Saoirse
The rest of the ride is more or less silent.
There’s a strange new sense of formality in the air between the three of us. Rory’s eyes are trained on the road, his hands gripped around the steering wheel.
He seems more reserved now. At least compared to his body language when I’d first gotten into the car.
It’s amazing how, with only a few words, Cillian has managed to completely change the dynamic between them.
Of course, you can’t really tell looking at Cillian.
He’s still lounging in the back seat, his feet kicked up, his legs pressed up against my headrest. He’s humming something under his breath.
Like we’re on a fucking road trip.
The man is an enigma.
* * *
We end up in a part of Dublin that I’ve only ever heard about.
It’s filled with lush trees and acres of greenery, not the shithole neighborhoods I grew up in, with crumbling houses stacked on top of each other and trash piling up on the curbs.
The houses we pass are beautiful. In most cases, that word doesn’t even do them justice.
I’m slightly confused when the houses fade away and nature takes over fully.
“Where are we…?”
And then I see it coming up at the end of the road.
Large wrought iron gates so tall I can’t see beyond them. Rory gives a little honk as we approach and the gates part faster than I would have thought possible on smooth, silent hinges.
We drive right through without slowing and onto a private driveway that leads to the most magnificent house I’ve ever seen.
Actually, the word “house” falls far short of what the structure in front of me feels like.
Palace?
Mansion?
Those words fit a little better.
I don’t think I’ve ever been in a compound quite like this one. Quite apart from the building itself, every blade of grass in the surrounding gardens looks like it’s been placed there by an artist. Every leaf. Every petal of every flower.
The attention to detail and the luxury are as stunning as they are overwhelming.
Rory stops the vehicle in front of the main entrance. Only then are the doors unlocked.
Cillian is the first one out, not bothering to even so much as glance back at us. But I linger in my seat.
Rory turns to me, and I’m surprised to see that he looks concerned.
“Are you okay, miss?”
“I… I’m not sure.”
He gives me a gentle smile. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about the O’Sullivan clan. But we don’t bite.”