Letting out a long breath, I say, “I know, but what will you have me do? Marry the first girl that gives me the eye?”

My da sits up in his chair as he shakes his head. He has aged a lot in the last couple of years. My ma says I favor him. If that is what I will look like when I’m older, please someone do me off. He just looks so angry. Wrinkles line his face, and his brow is set in such an apoplectic way. We may have the same blue eyes and blond hair, but that’s it. I don’t even think I act like him, but my sister informs me that sometimes I do, which I need to change. “That is not what I’m saying.”

“Yes it is,” I admonish him. “You want me to pick the first lady I see, and not worry a bit if I actually fancy her. The thing is, Da, that I want to be mad about her if I’m going to marry her.”

“That’s what we want for you, Declan, but you haven’t even dated,” my ma says, which is not entirely true at all. I’ve been with my fair share of women, but none of them have given me what I need or want. They are just there, wanting me for my money.

I let my head fall back as my kid sister, Lena, giggles besides me. She favors my ma, long, blonde hair, shining blue eyes, always the center of attention when it comes to other blokes. She got into some trouble a couple years back, and it basically ruined the family. Slowly, but surely, we are coming back from it. We are close, but not as close as we should be. When she quickly stops laughing, it’s probably because my da has set her with a look. The same look he is probably glaring at me with, not that I care. “I have dated, Ma, just nothing worth my time.”

“Keeva was delightful, a real gem,” Ma informs me, but I disagree.

Making a face of pure disgust, I say, “She was a bucket of snots, inside and out. She only wanted me for my money.”

“Everyone will want you for your money, lad. That’s what we are, what you are—deal with it.”

I shake my head. “I will not. I want a girl that loves me for me, not because I am the Whiskey Prince of Ireland.”

“But you are,” Da stresses and, while he is right, I don’t care. “And with that title comes responsibilities, and you know what they are. Get married and own the business. I know you want that.”

“Of course I do, but I’m not going to settle for anything less than I deserve. How could you want me to anyway?”

Da shakes his head as his mouth sets in a straight line. “I’m done with this conversation. You are an O’Callaghan, Declan, act like one. Get married. You have only six months to do so before you are skipped in line, and we give it to Lena’s soon-to-be husband.”

That gets my blood boiling as my sister gasps besides me. No way in fucking hell is her boyfriend, who couldn’t even tell a pot still from a whiskey barrel, is going to own my business. I look to my ma, but she is as stone faced as he is. Fuck! She agrees. “Da! That is insane! I can run the business and not be married.”

“No, you can’t. Dear, you have to be married. Not only has your grandda and father decided on this since apparently an O’Callaghan man has always been married before his twenties, but because it’s been that way since you’re great-great-great-great-great-grandda started the distiller. He believed that a man in love has the compassion to run a great company and because of that, only a married man can own the family company.” Ma says that like I haven’t heard this a billion times, since I was old enough to be interested in owning the distillery. I know the expectations of my family. I may not agree with them, and I may think that they are downright stupid, but I know them nonetheless. I just wish I had some leeway here, and maybe even some more time. Six months? Before they pass it to my sister’s soon-to-be husband? I can’t even keep a girl more than a night because I get bored with her or because she’s out for my money. I want more than that. I want to have it all. I want what my parents have, what every O’Callaghan man has had.

I throw my hands up in frustration. “Yes, in love! I have to love them for that to be true! Don’t you see that I want it to happen; I just haven’t found her yet?”

Da stands quickly, his seat falling behind him as his fist comes down on the table, making my ma and sister jump in surprise. I don’t even flinch. He doesn’t scare me. Nothing does. “So fall in love! Do what I say, Declan, or you will not own the business.”

Pushing my seat back, I stand, mirroring my da in height at nearly 6’2 as I hold his vexed gaze. I want him to see in my eyes that I want these things, that I don’t want to lose my chance to make our whiskey better than before, but I know all he sees is that I’m not what he was at my age. My ma stands too, her hands out in a pleading way as she says, “Enough, sit down. Let’s finish our dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” I say before turning and walking away, despite them calling my name, demanding that I come back. Ignoring them, I walk through the many halls of the O’Callaghan estate. With over sixty rooms, one would think I would get lost, but I’ve had the same room my whole life. I was born in this room, which is bigger than most suites in a five-star hotel. It’s the room that I’ll bring my bride to, and more than likely, my child will be born in there too. That’s the way the O’Callaghan’s do things.

As much as I would like to say that I don’t want these things, that I want to do something completely different, I don’t. I want the same traditions, this way of life. I want my children to grow the way I have, and then their children to do the same. I love what my family stands for. I love our brand, our whiskey, and I will do anything for the things I love.

But do I give up my need to have what I desire, what I’ve dreamed about, to have the traditions and life that has been mapped in the stars before my birth? Or do I stand strong and look for what I want? What I deserve? Looking around my empty room, which is filled with furniture older than my grandfather is, I decide that I am not going to find any answers here, so I turn and head for the front of the house.

On my way, I pass by our housekeepers and, unlike my sister, I do not say a thing, only give a curt nod as I head to the place that brings me peace. When the fresh air hits my face once I am outside, I let out a breath and then take in a deep one, filling my chest with the air of my homeland. Ignoring my car, I make my way to the stables to where my Irish Draught, Cathmor, awaits me. When I enter, my stable hand, Mitch, is putting the saddle on my friend as I run my hand along his white chest, which is speckled with black. He snorts loudly, greeting me with his furry lips on my face.