Becoming the Whiskey Princess
Page 2

I can see the panic in Fiona’s eyes as she reaches for my shoulders, shaking me slightly, causing pain to shoot through my chest. I flinch, crying out, and thankfully she lets go right away.
“Oh fuck! My bad! So sorry, ya were screaming weird though. Are ya okay?”
Blinking away the tears, I can only look at her as the pain of watching my mother disappear and the gunshot wound in my chest throbs. I didn’t want to let her go.
“Are you okay? Please, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you more?”
I clear my throat and with a croak ask, “Declan?”
I feel all discombobulated. Almost as if I don’t belong here. No, I feel empty. Alone. Where is Declan?
“Amberlyn, honey, are you okay? He went to the bathroom,” my Aunt Shelia says.
“What happened?” I hear, and I quickly look at the door, meeting Declan’s gaze. My lip starts to wobble as the tears run down my face. He looks dashing in a pair of khaki shorts and a blue button-down shirt. His hair is a mess of curls on top of his head, and I want to smile at the hair on his jaw, but then I want to cry at the look of pure distress on his beautiful, chiseled face.
He closes the distance between us, and I reach up for him as he gathers me in his arms, careful of my wound as he holds me close to his strong chest. Kissing my temple, he whispers that everything is fine, that it was only a dream, as he slowly rocks me back and forth.
Closing my eyes, I slowly remember that I am still in the hospital in Ireland and have been here for almost two weeks. Squeezing my eyes shut, I realize that it’s the fourth time I’ve had that same dream since being shot by Casey Burke and woken up completely out of it. I don’t understand the dream and hate the empty feeling it leaves me with, but, thankfully, Declan comes along and he fills the empty. He makes it better.
Nuzzling into his chest, I cling to him like a life preserver as my heart slows in my chest. As I look up at him, his mouth slowly pulls up at the side as he runs his fingers through my hair and behind my ear. I always feel so beautiful in his gaze. I know I probably don’t look it, but in his eyes, I could almost think I am.
“Same dream?” I nod slowly and he kisses my nose. “It’s all better now; I’m here.”
“I miss her,” I whisper, and he tightens his arms around me.
“I know, mo stór, I know,” he says softly, kissing my cheek and the side of my mouth. “Everything is okay now. We are leaving soon, and then you can sleep in your bed. Maybe the dreams will stop.”
While I would love to stop waking up in complete distress, I don’t want to stop seeing my mother. But I know the dreams need to end, and hopefully being home will help that. Snuggling closer to him, I squeeze my eyes shut and know he is right. I hate that these dreams have started. I know that I went through something tragic, losing my mother, and then to step in front of Declan, leading to the gunshot wound in my chest that could have killed me, but why are the dreams starting now?
Is it her way of reaching out to me to tell me that my decision to marry Declan is a good one? It’s crazy and insane, I know that. I mean, I’ve only known him three months, been dating for two, and we haven’t even had sex yet, but I know this is real. I know that I’ve found my missing piece. I felt lost before, and like a guiding light, I found my way to him. That has to mean something. He is special, but am I having second thoughts? Is this my mother’s way of reassuring me?
Looking up at Declan, I move my nose along his jaw and he smiles as he cups my face.
“I love you,” he whispers, kissing the side of my mouth again, his hand running slowly down my arm as his gaze holds mine.
I need no reassurance. I made the right decision.
Am I scared? Out of my mind.
Will I be a good wife? Will I fit in to his world? And most of all, what if he doesn’t like me after he sleeps with me? There are so many things that could go wrong, but our love has been so steady and strong since the beginning. I will never forget when I fell in love with him. It was when he held me in his arms as I cried for my mother in his large library. I remember feeling so safe and whole again, something I hadn’t felt since I’d watched my mother die. It was only a couple weeks ago, but with the shooting, I feel like it’s been years.
I feel as though we’ve been through so much, that together we can do anything. We are made for each other. He is so sweet and romantic, and from the start, I knew he was different. I knew he was someone I could be with my whole life. I know we are young, but when you know, you know. As he holds me, I can’t help but think of what my mother said. How he is good for me. While, yes, it was a dream, I believe that she’s right, and I believe in us. I made the right choice.
I know I did.
Reaching up, I hold his jaw and smile. “I love you too.”
I hate seeing her in pain.
It breaks my heart something tragic.
As I stand here, watching as they slowly clean her wound and bandage it up, I hate the way her face cringes and how the tears are welling up in her eyes. I would give anything to have five minutes with that gobshite Casey Burke. I’d tear him limb from limb, that’s for fucking sure. I have never hated someone as much as I hate him. Nor will I ever.
He not only hurt my sister, raped her and left her in the cold; he shot the love of my life. I want him to burn for what he’s done. I want him to feel the pain I’ve felt—watching my sister try to be the person she was before the rape, waking up each day and trying to be happy. I want him to feel what my family has gone through, the pain, the embarrassment, and the guilt. It was our job to protect her and we failed.
The same with Amberlyn. I had one job, which was to love and protect her. I know that’s what her father would say to me if he were here, God rest his soul, and her mother too. They aren’t here to do it; someone needs to be, and I want that job, but I couldn’t even keep her from being shot. So not only do I have the guilt and pain from Casey hurting my sister, but now I have the same feelings from his almost killing Amberlyn.
How can a person cause this much pain in someone’s life and get away with it?
When Amberlyn cries out, I have to look away, my hand squeezing hers as the tears burn in my eyes. It’s my fault. All my fucking fault. If I would have seen the severity of the situation, taken the wanker seriously, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I should have pushed Lena and Amberlyn to the side, out of harm’s way. Taken him with my bare hands. But instead, I stood there. And laughed in his face. Like a fucking eejit.