Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series)

by Zara Keane

  Olivia reached out to squeeze her hand. “You’re a crap liar. You always were.”

  She gave a wry laugh. “That’s why we sent you to buy alcohol when we were teenagers.”

  “Ah, Fee. Queen of the witty diversion.” Olivia wagged a finger. “You won’t distract me that easily.”

  “Consider it a deferred conversation.” Fiona took another sip of champagne before placing her glass on the bedside table. “Are you going to help me into this crime against fashion or what?”

  Olivia cast her a knowing glance. “I’m only letting you change the subject because Muireann will do her nut if we don’t hurry up.”

  “Not to mention Claudette.” Fiona grinned, slipping off her jeans and T-shirt. “Is she as terrifying as Muireann makes out?”

  “Worse. Even Deirdre quakes in her Jimmy Choo’s when Claudette’s around.”

  Fiona removed the dress from its hanger. “It looks kind of tight.”

  “There’s not much give in the material, but never fear. I’ll wrestle you into it.”

  Fiona groaned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “Ah, it’s your own fault. You should have told Muireann to feck off.”

  “She didn’t ask me to be her maid of honor. It was Aunt Deirdre’s idea, and I let Aunt Bridie guilt me into agreeing. She said it would be healthy to bury the hatchet.”

  “Where? In Muireann’s back? How’s making you her maid of honor supposed to compensate for years of bullying?”

  “Given the state of the maid of honor’s dress,” Fiona said morosely, “I suspect my role is to lumber down the aisle behind her looking like a luminous green sausage. How did you get roped into being a bridesmaid, anyway? You and Muireann aren’t exactly besties.”

  “Aidan’s in cahoots with your uncle Bernard.” Olivia rolled her eyes. “Long story short, he’s got a stake in the new shopping center Bernard’s building, and Bernard’s got a stake in his political career.”

  “Aidan’s serious about running for the town council?” Fiona was tempted to add something disparaging about sleazy lawyers and politicians and had to bite her tongue in time. Aidan was odious, but he was Olivia’s husband, even if Fiona couldn’t fathom what she saw in the man.

  “Town council? Sweetheart, you’re behind the times. Aidan’s already on the council, and he won’t stop there. He wants to be mayor of Ballybeg when O’Shaughnessy retires next year.”

  Fiona gave an internal shudder. The thought of Aidan Gant wielding so much power was terrifying. “I’m sorry you have to suffer through this with me, Liv, but I won’t lie—I’m damn glad you’re here.”

  “At least it’ll be over in a couple of days.” Olivia tossed her rich red hair over her shoulder. “Then I’ll return to my exciting existence as a lady who lunches, and you’ll be off gallivanting around the world. You lucky sod. I wish I were a teacher and could take a year off work.”

  Fiona laughed. “No, you don’t. Teaching’s a bloody hard job these days. The kids are obnoxious, and the parents are worse. Yeah, the opportunity to take a sabbatical is fantastic, but I don’t get paid for the year I don’t work. However, I figure if I don’t go traveling now while I’m still relatively young and definitely single, I’ll never do it.”

  “Where’s your first stop?”

  “Singapore, home of the Singapore Sling, then on to Melbourne.” Fiona tugged the dress over her hips. “Gosh, this is tight.”

  “The color is revolting.” Olivia shuddered, and topped up their champagne glasses. “It’s typical of Muireann to pick horrible bridesmaid dresses so none of us upstage her. She told you about the shoes, right?”

  “That I’m to lose the Docs? Yeah, that was mentioned.”

  “Ah. It gets worse.” She strode to the wardrobe and extracted a shoebox. “These are your wedding shoes.” Reaching into the box, she withdrew a pair of five-inch stilettos the same shade as Fiona’s dress.

  Fiona’s stomach lurched, and the prickling sensation of panic climbed her spine. “Muireann remembers I have a limp, right? How does she expect me to walk in those?”

  “You’ll practice,” Olivia said with determined cheer. “You’ve got until tomorrow. Besides, you hardly ever limp anymore.”

  “If I have to stagger around in those heels all day, trust me, I’ll be limping.” Fiona groaned and reached for her glass. “I need more champagne.”

  Olivia examined every inch of Fiona, pausing when she came to her backside.

  Fiona drained her glass. “How bad does it look?”

