Becoming the Whiskey Princess Read Online Free PDF Page B

earth.
    My Declan.
    “You’re going to be the Whiskey Princess.”
    I smile. “Weird, huh?”
    “Yeah, especially since you have to be dressed to the nines eighty percent of the time.”
    I hadn’t thought about that. Ew. “Eh, I’m sure that won’t apply to me.”
    She laughs. “If you say so. They’ll have you walking in heels and your hair and makeup done every morning. No more buns or jeans, I can tell you that.”
    Pulling away, I look over at her. “No. Ugh.”
    “Bet ya! Those O’Callaghans are pristine all the time.”
    “Well, I’ll be pristine in a pair of shorts and a tee, working the bar.”
    She laughed again. “You have no clue what you are getting into. You won’t be working at the bar anymore. You’ll be going to have tea with old people and shite.”
    “No way,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’m not going to change who I am.”
    She eyes me for a second and slowly nods her head. “I sure as hell hope not.”
    I can see in her eyes that she is doubtful, but I don’t believe a word she says. They may be basically royalty and perfect, but being an O’Callaghan isn’t going to change me.
    I’ll still be me.
    And that’s how Declan will want me.
    “Hey, girls.”
    I look up to see my aunt standing in the doorway, a smile on her face.
    “Howya, Ma,” Fiona says. “What’s up?”
    “Come on to the pub with me for a minute.”
    We comply, and I hate the way they treat me like a fragile piece of glass. Holding my hand and making sure I don’t die on the way. It’s annoying, but I know they do it because they love me. When we reach the pub after a short walk, we go through the side door, and as I come through, the room erupts in cheers. I smile as I take in all my regular patrons and then the big “Welcome Home, Amberlyn” sign. Tears sting my eyes as I am passed around, hugged softly, and kissed by almost everyone. I have missed my pub family; some of these people I see every day. I know that Mr. Little loves his corned beef hash. That Mrs. Kettle needs lavender in her tea. That Timmy loves his whiskey straight. That Brian would marry me or Fiona, or hell, even my aunt. I know these people. Their life stories. They are my family.
    When I’m seated at the bar with Richard in front of me, I smile. He comes in every single Sunday with his guitar to sing. His wife, Laney, sits at the table to the left as he sings songs with his soft, crooning voice. It reminds me so much of my father’s, and that’s why he is probably my favorite person.
    Cupping my face, he says, “You gave us all a scare.”
    I smile. “I’m sorry. It’s so good to be home though.”
    “Sure, sure. Now, let me play for ya.”
    Pulling my knees up to my chest, I lean on them softly as I nod my head. With a grin on his face, he starts to sing a song I’ve heard many times before. One he knows is one of my favorites, “Wild Mountain Thyme.” My dad used to sing it a lot, and it made my heart just sing in my chest. When the whole pub starts to sing along with him, I join in and it feels so right. Closing my eyes, I sing like I was singing with my dad while my mom sat to the side, tapping her foot on the floor as she read. I can see it so vividly. I can smell my father’s cologne and the roast in the Crock-Pot, and I can recall the feeling of being so surrounded by the love he gave me. His dark eyes would be on me while his fingers ran along the strings of his guitar.
    “Sing for me, love,” he would say and I would.
    Soon my mom would join in, and we would all start to laugh because she couldn’t sing for shit, but it was her. And we loved her.
    When the song ends, I open my eyes and smile. “Beautiful.”
    “Your voice, it is. I didn’t know you could sing, Amberlyn,” he says, his eyes playful. “I’ll have to do duets with ya from now on!”
    Everyone cheers for that, causing my face to burn with embarrassment. “No way! I was just singing along.”
    “Ah, hush, you have the voice of an