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

by Zara Keane

  “I bumped into Gavin. Literally.”

  “Oh, feck. How is he?”

  “Inebriated and loose-tongued. Apparently, I’ve wrecked his life, and it’s my fault we’re legally married.”

  “Screw him.”

  “I would, but he’s an arsehole.”

  Olivia opened her mouth wide and laughed. “I’ve missed you, Fee. I wish you lived nearer.”

  “Or visited more often. I know, I know. I’ve heard it all from Bridie.” She toyed with her fish and chips before putting her cutlery back on the table with shaky hands. “It’s as if I step into a time warp every time I visit. Some things change, some things stay the same. I revert to my teenage self, complete with the old body issues and insecurities. I sense it happening the moment I pass the sign for Ballybeg, yet it’s like I’m powerless to stop it.”

  Olivia speared a chip. “It could be worse. I’m stuck in a trap of my own making and I can’t figure a way out.”

  “Are things that bad at home?”

  Olivia shrugged. “Ah, no. You know me. I tend to exaggerate. It can get a bit suffocating at times. Aidan’s busy with work, and now his political career. I spend my whole life being Mrs. Aidan Gant, and I have neither the time nor the energy left to be Olivia.”

  “What about your little brothers? Do you still babysit them a couple of times a week?”

  “I collect them from school, yes. Now that they’re teenagers, they can look after themselves—allegedly.”

  Fiona sprinkled malted vinegar on her chips. “If there’s an upside to delaying my trip, it’s the opportunity to spend more time with you.”

  “Not to mention the opportunity to set your divorce proceedings in motion,” Olivia said wisely. “Aidan might be a pain at times, but he’s a damn good lawyer. And I happen to be his personal assistant. Why don’t you come by the practice at eleven on Monday morning? Bring Gavin with you. Maybe there’s a way to get an annulment.”

  “I certainly hope so. The sooner we can sort this out, the better for all of us.”

  Feeling more cheerful than she had all day—which wasn’t saying much—Fiona smiled and ate a vinegar-soaked chip. Bliss.

  Chapter Thirteen

  GAVIN WOKE TO HAMMERING in his head and a dog licking his feet.

  “Ugh. Don’t wanna get up.”

  “Rise and shine,” said a female voice before yanking the duvet off his bed. “Time to kick the booze and face reality.”

  He sat up, blinking. Fiona stood at the foot of his bed, Wiggly Poo at her side. She wore black from head to toe, offset by crimson lipstick. The lip ring was back in place, as was the attitude. If she was going for the avenging angel look, it was working. “How did you get in?”

  She raised an ebony eyebrow. “Through the front door.”

  “Smart arse. Did I leave it unlocked?”

  “No, Jonas let me in. But it would’ve made no difference. Bridie has your spare key, remember?”

  “What are you doing here?” He rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Where’s Jonas?”

  “Waking you up. We have an appointment with Aidan Gant in half an hour.” She opened his wardrobe and rifled through his clothes. “As for Jonas, he’s gone to Cork City with his mother and Luca to shop for school supplies.”

  When he threw his legs over the side of the bed, Wiggly Poo went into ecstasies of delight, tail wagging, tongue lolling. Gavin scooped him up and scratched under his chin. At least someone was pleased to see him. To his annoyance, it appeared Muireann’s claims of labradoodles being hypoallergenic were accurate—at least in his case. He frowned, a memory emerging through his hung-over haze. “How’d you end up with the dog? He was meant to be staying with Mary McDermott.”

  “Yeah… for the wedding that never happened.” Fiona flashed him a sideways grin. “To paraphrase Jonas, Mary evicted Wiggly Poo this morning due to crimes against vegetables.”

  “He dug up her prize-winning spuds?”

  “Yup. And destroyed a pair of designer shoes.”

  He sighed and petted the dog’s soft golden fur. “You have an appetite for expensive clothing, don’t you? I guess Mary’s another person I’ll owe money to.”

  “Add Bridie to your list. Wiggly Poo smashed a few of her ornaments during a midmorning rampage.”

  “Aw, shite. How’s she doing, anyway? You said something about an operation last night.”

