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“Good, on both counts, because I know you’ve carried some hurt and resentment for Marco’s family, and you can toss that now. They are who they are.”
“I needed to try. I’m not going to tell him.”
“He’s moved on. He’s let it go, so telling him would only stir up what’s settled. As for your mom?”
Sally paused, sipped some champagne.
“You know a good mad can be healthy, baby. But getting to the point you can toss the mad out? It’ll keep the insides cleaner. I’m sorry for her, that’s the down-to-the-balls truth. Sorry for both of those women. And I’m grateful to them because I have you, I have Marco.”
“You sound like Nan.”
“Then I must sound smart as all hell, because I figure she is. Now, what’s this?”
She rubbed gently on the tat when he gestured to it. “It means Daughter of the Fey. The Fey are—”
“Honey, I know what fey means. Magic people, like fairy folk. Makes sense, since you’ve made your home in Ireland. And it suits you. Ireland. Now, what else?”
“It’s about the money. First, my agent thinks she can sell the novel—it’s finished, and she read it—”
“Well, good God, girl! Pour more champagne.”
“I will, but don’t— I don’t want to talk too much about that and jinx it.”
“Fey.” Sally rolled his heavily lined eyes. “Superstitious.”
“Anyway, about the money.”
She told him about starting a foundation with what she thought of as part of her inheritance.
“I know the financial people understand how to set it all up, evenrun it. But I wondered if you and Derrick— You know money stuff, and business. I wondered if you could help. They said we need, like, a board, and we’d have to have meetings—we could Zoom them. Marco and me, and if you and Derrick—”
“Breen.” Sally reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze. “We’d be honored. I didn’t know your dad, and I’m sorry I never met him. But I’m betting he’d be proud of what you’re doing.”
“It changed my life, what he did for me. Thanks, seriously thanks. It felt kind of overwhelming. No, not kind of,” she corrected. “Completely overwhelming. Knowing you and Derrick can help makes it feel doable.”
“Done.” He lined his lips. “How about that hot Irishman?”
“How about him?” She laughed. “I guess we’re sort of halfway living together.”
In the mirror, Sally’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Just that. It’s working, and it’s fine for now.”
“Do you love him?”
No one had asked, so the question caught her off guard. She answered without thinking. “Yes. Oh God!” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I love him. I knew it. I’m not stupid, but I never said it out loud.”
“Does he love you?”
“Not as sure of that. He cares, and neither of us has been with anyone else since… since we started. He’s honest with me, and that really matters. He treats Marco like a brother—because he considers Marco like a brother. And that really matters.”
“You’re happy.”
“I am.”
“That really matters.”
Later, as she watched Sally onstage, belting out as the crowd-favorite Cher, as she helped judge the Cosmo mix-off (a solid tie), as she danced with Derrick, she came to a decision.