  “You can see your knickers through the fabric.”

  “So?”

  “So you’ll have to go commando.”

  “No effing way.”

  “It’s only for this evening. You can get a thong to wear on the day.”

  “I don’t do thongs.”

  “Fee.” Olivia thrust her chest out. “Shut up and lose the knickers.”

  “Some pal you are.” She struggled out of the offending garment.

  “No more VPL,” Olivia said with triumph. “Much better.”

  “I doubt anything could improve this dress.” Fiona had managed to squeeze herself into it, but breathing was a challenge. “Can you help me with the hooks at the back?”

  Olivia yanked the back panels together. “Are you sure it wasn’t mislabeled? It’s meant to be formfitting, but this is awfully tight.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m the only one wearing chartreuse.”

  When her friend started lacing up the hooks, Fiona gasped.

  Olivia tugged. “Breathe out.”

  “I can’t. Breathe. At. All.”

  “Okay, Fee. Let’s try this lying down.”

  “Damn,” Fiona said, wheezing. “I sent Muireann my measurements. The dress should fit.”

  She lay on her stomach. Olivia straddled her and pulled at the material with force.

  “Ouch. You’re after digging a hook into my back.”

  The bedroom door swung open. Aunt Deirdre stood in the frame, her lips forming an O. “Girls! What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to get Fiona into her dress,” snapped Olivia. “What does it look like?”

  “I thought perhaps…” Deirdre trailed off, her bony hands aflutter. “Well, chop, chop. Claudette is waiting.”

  “There’s a problem with the fit,” Fiona gasped from the bed.

  “What?” Deirdre sounded like she’d been sucking on helium. “Then hurry up and come out.” She slammed the door behind her.

  They lay frozen on the bed for a moment, then burst into simultaneous laughter.

  “Did Deirdre think we were in a lesbian clinch?” Fiona asked. “Oh, damn. I shouldn’t have laughed. The hooks have burst.”

  Olivia made a few more attempts to force the back of the dress to close. “Sorry, Fee. It’s hopeless.”

  She climbed off Fiona and picked up the matching chartreuse shawl from the dressing table. “Chuck this around your shoulders, and let’s see what Claudette can do.”

  Fiona struggled to her feet. “I’m not sure I can walk in this thing.” She eyed the mermaid bottom with suspicion. “Or in these shoes.”

  “Can you shuffle?”

  “I can try.”

  “Give me your arm.”

  Fiona took a deep breath and laced her arm through Olivia’s. “Let’s go face my demons.”

  Chapter Three

  MUIREANN’S PARENTS LIVED a five-minute drive from Clonmore Lodge. Too far for Muireann’s taste, and too near for Gavin’s.

  Gavin followed the curve of the road until Clonmore House was thrown into view. He whistled softly, like he did every time he saw the house. It was an impressive Georgian construction, nestled on a cliff overlooking the beach. The building was large, imposing, and pompous—rather like Gavin’s future father-in-law, he thought with a grin.

  Like the Lodge, Clonmore House was once part of the estate of the Earl of Clonmore, back in the bad old days of British rule in Ireland and near-slave condition
s for the native Irish. Whereas his and Muireann’s new home used to be the gatekeeper’s residence, Clonmore House was the former dower house. Obviously, the Earls of Clonmore had liked their mammies.

  “Woof!”

  Gavin peeked at the moving-box-cum-puppy transporter on the passenger seat. The dog was urinating. “Aw, hell. Not again!”

  Yellow liquid seeped out of the box onto the leather seat and all over the bunch of flowers destined for his future mother-in-law.

  “Dammit!” He glared at the dog. “First you wreck my rug, then you destroy the living room curtains, and now you piss in my car.”

  The small dog whimpered and retreated into the recesses of his box.

  “Aw, hell.” Gavin ran one hand through his short blond hair and gripped the steering wheel with the other. “Sorry, Wiggly Poo. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at your dog mammy.”

  Actually, he was more annoyed with Wiggly Poo’s dog granddad for foisting a dog into his life. He’d be having a word with Bernard.