  Fiona selected trousers and a shirt and hung them on the door to his en suite bathroom. “I said that on Saturday night. Today’s Monday. You’ve been on a two-day bender.”

  Two days? Jaysus. No wonder his head hurt. “Will she be okay?”

  “Yeah. The operation is scheduled for this morning. Once we’re done with Gant, I’ll go by the hospital.”

  “Run this by me again,” he said, returning Wiggly Poo on the floor and grabbing his clothes. “Why are we going to see Aidan Gant?”

  “Seriously, Gavin. Have you no memory of the past forty-eight hours?”

  “I’m hung over, but I’m not that far gone. Even if I was, the wreck of a rental suit reminds me my life has gone from promising and prosperous to a complete fucking fiasco.”

  “In that case, you’ll agree it’s in both our interests to sort out this marriage business without delay. Gant’s a creep, but he’s a good solicitor. He’ll know what to do. And if he doesn’t, he’ll know who to refer us to.”

  “You’re… different today.”

  It was true. The girl he used to know was awkward with a tendency to hunch. She’d had a quick temper but lacked the ability to stand up for herself effectively. But despite her prickly exterior, she was a sweet kid and fiercely loyal to those she loved. Also smart, funny, and—by the time they’d hit their early twenties—prettier than he cared to contemplate.

  The woman who stood before him now was anything but awkward. She’d shed the puppy fat but retained her curvaceous figure. She stood tall, proud, and sexy as hell.

  “Perhaps I remember who I’ve become,” she said in a clipped tone. “Not who I was.”

  “Huh? Sorry, Fiona. I’m not up to solving riddles this morning.”

  Her expression was inscrutable. “Never mind. Best get moving. I’ll wait with the dog in the car.”

  “You want us to bring Wiggly Poo?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “In the half hour Jonas left me dog-sitting him, he ran riot through Bridie’s house. Would you leave him alone?”

  Within fifteen minutes, Gavin was showered, shaved, and dosed with headache tablets. Fiona and Wiggly Poo were waiting in her VW Polo.

  Gavin eased himself into the passenger seat and put on his seat belt. The meds were starting to clear his head sufficiently for memories of the last couple of days to come flooding back.

  He groaned. He should’ve buried his head under his pillow and stayed in bed. He wasn’t ready to face the world and view the wreckage of his previously orderly and peaceful existence. So much for his goal to live a drama-free life. Not even his mother’s wildest shenanigans had resulted in this much mayhem.

  Fiona parallel parked outside Aidan Gant’s offices. She removed the dog carrier from the back seat.

  Gavin eyed the puppy with suspicion. Wiggly Poo was snoozing in his cage, looking cute and deceptively innocent. “Is bringing him in wise?”

  “Probably not, but it seems cruel to leave him alone in the car.”

  Aidan Gant’s legal practice comprised of three spacious rooms and a small entrance lobby.

  Olivia ushered them to a leather sofa in the waiting area and buzzed her husband.

  A few minutes later, Aidan Gant emerged from his office. His smarmy smirk was enough to make the acid in Gavin’s stomach crawl up his esophagus.

  “Gavin.” Gant’s limp handshake was in stark contrast to Bernard’s crushing counterpart. “And Fiona.” He held her hand a second longer than strictly necessary. “Let’s go into my office.”

  Gavin lifted the cage containing Wiggly Poo. “What should I do with the dog? He’s a littl
e on the wild side.”

  Gant recoiled and regarded the travel cage as if it contained a rabid beast.

  “I’ll look after him.” Olivia took the cage from Gavin. “You go on in with Aidan.”

  Gant’s office was the largest room on the premises. The white walls were laden with paintings. Gavin was no art expert, but he judged them bad enough to be expensive.

  “Take a seat.” Gant gestured to two leather armchairs on the other side of his desk. “Olivia will bring the coffee tray shortly. I had a copy of your marriage certificate faxed from Las Vegas.” He shuffled the papers on his desk and shoved a printout across the desk.

  Gavin stared at his hands. “It’s the real deal?”

