Pursued by the Rogue (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 1) (2 page)

“Dawn, do you want to go?” asked Faith. “Because, if you want my opinion, you’re the one Finn wants there.”

Did Faith know?

Had Finn told her?

“What instrument will he be playing?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, I—he seems to play everything, that’s all.” Violin, piano, the bodhran drum. Music spilled out of him no matter what instrument he picked up. “Is this gig a big deal for him?”

Faith nodded and her dark corkscrew curls nodded right along with her, although not all at once and not all in the same direction. “It’s his first paid gig. He’s so proud. No one pays Finn to play at home. And—” Faith’s eyes sparkled, “don’t tell him I told you, but he auditioned for Juilliard this afternoon. I’m so proud!”

“We should support Finn.” Zel gestured expansively. “And then he’ll become famous and the Sullivan pub will become
the
Brooklyn pub for great music, and the drinks will flow, and all will be well in Sully world. Count us in.”

Dawn shifted again and let out a gasp.

Faith eyed her sharply. “Are you all right?”

“It’s just that time of the month.”

“I thought you cycled the same time as me?”

“Not anymore.” Dawn set her wine down on the floor and away from the blankets carefully, then toppled over onto her side and drew her knees to her chest. “I can’t go to the jazz club next month. Count me out.”

“Ask her again next week,” Zel said. “Show her another picture of your brother and his violin for incentive.”

“It won’t work.” Dawn rested her head on a particularly nuggety pillow lump. “I’m the ugliest duckling in the world, and he’s going to become a megastar musician with a supermodel girlfriend. Possibly you.”

“I so need to meet these brothers. They sound so delicious,” Zel declared, and laughed at Faith’s scandalized expression. “What?”

“My brothers are emotionally stunted, self-absorbed and allergic to cleanliness. I hereby declare them off limits to
all
of you.”

“I could teach them how to bathe.” Zel had a familiar gleam in her eye. “All of them. All at once. Soap suds
everywhere
.”

“No bathing with my brothers! Gimme that wine. I need to get rid of that thought.”

“Amen,” said Dawn, as she tentatively eased back into a sitting position, never mind that it was a hunched one with her arms crossed protectively over her stomach. “I’m going to go into medical research and invent targeted pain medication that works.”

“You’re too late.” Zel reached for the wine bottle. “It’s called alcohol.”

“Something that doesn’t give you a hangover the next morning,” Dawn continued. “Chocolate will be the preferred delivery system. Chocolate coated pain relief.”

Mercy nodded enthusiastically. “Can you invent zero calorie chocolate while you’re there?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“For me.” Curvaceous Mercy gave Dawn the full benefit of her liquid brown eyes. “You’d do it for me.”

“I will. But only for you. You’re my best friends. I want you to know that. I’d do anything for you.” Except tell them the truth and have Faith hate her for what had happened with Finn, and Finn hate her for turning what they’d shared into a potentially life changing event. “And next week I’m going to be a new me, with shapely eyebrows and a beige mouth and nothing to worry about at all. I’m going to work hard for good grades.”

“You always work hard,” offered Faith.

“I’m going to work harder. I’m going to make good.”

If she could just get through this evening, and then the next few days, everything would return to normal and no one need ever know just how close she’d come to—

Just how close she’d come.

God.

She couldn’t even think about what might have been without tears pricking at her eyes. “I need the bathroom again.”

She tried to stand up, stumbled, and sat back down with the help of Mercy’s steadying hand.

So dumb. Maybe all she needed was more wine.

“No,” said Mercy gently when she reached for it. “No more for you.”

And then the carved wooden door with its shapely pointed arch groaned open and a shrouded shape stood in the doorway, lit by nothing more than moonlight and steeped in disapproval.

“Sister Ignatius,” stuttered Faith, and tried to hide the wine, but it was too late.

Sister Ignatius had eyes like a hawk.

Mercy groaned. Zel smiled brightly up at the nun, nothing but reckless challenge there. And Dawn …

Sister Ignatius wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to Dawn tonight. There’d been the cramps and the blood. The blood and the tears.

Tears for no reason at all.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

I loved.

And I think I lost.

And sorrow had drilled deep down into her soul at the shame of it all, but some small part of her insisted that it was for the best and no one need ever know. She would make amends,
she would
, and one day she would no longer be ugly.

Inside and out.

Sister Ignatius and the altar wine?

That was just the sideshow.

‡

O
nly three things
in life had ever come close to bringing Finbar Sullivan to his knees. Music, his mother’s death, and Dawn Turner’s mouth.

His reverence for music was easy to understand. He lived it, breathed it. He’d picked up his first violin at the ripe age of four and fallen in thrall. He’d spent most of his waking hours trying to master the instrument, and he still hadn’t managed it, but he was closer than most because music owned his soul.

His mother’s death had been a blow. Twelve years on and her absence
still
cast a long shadow over the Sullivan family. His father missed her every day and night, and it was heartbreaking to watch loneliness suck the joy from his old man’s life.

As for Dawn …

Maybe his father wasn’t the only Sullivan to get hung up on a memory.

Why else would the mention of a woman Finn hadn’t seen since he was a teenager make him utterly unable to feign casual interest as he turned to his sister and said, “Dawn Turner’s coming here?”