  “And you interrupted my nostalgic moment.” He banged the steering wheel, warming to his theme. “I was savoring it. I’ve had months of wedding crap, moving stress, and business woes. I’ve had Muireann morphing into Bridezilla, Bernard behaving like a boor, and Claudette trying to strangle me with cravats.” He turned to the dog, which was staring at him with huge brown eyes. “Seriously, Wiggly Poo, when did people in Ballybeg start referring to ties as cravats?”

  Wiggly Poo’s tongue lolled.

  “I’m a simple man with simple tastes. I was happy in my cottage. And now I’ve got a McMansion with a mortgage and a shagging koi pond.” Gavin eyed the dog. “I don’t suppose you eat fish?”

  Wiggly Poo continued to stare at him, panting now.

  “No, I guess that’s more cat territory.” He rolled up the automatic windows. “Ah, well. I’m hoping the koi pond is the extent of Muireann’s garden monstrosities. She’s always been a perfectionist, but she’s lost the plot over the last few months. She needs a holiday. We need a holiday.”

  He nodded to himself and drummed the steering wheel. “It’ll all be grand when we get back from Mauritius. We’ll get back into our comfortable routine. She’ll concentrate on her career, and I’ll concentrate on mine. We’ll put the stresses and strains of the last few months behind us. We’re perfect for each other. I can’t think of another couple that fights so seldom. And that’s the way I like it.”

  The car crunched over the gravel courtyard, and he pulled up beside Muireann’s Mini.

  He hopped out of the car, retrieved the peed-on flowers from the front seat, and grabbed the dog out of its makeshift home. Wiggly Poo was thrilled to escape the confines of the box. The puppy licked Gavin’s face and whined in excitement.

  He was struggling to keep a grip on the wriggling dog when the front door was thrown open.

  “Gavin,” boomed Bernard from the top step. “Delighted to see you.”

  Bernard Byrne was a large man—in width as well as in height. He had a bushy walrus mustache to complement his bushy eyebrows, a florid complexion, and a bulbous nose. The crowning glory—literally and figuratively—was a jet-black toupee perched precariously on his scalp.

  Gavin glowered at Bernard’s twitching mustache. “You have an extra dinner guest.”

  “Giving you gray hairs already, is he?”

  “I’m allergic to dogs,” Gavin said tersely.

  “Muireann isn’t.” Bernard grinned, and stepped aside to allow him entry. “And she loves dogs. I don’t see why she should be deprived of a pet because you’re allergic. Sure, isn’t she delighted with the little fellow?”

  “It’s not about me depriving Muireann of a pet. Dogs and cats trigger my asthma.”

  Bernard shrugged. “I made sure to buy one that’s hypoallergenic.”

  A muscle twitched in Gavin’s cheek. “So why am I sneezing?”

  “Hay fever. Those flowers will be to blame.” Bernard clapped him on the back. “Gavin, be a man. Once you get used to him, you’ll be grand.”

  Gavin clenched his jaw. “You bought the dog, Bernard. You can deal with him. Find him a new home before we get back from our honeymoon.”

  “What’ll Muireann say? She’ll be devastated if she finds him gone.”

  “I’ll talk to her. Make her see reason.”

  “Ah, you’re a hard man.” Bernard allowed his mustache to droop for dramatic effect. “We won’t argue about it now. Can I offer you a drink? Some fortification before the big day?” The man’s grin was back in place.

  Gavin glanced around the small entrance hall. “Where’s Muireann?”

  “The ladies are still trying on their wedding finery.”

  Wiggly Poo’s claws slid over Gavin’s shirt, leaving tracks in the material. “In that case, perhaps we can discuss the shopping center plans while we have that drink. I have a few suggestions to make about parking—”

  Bernard cut him off with an imperious gesture. “Yeah, yeah. Leave that for when you get back from your honeymoon.”

  A mobile phone began to buzz.

  Bernard’s sausage fingers fumbled over his smart phone’s display. “Gant? Hang on a minute.” Bernard cocked an eyebrow at Gavin. “Go on into the library and pour yourself a drink. I won’t be long. And keep the dog under control. Deirdre will go mad if he breaks her ornaments.” With these encouraging words, Bernard turned his large back on Gavin and lumbered down the hall.

  “Typical,” muttered Gavin. “Bloody typical. He lands me with an untrained puppy that wreaks havoc in my house, and then he expects me to keep it under control in his.”

  Wiggly Poo treated his nose to a generous lick.

