This Life 1

by Cara Dee

  I grinned and took a sip of my wine. Father O’Malley was no fool, and Emilia knew it. What my family and I were involved in was common knowledge, but sometimes we chose to close our eyes. In our priest’s case, it was because it served a greater good. The O’Sheas brought in money for the community he burned passionately for, and it won out. That said, he turned a nasty shade of angry purple whenever a crime was mentioned. No one wanted to be reminded of what we turned our backs on.

  “Are you kids happy to return to the city?” Father O’Malley asked as Ma refilled his wineglass. “Thank you, dear.”

  “Absolutely, sir,” I replied. At this point, I was sick of the compound. There were only so many laps I could run around the grounds and so many hours I could spend by the pool before I yanked my hair out. In a mildly reckless moment to kill my boredom, I’d even planned a surprise for Emilia.

  She’d asked me repeatedly to play for her, and we never did get to have a proper engagement party… I was rectifying that, and Mass on Sunday was gonna be brutal. I planned on being hungover as fuck.

  “I asked Emilia a few weeks ago, and she wasn’t sure of the answer,” he went on. “Do you have any plans for where you’ll settle down eventually, or are you content in your condo for now?”

  Inquisitive old man. Ma was waiting eagerly for my response, and bless her, I wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. There wasn’t a chance in hell I’d buy property out here and build a big house next door.

  I had bought a place near Villanova, which was right outside the city, as a wedding gift for Emilia. My hope was we could make loose plans for it on our honeymoon. Whether she wanted to save it for later or build a new house, I wasn’t sure.

  “I won’t say no to a house,” I said pensively, watching Emilia for her opinion on it. It wasn’t anything we’d discussed so far. “I don’t think either of us is interested in leaving the Philly area, though.”

  She shook her head, thank fuck. “No, I like the city.” She shifted in her seat and put down her fork. “I, um, I would like to be part of a community somehow. I haven’t quite figured out if I want to go to school yet, but I know I want to make myself useful and help out.”

  This broad… She made me feel ten feet tall. I had half a mind to parade her around and just say look at her; look at how perfect she is. She didn’t even need to be groomed. Once again, I was gonna have to step up my game to deserve her. Bloody hell.

  I noticed Pop was watching me, and I cleared my throat and straightened in my seat as he smirked knowingly. That bastard could practically read my mind.

  “We will find a place for you, dear girl,” Father O’Malley said reassuringly. “You’ve clearly found a place in this family already, and it’s been a joy to get to know you better, Emilia.” He paused, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. “Not that our headstrong Finnegan would let anything get in his way of marrying you, but for what it’s worth, you two very much have my blessing to marry. It’ll be my honor to make you husband and wife next weekend.”

  That hit me squarely in the chest, and all I could do was hug Emilia to me and press my lips into her hair. Father O’Malley’s blessing did matter to me, more than I could put into words.

  Let my last week as an unmarried man begin.

  And end.

  “Oh my God, it feels so good to be home.” Emilia threw herself on the couch and groaned as she kicked off her heels.

  I grinned to myself and went through the mail. “You can rest for one hour. I have plans for us at eight.”

  She made a noise of protest. “That shows how little you know about the time it takes to get ready.” What? Twenty minutes was more than enough. “Ugh. Why do you have plans? Can’t we Netflix and order Chinese?”

  As tempting as that was, no.

  “Not tonight, princess. At eight o’clock, I want you dressed and ready to go. We’re going out.”

  She perked up from the couch and scowled sleepily. “Where are we going?”

  “That’s a surprise, though technically you planned the whole thing.” I’d said too much already. Grabbing our luggage and a stack of gift boxes, I carried everything upstairs. I knew exactly which box to avoid. Kellan’s sister’s card was still attached to it, and I wasn’t going near the sex toys I was ridiculously curious about. After our wedding, I reminded myself.

  It’d gotten so fucking bad that I could barely see Emilia naked without having to talk myself off a ledge.

  My showers hadn’t been this long since I discovered something came outta my cock if I jerked it long enough.

