Printable Irish Blessings Novels & Stories

No one knows that Ingrid Steele, the CEO who's currently talking about how her company bans office romances on the podium, has begged me to do it with her eight times in a row last night. Her secretary leans in and murmurs into my ear, "I heard that our cold and aloof CEO has plans to reveal her husband's identity recently. Rumors say that she even plans on throwing him an extremely grand wedding just to make it up to him." Warmth floods my heart at that moment. It's then I decide to make the great news of me winning a billion dollars in the lottery a wedding gift for Ingrid. Our daughter, Gaby Newman, no longer has to hide anymore in life. The three of us can publicly spend time together as a family now! The next day, I put on the suit that Ingrid has given me eight years ago. Then, I enter the wedding venue. As soon as I open the door, I see Ingrid leading her first love, Hank Conley, up the stage. After they exchange rings with each other, they share a sweet kiss in front of everyone in a tight embrace. In the end, Ingrid tosses her wedding bouquet at the guests. Coincidentally, it lands right in my hands. Someone next to me gives me a light shove. "What are you waiting for? Give them your blessings already!" I just clap for the newlyweds while walking toward them. "Congratulations, you two! I hope that you can live happily ever after and that you'll have a bundle of joy soon! No, make it 108 babies, how about that?" As soon as my words fall, I turn on my heel and stride away. As expected, Ingrid doesn't chase after me. She doesn't even bother calling me nor explaining everything to me.

On the aisle: "Look Kitten, you were supposed to be mine from the start. Now, you can't back off anymore. The times are up." He breathed sensually in her ears in his deep voice, making her feel a shiver run up her spine. She suppressed a whimper that was trying to escape her mouth when he covered her lips with his in a deep and passionate kiss. "I pronounce you two as husband and wife. Please, give your blessings to the new couple." "STOP! I was supposed to be the bride! How dare you Elina to even think about snatching my husband! You Whore!" Elina Saint James, an aspiring doctor, marries her would-be brother-in-law, Adrian Walker, the Casanova heir of the famous Walker Group of the country. She was the replacement bride of the man who was originally supposed to marry her sister Olivia Saint James. Maybe it was not in her destiny to live happily. Three years later: She had returned here after three long years, betrayal and hurt was clear in her hazel eyes. But she won't stay here for long, not when she knows he probably hates her now, not only he but her whole family too. What she didn't know was the person she was thinking about, was thinking about her too. Somewhere: "Sir, Mrs. Walker has just landed in the city. She is going towards Sinotley Hills." "Find out everything about her, from where she lives now to everything. I want her to remember everything she has done. I will make her remember me forever." On the other side in Saint James Residency, "How dare she come back after ruining my life. I will kill her." "Olivia calm down, we should be careful, you still are not Adrian's wife, wait for the correct chance, darling."

My name is Clara Kelly. I was born in Brooklyn, into an Irish-American cop’s family. My father spent his whole career walking a beat out of the 84th Precinct. My mother volunteered at the parish. I was the first girl on our block to get into Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I was volunteering at a charity gala. I picked up the wrong glass of wine and ended up dumping it down the front of a man’s Brioni suit. That man was Adrian Francesco Moretti. Fourth-generation Don of the Moretti Family of New York, and one of the five families of Cosa Nostra. He chased me for four years. I said no six times. The seventh time, he stood outside my law firm in the rain until three-fifteen in the morning. I married him. Two decades in, he’d handed me the keys to the entire Moretti Family. In our world they called me “the Irish Donna,” a woman with no Italian blood who somehow held the seat. Childless by choice, the two of us. Famously in love. Until that Wednesday afternoon, when my college roommate of twenty years, my best friend Vivian Sinclair, walked into my living room with a five-year-old boy. She said the boy was Adrian’s son. She said that five years ago, she’d taken a used condom out of the wastebasket in my upstairs master bedroom, kept it frozen for three years, and done IVF. She said she was the real mother of the Moretti heir. She was the real Donna Moretti. “Be smart. Pack your bags and walk out. You might even get to keep your life.” “You’re barren. The Moretti Family doesn’t need you.” I looked at the woman I’d called my best friend for half my adult life. I didn’t say a word. She thought she was holding the winning card. What she didn’t know was that she’d just stepped onto a board Adrian and I had been laying for twenty years. I needed exactly one sentence to shatter every piece of the Donna fantasy she’d spent five years building.