  “Oh, yes. You’re definitely legally married.” The slick smile was back in place. He might be one of Bernard’s cohorts, but he was thoroughly enjoying this situation.

  Gavin shifted in his seat. “How do we end the marriage? Can we fly to Vegas for a quickie divorce?”

  Gant laughed. “If only it were so simple. You’re not legal residents of Nevada. You’ll have to file for divorce here in Ireland.”

  “That’ll take ages,” Fiona said. “Is there no way we can get an annulment?”

  “Hard to do, I’m afraid. In order to get an Irish court to grant an annulment, you have to prove the marriage is either voidable or void. A voidable marriage is one which can be judged to be no marriage at all because one or both partners suffers from a serious mental illness or is incapable of sexual intercourse. This may be due to impotence or homosexuality.” Gant eyed Gavin slyly. “I take it that’s not relevant in your case?”

  Cheeky sod! Gant was loving seeing him brought low. “No, it is not relevant.”

  “What about the other type of null marriage?” Fiona asked.

  “A void marriage is one that never existed. For example, one or both of the partners was already married, the partners are too closely related to be legally married, or one or both of the partners were incapable of giving their consent at the time of the ceremony.”

  Gavin’s ears pricked up. “Does being drunk off our arses count?”

  “Intoxication is one reason to declare a marriage void, but it is rarely accepted in court. Sure, if it were that easy, half of Ireland would be running in with that excuse.”

  “But we were genuinely drunk at the time of our Vegas wedding,” Fiona said. “As was our officiant.”

  “I believe you, but it won’t wash in court. The ceremony took place eight years ago. If you’d come home to Ireland and immediately initiated proceedings to annul the marriage, you’d have stood a chance. You say you first found out the marriage was valid on Saturday morning, but the claim is almost impossible to prove.”

  Well, screw that.

  “If we go for the divorce option, how long will it take?” Gavin asked.

  Aidan shrugged. “Officially, it’s five years from start to finish—barring unforeseen complications.”

  If Aidan had punched him in the solar plexus, Gavin couldn’t have been more winded. “Five years?” he spluttered. “You can’t be serious.”

  Five years of his life in free fall? No flipping way.

  “We can probably get it down to four because you’ve been living apart for at least a year.”

  “We’ve never lived together,” they said in unison. Their eyes clashed for a second, reigniting the old spark of awareness. Gavin massaged his temples. He must be losing the plot. They were sitting in a solicitor’s office discussing their divorce, and he was remembering her naked.

  “The courts won’t care you never lived together.” Gant’s smirk was seriously getting on Gavin’s nerves. “Provided we can prove you’ve maintained separate addresses and for the past twelve months, we can start the proceedings for divorce. I’ll warn you it’s not only a long process, but also an expensive one.”

  “Whatever it costs, we’ll work something out,” Fiona said. “Right, Gavin?”

  He stared at the geometric design on the carpet. For flip’s sake. He’d have to compile a list of his mounting debts.

  Olivia entered the office, bearing a tray laden with freshly baked scones and steaming black coffee. Under normal circumstances, Gavin would have pounced on the scones. This morning, his stomach roiled at the sight of food. He accepted a double espresso and knocked it back in one.

  “Now that we’ve discussed your divorce, I have a small matter to parlay with Gavin.” Gant’s grin was positively gleeful. This did not bode well.

  Fiona took the hint. “I’ll wait outside and have my coffee with Olivia.”

  When the door clicked shut behind them, Gavin met Gant’s amused expression. “I assume I’m the latest addition to Ireland’s unemployment problem.”

  Gant steepled his fingers. “Put it this way: Bernard’s given me a box containing the contents of your desk. In accordance with your contract of employment, your salary will be paid in full until the end of your period of notice.”

  Gavin took a ragged breath. Shite. Not unexpected, but a crushing blow all the same.

  “He’s also supplied me with an itemized list of the wedding expenses you owe him.” Gant shoved a piece of paper across the desk.

  At the sight of the sum written on it, bile surged up Gavin’s throat. The cost of the wedding was no surprise, but seeing it in black and white was a stark reminder of how quickly his life had turned into a sewer system.

