by Dee, Cara
“On one condition,” he said as we crossed a bridge. “You gotta say that nothing Liam does is sexy.”
I snorted. “Deal. If you throw in some actual Irish too.”
He chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. I’m hardly fluent.”
Still. He and the other men would sometimes exchange shorter phrases with one another, one in particular. Being on the run and staying under the radar was frustrating to anyone—and especially for men who were used to taking the fight. They sometimes hated doing what was strategically smartest. Carrying so much animosity and hatred toward the Italians, Finnegan and the others wanted their revenge already. But then they’d give one another the reminder they needed to hear.
“What’s the saying about fighting and running away?” I asked. “Something your grandfather would say, I think.”
“Is fearr rith maith ná drochsheasamh,” he responded absently, focused on traffic. “He who runs away lives to fight another day.”
That was the one. I liked the saying. I liked the mentality of it. No matter how hotheaded the boys could be, they prioritized life. It brought me comfort for the future.
Dublin was…interesting, from what I’d seen so far. It was very different from anything I’d seen before, and it was nothing like I’d expected. Finnegan thought I was funny for thinking it would be picturesque and idyllic. It was anything but.
It took some time before I could shake the feeling of being stuck in an old shipyard, and then it was a weird combination of the most beautiful architecture, aged and so distinctly Irish, that met “average British factory town” and “Whoa, does that building belong here? It looks like it should be in a sci-fi movie.”
“Dublin is a place you can’t help but love,” Finnegan said. “But it’s not for the beauty of it. It’s a feeling. You’ll get it soon, I promise.”
Some of the buildings, though… The ones that were unmistakably Irish were incredibly beautiful. They were old and crooked, with painted pub signs, flowerpots in the windows, and colorful shutters.
“Just don’t study the river at low tide,” he advised. “That’s when it looks like a dump.”
“Can you imagine if there was a low tide at home that revealed all the dead bodies you’ve gotten rid of?”
“Whoa. Where the fuck did that come from? I’m smarter than some moron who would use water as a dumping site. Jesus Christ.”
I laughed so hard that a little pee came out.
I whimpered through a chuckle and clutched my stomach. Being pregnant had ruined my body for all eternity. I couldn’t even sneeze without posing some risk.
“Here we are.” Finnegan cut a corner and stopped to punch in a code that led to an underground garage. He’d told me we’d all be staying in the same building. There were some thirty small apartments, most of them rented out, and they sat atop a pub that would work as our common room this trip. We’d meet with everyone for meals and catching up. “I should probably mention that it’s Father O’Malley’s half brother who runs the pub.”
“Oh, really?” That was interesting. Father O’Malley didn’t have an accent. “I didn’t know he was from here—I mean, like actually born here.”
“He wasn’t. Neither was Father Callahan. He moved here after their pop died years ago.”
“Wait. They’re both priests?”
Finnegan chuckled and pulled into a parking spot, and he killed the engine. “No, it was just a nickname Pop gave him back in the day. Callahan listened to him like Father O’Malley did at confession, so it stuck.” He flashed me a smirk and opened the door. “Just don’t ask him to baptize you.”
I laughed and stepped out before he could round the car.
“Why do you never let me get the door for you?” he asked, frustrated.
“Why does your dad never go to confession anymore?” was a much better question. “I’ve never seen him do that genuflection thing either—even before Grace died.”
Finnegan shrugged and popped the back to get our bags. “He’s had some issues with religion for as long as I can remember. We don’t really talk about it.” He threw his duffel over his shoulder, grabbed my rollaboard, and nodded toward a door that had a sign with stairs on it. “Mind if we eat dinner before we get settled in? I happen to know there are a lot of people who want to see you.”
I followed him and knitted my brows together. “Why? And who? I mean—of course. I’m starving.”
