Chapter 48: The Duty Of The Heir (Book 3): Chapter 48

Spring City

‘He’ll be here soon,’ I say, my voice quivering as I brace myself to leave. Duke’s just minutes away from my mother’s house.

‘Have some fun with him tonight,’ Aunt Geneva says, her eyes warm and hopeful.

‘Some fun?’ I can’t hide my surprise.

‘He’s changed. He wants you back. I doubt he’ll mess up again,’ she adds.

I pause, weighed down by doubt. ‘Aunty…’

‘He’s different now. He wants to talk. Just listen,’ she urges softly.

‘No,’ I reply, more to myself than to her. My decision is clear.

‘The worst is behind you,’ My mother chimes in, trying to be supportive but I am not buying it.

‘Why did you let him bring you here?’ Aunt Geneva probes, her gaze intense.

‘And why is he coming to take you home?’ My mother adds, her question hanging in the air.

‘The pain might have faded, but it’s always there. He hurt me,’ I say, the hurt spilling out in my words.

‘Everything happens for a reason, Aisling. Maybe you’ll understand why, one day,’ Aunt Geneva says, her voice laced with wisdom.

‘I can’t see him the same way anymore,’ I admit, hoping they will understand. But they remain old school.

‘Aisling, relax a little. You’ve been so hard on yourself. Give him a chance tonight. What’s there to lose? You’ll be away for a while. Just for tonight,’ Aunt Geneva pushes.

Mom’s voice takes on a hushed tone. ‘And, dear, it’s Donald Presley’s anniversary today. Duke could use some comfort.’

I can’t suppress the surge of frustration. ‘It’s not my job to fix everything, to be the bandage for his wounds. I have my own pain to nurse.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Please, you two. Stay out of it.’

They burst into laughter, their carefree sounds filling the room.

The doorbell rings, piercing the thick tension. We all glance toward the front door. Aunt Geneva lets out a thoughtful hum. ‘He walked up to the door himself. He’s trying.’

The urge to peek through the window is strong, but I resist. My heart races, unsure if it’s out of fear, anger, or that lingering connection that refuses to break. I pull in a shaky breath, bracing myself for whatever the evening might bring.