  “Bernard knows you can’t afford to pay this amount at once,” Gant continued, “therefore, he has a proposition for you.”

  Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go on.” Whatever scheme his almost father-in-law had concocted would not be to his benefit. The man’s idea of a business proposition generally left the other party a weeping, bloody mess.

  “From my understanding, you and Muireann currently split the cost of the mortgage repayments on Clonmore Lodge.”

  “Yes.” And a hefty sum it was, too, regardless of Bernard’s supposed bargain sale price on the house.

  “If you agree to pay the full mortgage repayments between now and the time you sell the house, Bernard will give you until Christmas to pay the money you owe for the wedding. In addition, he will furnish you with a glowing reference to show prospective employers.”

  Gavin bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. “Firstly, I’m legally entitled to a reference. Secondly, the law does not require me to reimburse the Byrnes for the wedding. I intend to do so because I feel a personal obligation to Muireann. Finally, how the hell does Bernard expect me to cover the mortgage if I’m out of a job? Glowing reference or not, I’m unlikely to find a new position immediately. My redundancy payment will only go so far, and we all know how hard it is to offload property in Ireland these days.”

  Gant shrugged. “You’re entitled to a reference, true, but not to a glowing one. As for finding the money to pay the mortgage… frankly, that’s your problem. If you refuse to sign the deal, you’ll have to pay back the full cost of the wedding by the middle of October.”

  “What if I tell Bernard to go fuck himself?”

  The smirk evaporated. “Then you’ll be hard pressed to find an architectural job anywhere in the south of Ireland.”

  In other words, Bernard would pull strings to ensure he had no choice but to emigrate. His hands balled into fists. The rat bastard. “This is blackmail. What’s to stop me from calling my union rep?”

  “Absolutely nothing. Go ahead and call them if you wish.” The Cheshire cat smile split his cheeks. “However, Bernard did mention a small matter of missing funds from the shopping center project. He seemed to think you might know something about it and is considering contacting the police.”

  Gavin’s pulse quickened. “That’s total bollocks and you know it. I’m the architect. I have nothing to do with the company finances.”

  “Nevertheless, Bernard believes he has compelling evidence against you. And given that you’ve just announced to over three hundred people your intention to commit biga
my, I doubt the police will be inclined to believe you’re above theft.”

  He staggered to his feet, his world spinning. “I’ll need to think on it.”

  “You do that.” Gant stood to see him out. “But don’t think too long. Bernard Byrne is not a patient man.”

  Fiona pounded up the stairs of Cork University Hospital. Her lungs were burning, and her bad leg was aching. Why had she quit going to the gym? Laziness? Lack of time? Both?

  “Excuse me.” She dodged a white-clad doctor descending from the second floor and took the remaining stairs two at a time.

  It was just shy of three o’clock, and visiting hours on St. Ignatius ward were in full swing. A green-faced patient attached to various IVs was wheeled out of the lift, and a man on a stretcher was wheeled in. Visitors crowded the nurses’ station inquiring after family members and friends.

  Nurse Collins, the friendly nurse from yesterday, was wheeling an elderly man down the corridor.

  “Your auntie came through the surgery fine,” she said with a cheery smile when Fiona approached. “She’s resting in her room.”

  “Thanks.” Fiona struggled to catch her breath after her dash up the stairs. Tomorrow she was buying running shoes. “Is she ready for visitors?”

  “Your uncle and cousin were already here. Bridie’s a little groggy, but I’m sure she’d love to see you.” Nurse Collins’s smile stretched wider. She leaned closer to Fiona in a confidential manner. “Your cousin told me what you’re doing.”

  Stealing her man? Wrecking her wedding? Marring Muireann’s otherwise perfect existence with her plump-and-pierced presence? The list of possibilities was endless, and none should have put a benevolent smile on Nurse Collins’ face.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She said you’ve canceled your world trip to look after Bridie.”

  Whew. Nothing too horrific, thank goodness. “Not canceled. Postponed.”

  “How wonderful.” Nurse Collins patted her arm. “After six months of looking after your aunt and her shop, you’ll need the break.”

  An icy trickle wound its way down her back. “What?”