The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1) by Iris Morland (learn to read books TXT) 📗

unlikely that he’d gone into hiding because he was a spy or because the mafia was out to kill him. I couldn’t blame some shadowy villain for my da being a deadbeat, yet that still didn’t stop the need to ask him in person the question: why did you leave and never come back?

“So how exactly am I supposed to find my da?”

“I have some information that we were able to gather regarding his whereabouts.” Mr. McDonnell handed me another envelope, painfully slim. “Your father has not wanted to be found. I will say that.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Frustration tinged my voice. I’d already Googled my da multiple times, but his name was a common one in Ireland. Even if I’d found records of him, it didn’t mean I could discover his latest address without a lot of digging.

“We received this about two years ago. As you can see, it was addressed to your grandfather, but of course, he was no longer with us to open it.”

In the corner of the manila envelope was the name of some appraisal company here in Ireland. Confused, I opened the envelope to find a few documents that contained something about an antique clock that had been appraised two years ago by Sean Gallagher, my dead grandda.

The clock was made of porcelain and covered in ormolu. At the top was a painting of a cherub with a laurel wreath adorning the miniature; below was another cherub, an acorn adorning it at the bottom. A sky was painted in the center of the clock face.

Most tellingly, the appraisal price of this clock was listed at a staggering €25,000. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head seeing that.

“Okay, somebody has a freaking expensive clock somewhere. What does this have to do with my da?”

“The signature on the last page,” said Mr. McDonnell, not the least bit fazed by my confusion. He pushed another document toward me across the desk. “It matches your father’s.”

“But the name listed is for Sean, not Connor,” I countered.

“Your father’s full name is Sean Connor Gallagher. And if you notice the first name of the signature on that document…”

I peered more closely at the scribble. It looked like someone had begun to write a C but had awkwardly changed it to an S, as if remembering what his name really was.

“I realize this is extremely strange and not absolute proof that your father is alive, but considering your grandfather had had located him five years ago in Spain, it doesn’t seem impossible he’d still be alive just three years later.”

I placed the appraisal documents back inside the envelope. Okay, so my da was most likely alive. “But no one knows where he is now? Or within the last year?”

“I’m afraid not, miss.”

Of course not. That’d be too easy. “Why would these documents be sent here and not to my da’s address?”

Mr. McDonnell shrugged. “I’m not certain why he’d forge his signature, but from the bit of research I was able to do, the clock itself is an antique once owned by Mr. Connor Gallagher’s mother. Perhaps he wanted to send a message to Mr. Sean Gallagher that he’d acquired it.”

“But my grandda was dead by then.”

“Yes, but perhaps your father did not know that.”

It seemed as plausible a theory as any. None of the men in my family had been fond of my grandda, it seemed. Sean Gallagher had hated that his only son and heir had married beneath him, and then he’d apparently hated his son even more for leaving the wife he’d never approved of.

Talk about complicated family history. It made my head hurt to think about it.

“Although I have not been able to locate your father,” said Mr. McDonnell, “logic seems to point in the direction that if you can locate this antique clock, you most likely can locate Mr. Connor.”

I let out a sigh. “I never knew my da, but given how my brother always talked about him, I have a feeling he’d enjoy making us go on a wild goose chase to find him.” Holding my grandda’s letter and the appraisal documents, I asked, “May I keep these?”

“Of course, miss.”

Now, staring at the fireplace sans fire, I shook my head. I’d nearly choked on my own spit when Mr. McDonnell had told me that. Me, the owner of all of this? It made zero sense.

Grandda hadn’t known me. He’d disliked Liam simply because Liam had never been a good, submissive Catholic who’d cater to Grandda’s every demand. When Liam had taken me from Ireland when I was six and he was twenty-three, apparently Grandda had been livid. When he’d told us about our inheritances when we came of age, he’d punished Liam by giving him a piddly amount while giving me ten times that when I’d turned eighteen.

It was strange, being beholden to a man I’d not really known and who was now, even from the grave, pulling the strings in my own family. I was sure wherever he was, he was enjoying making us squirm.

As far as our father, Connor Gallagher, he’d been disinherited and disowned after he’d married our mother without Grandda’s permission. So even if he were still alive, he wouldn’t have gotten a penny from Grandda anyway. He really loved disinheriting people, I thought wryly.

Looking at my phone, I considered calling my brother for advice. It was only six in the evening in Seattle. But Liam would be worried if I called him in the middle of the night, and he and his wife Mari would be busy with getting the girls dinner and then to bed. I didn’t want to add to their stress.

I sighed. I wrapped myself in a robe and put on some slippers, wondering if a late-night stroll would calm my mind. Although part of me felt weird about wandering around a house that wasn’t mine, I reasoned that it was almost mine. Besides, everyone was asleep, and I was just going to wander the