into a dismal twist to her lips.

“You might too,” she murmured.

“I might what?”

“Settle down,” she said. “You might find your dream girl and decide you never want to leave Dublin.”

I had found my dream girl, though. I found her five years ago at Montana Tech, but I couldn’t tell her that. I had hurt her enough already.

So I didn’t respond, I just took another bite of coddle, flashing her a sad, disbelieving smile. She, too, was quiet for little bit, lost in thought. Then she stopped eating, laid down her spoon, and studied me for a moment.

“What if,” she began, then stopped. “No, never mind…”

I narrowed my eyes at her across the table. I’d thought about this situation for donkey’s years, coming up with no viable solution to get back anytime in the near future. However, if she had an idea, I was glad to hear it.

“What if what?”

“Well…” she trailed off, still not looking at me until she had taken a deep breath. Then she met my eyes with sad hesitation, but she did meet them. And what she said sort of rocked my world. “What if you married an American?”

Warily, I stared at her.
She couldn’t be suggesting… not after everything I’d done to her.

“And what American would I be marrying, Fliss?” I asked.

It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked clean out of the room while I waited for her to reply.

“You could marry me.”

She appeared to be at war with herself a little, as though she couldn’t believe she had just made that offer.

At first, I couldn’t speak.

Then I was afraid to.

All these thoughts and emotions began tumbling through my mind. Every moment played like a high-speed movie, an epileptic-seizure-inducing flash of every second I’d spent with Fliss. Her muttered ‘
shit’
as she walked in that lab at Tech, her muted shock as Trent introduced the two of us, her smile up at me as we talked on the mountainside, her sweet and sorrowful kiss at Trent’s funeral…

…her coming apart in my arms when I was buried deep inside her.

My chest had constricted to where I could barely breathe, and I suddenly felt like electricity zapped through my veins.

I finally contained my thoughts enough to speak. “Jaysus feckin’ hell,” I breathed, “why would you do that for me? I’ve been a right bastard to ya.”

“You want to go home. As much as I hate that I’m in a position to help… I am.” She glanced down at her hands as she twisted them in her lap. “I kind of want to tell you to get fucked, though.”

“You should,” I murmured, still gobsmacked, as much by her giving nature as by the barest promise that she could be mine. “You can’t really want to do this.”

“Think about it, Denny,” Fliss quickly said, leaning in closer, but holding out her hands as though to ward me off at the same time. “It wouldn’t have to mean anything. Not really. Not a real marriage. Not permanent. Just… it would allow you to get a green card. Once you had that, we’d just get… divorced.”

“I’m Catholic,” I retorted. “Catholics don’t get divorced.”

She cocked her head at me and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, when’s the last time you were even in a church?”

Okay, she sorta had me there.
I was about as unreligious as a Catholic could get. Bordering on paganism like my Celtic ancestors or the Vikings that invaded Ireland’s shores so long ago.

But still… my nanny would have a fit if she knew that was even an option.

My nanny.
Bollocks.
She’d be overjoyed if I got married. Ecstatic. She’d love Fliss like her own child, I had no doubt. She had a particular liking for high-spirited souls, and Fliss’ very personality screamed bold. I had the feeling that my nanny would see a kindred spirit in her.

No. I couldn’t do this. Absolutely not.

“I can’t ask ya to do that, Fliss,” I said firmly, shaking my head.

“It’s the quickest way to get you back in the States,” she offered.

“It’s not like it would just be done and over. They’re not going to up and give me a green card when I land on American soil with you on my arm.”

“I know,” she argued with exasperation, “but we could figure it out. It wouldn’t have to change that much. We could just be… roomies or something for a year or so. I think that’s long enough for immigration to let it go.”

“Are ya daft? Even if we did this, it takes three months to get married here, and, if I’m not mistaken, you’re only here for another week or two.”

“So we get married by proxy or something. Or I stay a little longer. I’ve been so busy on my thesis, I’ve barely gotten out to see Ireland.”

“Yeah, but three months, Fliss,” I kept going. “What would ya tell your da?”

“Well, I wouldn’t tell him I was staying to get married. I’d save that for when we got back, if I tell him at all.”

“Don’t you still live at home, even? He might notice if you suddenly move in with me.”

“I haven’t lived at home for a couple years, Denny. I’ll probably have to tell him at some point, but… not until after we get back.”

“This is insane. We can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s… No. No, absolutely not.”

“You said yourself you want to go back, but you may never be able to.”

“Yeah, but… Jaysus,” I exhaled as I scrubbed my hands over my face. “You’re wantin’ to put a Santa hat on it and call it Randal.”

Fliss cocked her head at me for a moment, then bust out into laughter at that one. And she continued to laugh, almost hysterically, wiping tears from her eyes.

“What the hell does that even mean?” she wheezed.

“It means that’s completely crazy. You’re off your nut for even suggesting it.” I eyed her suspiciously. “Feckin’ Jaysus, you’re slaggin’ me, aren’t ya?”

And this only made Fliss laugh harder.

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” she choked out as she held her stomach and gasped for breath.

“You’re slaggin’ me,” I said, eyeing her suspiciously. “This is all a joke?”

“No,” she promised, shaking her head and doing her best to control her peals of laughter. “I’m serious. I’m not, um… not
slaggin’ ya
. It could work. Really.”

“You’re off your nut,” I muttered.

“There’s no way to do it faster, though? Like don’t you guys have a place like Vegas?”

I shook my head and frowned at her, trying to be serious in spite of the amused glimmer in her eyes. “No,” I said in a stern voice, “we don’t have a Vegas.”

“There’s gotta be something to speed up the process.”

“Fliss, there’s not.” I stood up and began to pace back and forth. “Besides, that’s too much to ask of you.”

She waved off that argument and gazed thoughtfully across the room for a minute. “Wait,” she said suddenly, “what about Gretna Green?”

I stopped and looked at her in confusion. “What about it?”

“Where is that? I always read in romance novels about people running off to Gretna Green to get married. Isn’t that in Ireland?”

“No, it’s not in bleedin’ Ireland. Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph, it’s in Scotland.”

“Okay,” she shrugged, “so let’s go to Scotland.”