Faith nodded. “And Zelda. And Mercy. And don’t you dare tell me to lock up the altar wine because I’ve already heard that one from Ty.”

Their oldest brother had a long memory when it came to misdemeanors – possibly because he’d had to bail his younger siblings out of so many of them. “Zelda’s the Upper East Side model with the money, right?”

Faith nodded. “And you’ll not be hitting on her.”

“And Mercy’s the Argentinian one with the curves?”

“Or her.”

“I always did like Dawn best.” Nothing but the truth, he thought, and grinned at his sister’s glare. “I didn’t think you kept in touch with her anymore?” He certainly hadn’t, although not for want of trying. He’d called and he’d called.

And then called some more.

“Mercy kept in touch with her and apparently Zel did too.”

Was that a hint of hurt he heard in his sister’s voice?

Faith shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but he wasn’t buying her bravado. “And now that everyone’s living here in the city, Mercy wants a reunion.”

“Is this a good thing?” he asked warily.

“Ask me tomorrow. I’m not exactly the group’s success story.”

“You manage the best pub in Brooklyn.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Classical music’s problem child. Brilliant yet contrary. Knows genius when he sees it. You are a genius pub manager.”

“You are so full of shite.”

He was and he’d never deny it. Truth was, the pub barely made ends meet some months and Faith seemed stuck here because of duty rather than of love. “You need to start drawing again. Painting. Follow that drum.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Faith …” Finn watched his sister look around the well-worn bar with its soft side lighting and old pictures on the walls. Pictures of the city in the making and of the occasional famous face that had wandered into the bar over the years. Pictures his father and grandfather had collected. Pictures that not one of his generation of Sullivans had added to. Why weren’t some of Faith’s pictures up on those walls? They were good enough. Stick a price tag on them and watch them sell. “Make time.”

“How come you had descriptions for Zel and Mercy and not for Dawn?” Faith asked abruptly.

“What?”

“Zel was the model, Mercy had the curves … You didn’t describe Dawn.”

“I was getting
around
to describing Dawn.”

“You lie.”

And usually he was good at it. “Dawn’s the smart Aussie with the big gray eyes and a mouth a man could worship.” Faith probably didn’t need to know how the touch of Dawn’s plush, plump lips had been enough to set his body thrumming like a tuning fork. “Heard enough?”

Faith was looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. “I think the question is
do you want to go on
?”

“No, I’m all done. When do they arrive?”

“Within the next ten minutes if they’re on time. They’re coming over by ferry and then catching a cab. Which reminds me, don’t you have a performance this evening? Rehearsal? Something to go to?”

“Anyone would think you wanted me gone.”

“Smart boy.”

“Man. Smart man.” He was twenty-seven, one year older than Faith, second youngest in the family and the youngest of the four boys. None of them were children anymore. “No concert until next weekend. And right now I’m waiting for Gil. Em’s got a date, so we’re having a guys’ night with Disney tunes, gummi bears and baby drums.”

“Your neighbors are going to love you.”

“They do.” Finn rented a miniscule studio apartment off Broadway, one that had been specifically outfitted for performers. Noise reduction paneling in the walls, triple glazed windows, other musicians for neighbors. “Do you know where that little violin I had as a kid is?”

“Pop sold it.”

“He would
never
!”

“Maybe it was your second one he sold.”

“That one he sold.” And all the others that had come after it. Always trading up, always finding the money from somewhere to give Finn the instruments that would take his playing to the next level. These days a Fortune 100 company owned Finn’s Guarneri violin and had gifted him exclusive use of it for ten years, five of which were gone.

Finn knew how to share. He knew how privileged he was to have access to the instrument at all. And the day he handed it back a slice of his soul would go with it, never to return. That was the
real
price of the special violins of this world. They collected souls. “Have you seen my first violin lately?”

“It’s in the cupboard in your old room. Way up high, behind the blankets.”

“You’re a good sister. Keep an eye out for Gil for me?”

“Has it occurred to you that I might be too busy with my own friends to keep an eye out for your playdates?”

It hadn’t, no. And that was his bad. “Or I can wait here until he arrives and then we can go looking for the violin together. I can wait here and help you keep an eye out for your friends. I can be your moral support. No hitting on Mercy or Zel, I promise.”

“What about Dawn? Will you be making your interest in her known?”

Now there was a question …

“If you sabotage my reunion—”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He wouldn’t.

Really.

*

It was a
good thing Dawn had Mercy and Zel in the cab with her. If she’d been alone she’d have told the driver to turn around and take her home. Through the tunnel, take an hour, take two. She’d have headed back to the Soho apartment she’d paid a fortune for and bailed on this school friends’ reunion that Mercy had insisted would be good for them all.

At the very least, Dawn should have tried to get the venue changed. Somewhere in Manhattan would have been good. Hell’s Kitchen, Little Italy,
anywhere
would have been preferable to an old Irish pub in Brooklyn that was choc full of memories she didn’t want to own.

Memories of a night full of music and laughter and Finbar Sullivan’s cap sitting jauntily on her head. He’d given it to her between the sets of Irish folk music he’d played with his brothers. Told her she was a pretty girl.