  Emilia joined me upstairs and scrunched her nose. “If you can’t tell me, I gotta know what you’ll be wearing. I don’t wanna show up at the movies in a formal dress.”

  I twisted my lips in thought and entered our closet. Tonight, I wanted to show her a good time. We had to let loose and blow off some steam—without my going too far and bending her over to bury—fuck. I pressed a fist to my mouth and drew in a deep breath through my nose.

  There, a nice three-piece. It was bound to get warm tonight, so I removed the suit jacket from the hanger, leaving the gray pants and matching vest. A white dress shirt and a dark blue tie followed, and I placed it all on the bed for now.

  Emilia tiptoed closer and peered at the outfit. “That’s…smoking hot. Should I go with classy or sexy?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  She groaned through a giggle. “Finnegan…”

  “It’s a casual place, but the occasion is special.” Was that more helpful?

  Judging by her look, it wasn’t. But she waved me off and said she’d figure something out.

  Good, because I needed a shower. Again.

  Was there a limit to how many showers a man could take before it was deemed unhealthy? Or fucking crazy?

  Seeing Emilia in the strapless little number she’d put on was making me throw glances toward the bathroom all over again. I registered the silky fabric that hugged her body, the color that matched my tie, and…legs. Killer legs, that bitable little ass, pert tits pushed together, and fuck-me heels.

  She knew what she was doing to me. Brushing her hair over her shoulder, she asked me to attach her necklace, the one with padlock charm on it. I swallowed against the desire that told me to throw her on the bed and fuck her into next week.

  “Thanks.” She turned around and peered up at me, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip for a quick second. “I don’t think I’ve shown you this.” She traced the necklace with her fingers, and I furrowed my brow, seeing another tiny charm next to the padlock.

  I pinched it between my thumb and index finger, then cursed when I saw what it was. My name. Or the letter F, but it was me. Possessiveness surged in my veins, and I clenched my jaw.

  “You’re trying to kill me,” I whispered.

  I hoped she saw the warning in my eyes, ’cause it was as real as it was gonna get. She was testing my restraint.

  “Just a bit.” Her cheeks colored, and she dropped a kiss to my jaw. “Are you ready to go?”

  Go, blow—what the fuck ever.

  I nodded once, wound up, and forced myself to take a step back.

  On the elevator ride down, I eyed her whenever she wasn’t looking. That she had agreed to marry me was something I’d processed already. The guise of a business arrangement had made that easy enough. But this…this was more. This was heavier. The girl was fucking with my head on purpose, force-feeding me hope that she possibly wanted this. That maybe she felt more than the chemistry we shared. That perhaps her feelings ran as deep as mine.

  In my business, you quickly learned that words meant fuck-all if they weren’t proved. Emilia had told me I stood a chance—that our marriage could be more than a piece of paper—but to believe it was a whole other matter.

  If only I could guarantee that I wouldn’t hurt her again. The day I told her about her mother was getting closer and closer, and I wouldn’t have a valid excuse as to why I’d kept it from her for so long. It was just a matter of ti
me before she knew I was exactly the guy she’d originally feared, too. Maybe I’d never inflicted harm on women and children or gotten into the sex trade; running whorehouses was more my uncle’s thing. But the O’Sheas hadn’t come this far by showing mercy or giving free passes.

  I had to shake that for now. The elevator reached the garage, where a car was waiting for us. Tonight was about us, and fuck if tomorrow’s problems were gonna ruin that for me. Right now, she was here with me. She wore my name around her neck, one small letter she’d put there on her own.

  Colm exited the car with a grin, and Emilia smiled widely.

  “Oi, darlin’. I hear you’ve got a grand night planned.” He opened the door for her.

  “I wouldn’t know.” Emilia shot me a playful scowl that I returned with a wink. “Finnegan refuses to clue me in.”

  “You’ll find out soon.” I patted her on the ass and got in after her. Once inside, I spotted a bag on the floor, and I dug out a blindfold for Emilia.

  “Kinky,” she noted. “Is that for me?”

  “Of course that’s your response,” I muttered under my breath. She’d been reading romance novels by the pool for weeks.

