Page 54 of Faithless Vows

Then my grandmam appears in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. The moment she sees me, her whole face softens. “Ah, there she is—my birthday girl.” She comes straight to me, cupping my cheeks in both hands before pulling me into a tight hug. “God bless you, Alannah girl,” she murmurs into my hair. “Nineteen already. Where did the years go?” My throat tightens. I close my eyes and hold her a little tighter.

When I step back from Grandmam, I turn to Grandda. He’s already watching me, beckoning me over with one hand. “Come here, Alannah girl,” he calls. “Don’t make an old man wait all day.” A few people laugh. Grandda has never acted like an old man a day in his life. I make my way across the room, and he gets to his feet when I reach him. “Happy birthday, Alannah girl,” he says, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

Beside him, Eamon Walsh gives my shoulder a warm squeeze. “Many happy returns, Alannah.”

The next few minutes pass in a blur of hugs and birthday wishes as everyone takes their turn. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Grandmam goes back to thekitchen and returns carrying a tray of chocolate cake, already cut into slices.

“Well now,” Grandda says, glass in hand. “Before this crowd eats the lot.” Laughter moves through the room as he raises it toward me. “Sláinte, Alannah girl. Long life and good health to you.”

A chorus of “Sláinte!” answers him.

“Thank you,” I say, clearing my throat so my voice carries.

Grandmam hands me a slice of cake. I spot Catríona and Róisín on the sofa and head toward them, stopping along the way for more hugs and birthday wishes from my aunts and uncles. When I reach them, Catríona moves over, and I sit between her and Róisín.

I take a bite of cake and look around. Across the room, Finn is now sitting with Grandda and Eamon. Everyone’s talking and laughing, plates balanced on their laps and drinks in their hands. Every person here has been there for me since I came home, even when I wasn’t ready to let them. Now they’ve all come to celebrate my birthday. I don’t know what I would have done without them. The thought sends a chill through me when I realize how close I came to having to find out.

Because what if Grandda hadn’t managed to bring me home? What if I’d had no way out of Boston? Would my parents have made me sit through the rest of the reception, then sent me upstairs to wait in that honeymoon suite for Ronin to come back? Would they have expected me to leave with him on the trip he’d planned? Would they have told me to be grateful he’d married me and ignore the fact that he was sleeping with other women?

The questions crowd in faster than I can push them away. The room suddenly feels too warm, the voices around me too close. I set my plate on the table. My hands are shaking.

“Excuse me,” I say, though I’m not sure anyone hears.

I make for the door, pulling on my coat and shoving my feet into my boots. By the time I step outside, my chest is tight. The last of the weak winter light is fading. I draw in a breath of cold air and start down the lane without deciding where I’mgoing, walking until the voices and laughter from the house fade behind me.

The lane opens toward the water, and the low stone wall comes into view. I climb onto it, draw my knees up, and look out at the sea. The water moves in long, dark swells, catching what little light is left. I sit there, breathing in the cold air and listening to the waves until I can take a full breath and the questions stop coming so fast.

Finn doesn’t announce himself. He climbs onto the wall beside me, close enough that our arms brush, and looks out at the water. “I thought I’d find you here.”

“Am I that predictable?” I glance at him.

“A little.” He turns toward me. “You all right? You left in a hurry.”

“It all got a bit much. I just needed a minute.” I turn back to the sea. Now that I’m calmer, I don’t want to start thinking about the what-ifs again. Thankfully, he doesn’t press. We sit quietly for a while, watching the water.

Finn shifts beside me. “I nearly forgot. I have something for you.” He reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a small box, and holds it out to me.

“Thank you,” I murmur as I accept the gift. Inside, nestled against a fold of dark velvet, is a fine silver bracelet. I lift it from the box and turn it in my fingers, finding words engraved in delicate cursive along the inside of the band.

Mo Shaileach. My willow.

It’s beautiful.I run my thumb lightly over the words, then look at him, unsure what to say. Finn takes the bracelet from me. I hold out my wrist without being asked, and he carefully fastens the clasp, his fingers warm against my skin in the cold. When he lets go, I look down at it.

“I know everyone’s always saying you look like one of the fae,” he says quietly. “But a fae might flyaway. A willow stays.” He pauses. “I bought the silver to keep you rooted, Alannah. To keep you here. With me.”

I lift my eyes to his. He isn’t teasing. He means every word. My eyes fill.My willow.His words settle somewhere deep in my chest.

I’ve been called many things in my life.Doll—something pretty to be dressed up and placed wherever someone else wanted it. Ronin made the name sound tender, and I once believed it was meant only for me. Now I wonder how many other girls heard him say it the same way and believed it was meant only for them.

The wee fae. The sidhe. One of the fairy folk.Always said with wonder, but always as though I stood a little apart from everyone else. Like I was something too delicate for the ordinary world. Something that might slip away between one moment and the next. Something carried from place to place by other people’s decisions. My father’s choices. My husband’s pride. Arrangements made around me that were never once made for me. Something that didn’t quite belong anywhere for long.

For a long time, I believed it. Nobody had ever given me a name that meant stay.

Until now.

And I want to be that. I want to be worthy of the name he just pressed into silver and put on my wrist. I want to be the willow he sees when he looks at me—something that bends without breaking, something with roots deep enough to hold. Something strong.

But I don’t feel strong. I feel like a girl who didn’t hold the line—who ran when a good wife would have stayed and endured. Sometimes I wonder if people look at me and see that, if they think less of me for leaving.