We’d left France early this morning, but then we’d stopped for three or four hours on the way for lunch and some rest. Finnegan’s bad leg acted up sometimes, and well, there was always something wrong with me these days. Heartburn, carsickness which I’d never had before, constantly feeling snackish and thirsty—there were a million reasons for me to pull over because “I just need to…”
In other words, early start or not, I had a feeling most of the guys had arrived already.
“You’ll see,” was all Finnegan said with a ghost of a smirk.
He carried forty pounds of luggage up two flights of stairs. I carried a fetus that was about two-and-a-half ounces, and I was the one who was out of breath when we reached the landing.
What the fuck. I worked out, dammit.
Finnegan’s eyes flashed with amusement and a pinch of concern. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just peachy,” I mumbled. I took a deep breath as he unlocked a door, and it brought us to the back of the pub. There was a kitchen, a hallway filled with crates and cardboard boxes, another few doors, and the faint sound of music.
So we weren’t using the main entrance like normal people.
The music exploded when Finnegan ducked into an entryway and pushed a door open. It was the bar. Behind it, rather. And I got stuck in the doorway as I noticed how packed the little pub was. Packed with family.
“Oi! Looked what the cat dragged in!” Liam hollered over the music. I didn’t know he was flying in!
Holy crap. I spotted so many faces I hadn’t seen in a long time. Viv was here, as were Thomas and their children; Eric had arrived with the twins, Luna, and Kellan. Conn and Colm were lining up shot glasses at the bar. An older gentleman was behind it, and it had to be Callahan. I could see he shared a father with Father O’Malley. They had the same kind eyes and happy grins, but Callahan was more…rough around the edges in his appearance. Oh my God, some of these people I hadn’t seen since Grace’s and Ian’s funerals.
Shan was here, and he wore a grin that made me so happy to see. He clinked his beer to someone else’s and took a swig.
Joel, the Mikeys, Adam, Lachlan, Mack, Mundy…
I gave up counting, and Finnegan stalked over to me, kissed me hard, and whispered, “Welcome to Dubbelin, a stóirín” in my ear. Then he promptly jumped over the bar to greet his friends and family. “The favorite Son has come home!”
A crowd of cheers and good-natured insults filled the place, and beers were raised to the ceiling.
I grinned widely at the sight.
“Father Callahan at your service, miss.” Callahan extended his hand to me and smiled warmly. “You must be Finn’s wife.”
“I am. Emilia. Nice to meet you.” I smiled back and shook his hand.
Just then, I heard Viv calling for me. “Emilia, dear! Get over here so I can see that belly!”
I laughed and thanked Father Callahan when he showed me the way to the other side of the bar. There would be no jumping across for me.
Viv met up with me there, along with her eldest, Brianna, and Nessa. As soon as I was past the little gate, I was enveloped in hugs.
“It’s been too damn long,” Viv said thickly, then grasped my shoulders. “Goodness, let me look at you. So beautiful.”
I managed a watery grin, and right then and there, I wished Grace were here. I’d come to adore Viv, but it wasn’t the same. And for this, telling Grace we were expecting our kid… Fuck.
Finnegan appeared at my side and draped an arm around my shoulders. “You greet Emilia before your favorite nephew?”
>
Viv peered around us with a confused expression. “I thought Patrick wasn’t here yet.”
Brianna and I laughed.
Finnegan sucked his teeth. “That’s hate speech.”
I covered my mouth with my hand and shook my head at the clown.
Yeah, Dublin was definitely going to be a much-needed break.
Every time I found out our living quarters were going to be small, I did a mental happy dance. Because it meant I didn’t have to share with anyone except Finnegan. And as much as I freaking loved Autumn, she wasn’t mine to raise, and she had no “moderate” setting when it came to excitement about my pregnancy. If she wasn’t asking questions, her ear was attached to my stomach. It was incredibly sweet, but yes, I’d been relieved when Shan had shown up in Spain with the twins.
I just needed a breather. Nessa was perfect for that, because now Autumn was shadowing her instead.