  Colm drove out of the garage with a smirk on his face, making me wish I were in a limo with a partition instead of a regular town car. The limos were on the way, though; they’d arrive before the wedding, and no bullets would be able to pierce them.

  “Aye, it’s for you.” I handed her the blindfold, in no rush. It’d be a couple blocks before—never mind, she was already putting it on. “You like surprises, don’t you?”

  “Are you kidding me? They rock.” She tied the strings behind her head before clasping her hands in her lap, visibly excited. “Unless they’re bad. Then they suck. Think about that.”

  I chuckled and relaxed in my seat.

  Colm took a minor detour, anything to throw off someone who might be trying to learn our patterns and routes. Even so, the drive lasted less than ten minutes, and he pulled up outside a familiar pub.

  I’d had Mick’s place ransacked, turned upside down, and under surveillance for the past two days. Tonight, the pub belonged to the O’Sheas, and other than virtually everyone invited being armed, we had security at every exit. If it weren’t for the uncertainty that the Italians had brought us, I would’ve looked more paranoid than my uncle.

  “Get ready, princess.”

  I ushered her out of the car where I removed the blindfold and covered her eyes with my hands instead. As I nodded at the two guys from my company outside the door, they opened up for me, and we were immediately met by blaring music.

  Emilia flinched at the sudden change. Then I reckoned she knew what was going on, and her mouth stretched into a grin.

  “Told you,” I spoke in her ear, “you planned this.”

  I made sure we had a pubful’s attention before I removed my hands from her eyes.

  Approximately fifty of my closest friends and their girlfriends yelled out various—and creative—congratulations, from “Here’s the ball and her chain” to “Almost too late to run now, Emilia.” Irish flags and balloons filled the ceiling, along with a banner that read “Happy Late Engagement, Princess,” which stretched from the bar in the middle of the floor to a hook in the beam above the little platform where musicians normally played on weekends.

  Emilia squealed behind her hands before spinning around and throwing her arms around me. I grinned and hugged her tightly.

  “It may have been my idea, but this is all you, Finnegan. Thank you so much.” She gave me a big kiss before she was whisked away by Sarah and Luna.

  Next thing I knew, the music was cranked up further, there was a beer in my hand, and my mates pulled me to a table.

  “Why are all the questions about Ireland?” Emilia yelled from her table.

  The princess was protesting our pub quiz.

  “So that the right teams score higher!” Conn hollered from somewhere.

  His brother had taken the stage to announce the questions, and if he spilled his beer over the paper one more time, I reckoned it’d be impossible to read.

  It’d gotten warm in the couple of hours we’d been here, and I sat back and loosened my tie while Colm tried to juggle the quiz sheet, his beer, and the microphone.

  To save time, we were all split into teams. Four or five people fit around one table, and we’d sort of naturally teamed up with men competing against women. It was a junior high dance all over again, the guys on one side of the room and the girls on the other.

  “List—” Colm squinted at the paper, eliciting laughter from the crowd. “List three breweries from County Cork! Well, who wouldn’t go for a Beamish right now, eh?”

  “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me,” Sarah exclaimed.

  Emilia huffed and narrowed her eyes.

  “He just gave you one of the answers!” Patrick widened his arms. “You gotta listen, sweet cheeks.”

  I smirked and listed three breweries. Anyone knew this, really.

  “Shots, mate?” Kellan stumbled back to our table and sat down with a bottle of tequila and a stack of glasses.

  “Hit me with it.” I folded up my sleeves past my elbows and contemplating losing the vest, but Emilia had a thing for it. I left it on for now. “Ay, oh, top ’em up properly. What’s wrong wit’chu?”

  Kellan chuckled and filled the glasses to the brim. “It’s good to have you back, Finn.”

  “Yeah, see, I never left—”

  “Oi! Less chatter, ladies,” Colm told us. “Question number fourteen. What’s the second most popular language in Ireland?”

  “Oh! You’re a fuckin’ sneak.” I laughed and threw back my first shot, then jotted down Polish as my answer.