  He scowled at him. “Keep that up and I’ll walk down the aisle with a rash on my face.”

  A shriek of laughter from one of the rooms proved too much excitement for the puppy. He leaped out of Gavin’s arms, slid across the marble floor, and shot off in the direction of the noise.

  “Come back, you blaggard!” Gavin chucked Deirdre’s roses on the floor and took off after the dog.

  He pounded down the narrow hallway that led to the downstairs guest bedrooms. One door was slightly ajar. He caught sight of a curly canine arse disappearing behind it.

  He barged into the room without knocking.

  A chorus of feminine gasps greeted his appearance. Apart from the French designer, all the women were wearing satin dresses of various hues. Deirdre was in a lavender creation, complete with puffy sleeves. The bridesmaids—Olivia, Mona, and Brona—wore maroon dresses that reminded him of the costumes in the deadly dull Jane Austen adaptations his fiancée adored. Muireann’s wedding dress was a meringue concoction with skirts that took up half the room. It didn’t suit her, but he’d lie tomorrow and tell her it looked great.

  The pièce de résistance was the woman poured into a greenish-yellow frock with a weird fishtail bottom. The bodice of the dress was so tight that half her breasts were squeezed into view. He drank in the woman’s face. Her mouth formed an O of horror at the sight of him.

  His stomach performed a stunt worthy of an acrobat. He knew those breasts. He knew that face. He knew that mouth.

  Fiona.

  Bloody hell! What was she doing at the wedding? What was she doing in the wedding?

  Her intelligent green eyes pinned him in place. A slide show of memories flashed through his mind—some good, some bad, some X-rated.

  “Gavin!” Muireann screeched, jolting him back to the present. “You’re not supposed to see my dress!”

  He flushed to the roots. Had he been remembering sleeping with another woman while his bride-to-be stood in front of him? Jaysus. He needed to pull himself together.

  Deirdre grabbed a swath of fabric from the speechless Claudette and threw it around her daughter. “Get out, Gavin. You’ll jinx the wedding!”

  “Sorry for barging in. Wiggly Poo is in here somewhere.”

  Muireann’s jaw dropped. “You brought him here? I told you to leave him at
home.”

  “Baby, I couldn’t leave him alone,” he said in mounting exasperation. “He was wrecking the place. He pulled down the curtains and attacked my stereo speakers.”

  “Ah, Gavin. Why didn’t you stop him? He’s only a puppy.”

  “Are you sure? I’d label him a hellhound.”

  Fiona snorted with laughter. Muireann shot her cousin a look of pure venom.

  No love lost between them.

  In a split second, Wiggly Poo emerged from underneath an antique chair and charged at a basket near Deirdre’s feet.

  “Watch out!” Gavin cried. “There he goes.”

  “Stop him!” Deirdre screamed, veiled hat askew. “He’s attacking Mitzi and Bitzi.”

  Fiona lurched forward on her high heels and half fell, half dive-bombed the dog basket.

  The sound of ripping fabric tore a horrified gasp from the crowd. The material at the back of the dress split open, revealing two luscious, creamy buttocks.

  Chapter Four

  OHMYGAWD! HER ARSE WAS ON DISPLAY.

  Her fat, white arse.

  Why did these things happen to her? One weekend without incident. That was all she’d asked for. Yet within an hour of arriving in Ballybeg, she was lying prostrate on top of a dog basket with the man she’d hoped to avoid staring at her cellulite.

  Feck.

  “Mon dieu!” Claudette clutched her necklace. “What have you done to my dress?”

  “Fiona!” Muireann shrieked. “How could you?”

  “Never mind the dress. She’s squashing Mitzi and Bitzi.” Deirdre darted forward and yanked the dog basket to safety. Fiona’s face landed on the Persian carpet with a thud.

  “What’s wrong with you people?” a male voice demanded. His voice. “Help her up, for heaven’s sake.”

  Muscular arms reached around her ribcage and hauled her to her feet.

  “Here.” Olivia retrieved the shawl from the floor. “Get this around her.”

  Gavin wrapped the shawl around Fiona’s waist, careful not to touch her bare flesh. When his fingers skimmed her satin-encased hips, she felt a jolt of something she didn’t care to define. Their eyes clashed for a millisecond. Too short to mean anything to him, too long not to mean something to her.