I sucked at saying no to Autumn too, which Finnegan had unfairly pointed out to me. Unfairly, because, well, he sucked at it too. But I knew he was right. I felt for the girl. Being shuffled around like this, having no stability, no friends her age. It was a shitty situation, one I wasn’t going to remind Eric of. He knew very well, and his guilt was sometimes palpable.
Right now, though, I was going to enjoy this. After my shower, I fell down on the fluffy bed and merely stared up at the ceiling as I reveled in the silence.
Studio apartment, bless you. We had a kitchenette but no dining area. Suited me just fine. There was a lovely main room that I suspected Grace had once decorated. Big, cushy bed, a small sofa, small coffee table, weirdly luxurious bathroom, tiny entryway. Photos of Ireland graced the walls, billowy drapes concealed the window in thin layers, and the candles on the little kitchen bar smelled of vanilla and apples.
I let out a big sigh of contentment and adjusted the towel that covered my hair.
Finnegan would be back soon. He’d just run out to get smokes and some essentials for our fridge.
I wasn’t planning on leaving our little haven until we met up with the family for brunch tomorrow.
The serenity was there the following morning too.
Neither of us was in any rush.
We took turns going to the bathroom, and Finnegan prepared a tray of quick fixes for my mild nausea that lingered every morning. Saltines, ginger ale, and grapes for me. Coffee and a candy bar for him. He was an adult, he said, and he could have chocolate “whenever the fuck” he wanted. “So suck it.”
While I was sipping my soda, he left the bed again to open the window. The rain was pouring down outside, and the drapes danced in the wind breezing into the apartment. It was a perfect morning. Finnegan returned to me and dived under the duvet, and then we sat there against the padded headboard, messy bed heads and sleepy smiles, and just enjoyed the moment together.
After finishing half his coffee, Finnegan scooted lower and propped his head on a pillow and slipped his hand over my stomach. When that wasn’t good enough, he shifted the pillow closer and nuzzled my side.
“The growth spurt should begin soon, right?”
I nodded and wove my fingers into his hair. “Yep.” That was what my doctor had said. “I read in that book you gave me that the fetus is gonna double in size over the next month. I’m moderately nervous about that.”
He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to my belly. “So it’ll go from the size of one avocado to two. I think you’ll live. One day soon, it’s gonna be a watermelon.”
“Thank you for your support,” I drawled. “I was more thinking about the hormones.”
He took a breath before responding, except the response never came. I waited, and he exhaled and…nothing.
I narrowed my eyes. “You wanna say something, don’t you?”
“So fucking badly, but I’m not gonna.”
I tugged lightly on his hair, and he hissed.
“Tell me,” I demanded, stifling my mirth.
“Don’t fuck with the hair,” he bitched. “I have a sensitive scalp.”
I laughed, unable to help it, and eased the sting with some massage.
“Tell me, Finnegan.”
He hummed appreciatively at the ministrations. “Do I have to? If I don’t say it, it doesn’t count.”
“You have to say it, unless you wanna suffer.”
“Scary enough,” he decided. “I was thinking that any hormonal surge that hits you is my problem, not yours.”
I grinned wryly. I’d thought it would be something along those lines.
Jerk.
“You really do love to rile women up with your jokes,” I said.
“That’s sexist,” he told me. “I like to rile up anyone.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head in amusement.
As the humor faded, Finnegan rolled onto his side and peered up at me.
I poked his nose.
He smiled faintly and grabbed my hand, kissing the top of it.
“I have to kick you from the team for the Barcelona gig, baby.”
I stiffened and let the irritated curses fly through me before I blew out a heavy breath and reasoned with myself. It wasn’t a huge shock, and I knew why he was making that decision. I’d had two successful doctor’s appointments so far. One in London to confirm the pregnancy, and one checkup after we arrived in Spain. We’d gotten to hear the baby’s heartbeat.
We both wanted the next checkup to go well too. In about a month, I’d go back for an ultrasound, and we’d hopefully learn the gender.
