12
THE HOTEL LOBBY lounge was crowded with a stylish crowd of young people wedged onto eggplant-colored leather banquettes, martinis and cosmopolitan cocktails in hand. The lights were low, and candlelight flickered on the tables. Overhead, chandeliers reflected the radiant glow, casting rainbow prisms on the glass tabletops. Fashionable people milled about, as if waiting for a party to begin. Some looked vaguely familiar, but Fianna had been gone a long time. She couldn’t place any of them.
Doyle O’Donnell sat next to Fianna and clutched her slender fingers in his beefy hand. “When I heard you were coming home, I said to myself, ‘it’s your lucky day, Doyle,’ sure and it is. The stars aligned again for us, Fianna. We’re meant to be. I’m sure of it.”
Yesterday after they’d arrived, Doyle