  Colm grinned proudly. “Can’t make it easy on the foreigners.”

  “Yeah, welcome to fucking America,” Emilia retorted. “Who’s the foreigner now?”

  “She’s talking about you, Colm,” Luna said with a sniff.

  Kellan and I snorted in response and went for another shot. The liquid burned my throat perfectly, heating me up even more.

  It was shaping up to be a bloody fantastic night.

  “How the fuck is this possible?” I tore the results from Colm’s hand and read it over and over.

  “I did the math twice!” He stepped off the platform and joined me. “You still did good. Fourth place—”

  “I don’t care about that. There are always a few nerds who gotta know everything,” I said. “What I don’t buy is Emilia’s team’s ninety-seven percent score.” I looked up from the paper and narrowed my eyes at the girl in question. “Oi! Get over here, princess.”

  She sauntered over with an angelic smile, Sarah and one of the other girlfriends in tow. “Yes, dear?”

  I held up the paper. “Mind explaining why you’ve got the election percentage of a dictator?”

  She laughed and peered at the paper. “I guess we were better than we thought. Third place—nice job, ladies.”

  “Fuck that, you googled,” I accused.

  Not missing a beat or letting her smile falter, she extended her phone. “Can you prove that?”

  “Oh, mate.” Colm let out a booming laugh and clapped me on the back. “Good luck with that one.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” I told her. “You could’ve used someone else’s phone or cleared the history.”

  “In other words, you can’t prove anything.” She was triumphant—and too fucking cute. I couldn’t even pretend to be mad at that face.

  I pulled her to me, the results forgotten, and kissed her hard. “Fuck, you’re sexy when you play me.” I spoke against her lips, hands roaming her back until I slipped them down to palm her ass. “Speaking of playing…” I moved us out of the way as Conn and Eric carried parts of a drum set through the pub. Kellan followed with the snare and a guitar case.

  Emilia stayed in my arms, one hand on my chest, and gasped. “Oh my God, are you gonna play for us now? I’ve waited so lo
ng for this!”

  “We’ll do a few songs.” When my brother joined with his own two cases, I bumped his fist. Everyone had been so quick to notice my changes, but this bastard… Patrick had gone through changes too, and he’d finally found his ambition again. He worked harder, he was focused, and someone who noticed was Sarah. Better late than never, the two were tentatively building something genuine.

  “What does Patrick play?” Emilia asked curiously. “I assume one of those is a guitar.”

  I nodded. “He’s brilliant on the mandolin too. Pick an instrument for me.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Um, how many do you actually play?”

  I flashed her a grin. “All of them.” Well, all of the ones present on the stage, anyway, and I had a harmonica in my back pocket that I was saving for Patrick’s favorite tune. “What’re the Irish without music?”

  She bit her lip. “Drunks?”

  I let out a loud laugh and made a mental note to tell Patrick that one later.

  “Never mind, you gotta go with that tin whistle thingy,” she said eagerly. “I looked it up on YouTube, and do you realize how fast their fingers work? It’s like porn, Finnegan.” She touched my fingers while I failed to withhold my amusement. “You already have piano player fingers. Unf, yeah, tin whistle.”

  I grabbed her chin and planted a smooch on her soft lips. “Whistle, it is.”

  As I joined the guys on the platform, more people huddled around the stage; someone thrust a Magner’s cider in Emilia’s hand, which was her new crack. The day I showed her Ireland, she’d learn it had another name there. Shite, there was so much I couldn’t wait to show her.

  “Your favorite singer has arrived,” Colm announced and jumped up on the stage. “We’re gonna show ’em how we do it back home.” Ironically, by starting with a cover by an Irish punk band from Australia. He grabbed the mic to entertain our friends while the rest of us got ready. “There aren’t many songs we all know by heart, so our set list tonight is shorter than Patrick’s cock.”

  “What would you know about that, mate?” someone shouted.

  I chuckled, listening to my brother’s furious protesting, which went unheard over the crowd’s hollering. Conn was behind the drums, and he handed me my case of tin whistles.