“I get it.” I slid down to mirror his position so we were face-to-face. “It sucks, but I understand. The stress might be too much.”
He nodded once, and the relief in his eyes drew a smile from me.
“You’re a good boss—and an amazing father-to-be.” I touched his cheek. “Are you nervous about the gig?”
“I reckon the day I stop getting nervous, I should get outta the game.” He turned and kissed the inside of my hand. “No more nervous than usual, though. I was more nervous the day I married you.”
I grinned. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah.” His sexy mouth curved into a smirk, and he twisted his body to reach his phone on his nightstand. “I’ve been meaning to add this song to our cheesy playlist. Pat sent it to me the day before the wedding. It was kinda sweet, actually. He doesn’t usually get so heartfelt.”
He pushed play, and I peered at the display. The song was called “I Belong to You.”
“I never thought you’d have this romantic streak in you,” I murmured.
“That makes two of us,” he chuckled quietly.
A comfortable silence fell over us, and I listened to the lyrics of a man singing to his future wife. It was there in the song, how nervous he’d been to stand before everyone with his fiancée, and how the guests, their family and friends, would never understand the bond between the man and the woman.
I cuddled closer to Finnegan and kissed his neck.
He hugged me tightly.
Only you know the man that I am beneath the surface…
Those words rang so true. The Finnegan I knew was another man entirely from the guy he showed everyone else. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t always himself; he was just a lot more reserved with others.
I lifted my head off the pillow and kissed him softly. “I love you.”
He smiled into the kiss and squeezed my butt cheeks. “I love you too.”
God, what a perfect morning. It was exactly what we neede—
My eyes widened in disbelief and a fair dose of horror when someone knocked on the door.
Seriously.
Why? Why? Whyyyyy?
“Make them go away,” I complained.
Finnegan was about as amused as me. He dragged himself out of the bed and stepped into a pair of sweats. On the way to the door, he muttered to himself that he was gonna do his best not to shoot the intruder.
“You’re not welcome here,” he told whoever was at the door.
The hu
ff I heard in return was unmistakable. It was Luna. “Nice to see you too, asshole. I have to talk to Emilia.”
“Can’t it wait a few hours?” Finnegan replied irritably.
“It’s fine, honey,” I said. I had noticed Luna seeming a bit off last night at dinner. Maybe now she’d tell me why. After putting on the only pair of jeans that still fit, I borrowed a hoodie from Finnegan and met up with the two in the entryway. “Morning.” I suppressed a yawn and squeezed Finnegan’s hand. “Can I kick you out, or should we step out?”
“How about you and I stay here, and she leaves?” he suggested.
I kissed his bicep before he sighed and snatched up another hoodie and put on his shoes.
“I’ll go downstairs for a smoke,” he muttered. “Brunch should be ready soon too.”
“Sounds good.”
We waited until he’d left, and then I gestured to the little sofa by the window.
I found it weird she wouldn’t look at me. Where was my ballsy friend? This was Luna Ford. She always had her chin high and didn’t hesitate to take on dudes twice her size.
“What’s wrong?” I placed a hand on her shoulder and tried to make eye contact.
She sighed heavily and buried her face in her hands. “I fucked up, Em. I fucked up so hard.”
“Okay, you’re making nervous, hon. What happ—”
“I’m pregnant,” she whimpered.
I blanched.
26
Emilia O’Shea
“You can’t tell anyone. Swear you won’t.”
When Finnegan asked if everything was okay, I shoveled my face full of scrambled eggs and smiled.
Yup, just great.
He chuckled. “Dork.”
To be honest, the entire day kinda disappeared from me. Once Patrick arrived with Sarah, a bunch of us went sight-seeing around Dublin, and I functioned on autopilot. I took pictures of the prettiest buildings, churches, and bridges. I hummed and nodded in the right places during mindless chitchat when we stood in line to go into a famous library at Trinity College. I pretended to pay attention as Sarah divulged her plans to stay in Ireland and study.