This Life 1

by Cara Dee

  I had a code to remember. Oh right, okay, good, I got it. Whew.

  Finnegan went first, saying the words that’d been spoken millions of times before, yet always felt personal to the one who received them. His fingers shook slightly as he slid down the elegant ring to join my engagement ring.

  I flexed my fingers and stared at the sparkly stuff happening on my ring finger, and there was a good dose of disbelief. I was getting married. I was eighteen years old and getting married, and that disbelief echoed in my head as I was the one who repeated after Father O’Malley.

  Eighteen years old—holy shit. This wasn’t normal anymore—not today in this time and age—so why wasn’t I running for the hills? Why did I not even want to? It wasn’t a contract that held me in place. It hadn’t been for a while.

  Before I slipped the platinum band onto his finger, I took a nervous step closer and looked up at him. Meanwhile, he was peering down at the ring between my fingers, or more correctly, the inscription inside of it.

  Tá mo chroí istigh ionat. Yours, Emilia

  I’d stolen the words from him. They were the same ones he’d written in one of his letters to me, and I could think of no better declaration to steal from my mobster. The literal translation, my heart is within you, beat the dozen meanings the English language gave the saying. It rang the truest.

  Finnegan jumped the gun, cupped my face, and kissed me hard. “I don’t think I can believe it.”

  “I’ll make you believe it,” I whispered back.

  He exhaled a laugh and discreetly wiped his cheek, and I finally got the ring onto his finger.

  A few nervous heartbeats later, we were declared husband and wife.

  Chapter 30

  Finnegan O’Shea

  “Oh my God, we just left the guys in the dust.”

  “Literally,” I chuckled, and I didn’t give one flying fuck. The limo pulled away with the instruction to take all the detours the driver could find on the way back to downtown Philly. “Come here.” This was why. The plan to have the whole wedding party in one limo had been scrapped because my girl—my wife—had told me her heart was mine. “I need to hear it.”

  She grinned into the kiss I gave her, and her cheeks turned an exquisite shade of pink. “I love you.”

  Motherfuck, I had no words. The tension of the day, the tension of the past few months, rolled off me. “I’m gonna need daily reminders if I’m ever going to believe that.”

  “I can make that happen.” A yawn left her, and she was immediately horrified. “I’m so sorry—”

  I cut her off with a soft laugh and a hard kiss, only glad we were on the same page. Getting married was fucking exhausting. I’d been a wreck and hadn’t slept much last night, so this suited me perfectly. Tucking her close and helping her get rid of her veil, I sank down a bit in my seat and held her to me.

  “Is it weird I’m glad it’s over?” I touched a lock of her hair that teased her cleavage, twisting it between my fingers.

  “No, there’s so much pressure. I feared I was gonna trip.”

  I smiled and covered her mouth with mine. Her worry was cute. Meanwhile, I’d legit worried she was going to get cold feet, rethink the whole thing, and bail.

  “I love you, princess.”

  Her smile matched mine, and it was all silly as hell. “I love you too, Whistler.”

  I chuckled. “So that nickname’s sticking, huh?”

  “I think so. Yeah.” She nipped at my bottom lip and slipped a hand up my chest. “Yeah, it fits. As long as you only bring me good news.”

  Oh, definitely not going there on our wedding day.

  An hour later, we got word from my mother who demanded we get our behinds to the hotel. Everyone had arrived and was waiting for us.

  It’d been one of the best hours. Emilia and I had cuddled it up good, made out, gotten rid of her ridiculously long train, exchanged yawns, and confirmed we were both starving.

  “Viv wouldn’t let me have fries for brunch,” she said, leaning forward to touch up her makeup. Or rather, removing her lipstick because I’d smeared it everywhere.

  “Yeah, well, I threw up my breakfast.” I adjusted my vest and straightened my suit jacket. “Pat kept giving me shots of whiskey to kill the nerves.”

  It hadn’t worked.

  Emilia snorted and sent me a smirk over her shoulder.

  Christ, look at her. My wife.

  We pulled up to the hotel, and part of me wasn’t ready. I should’ve skipped the reception and whisked her away on our honeymoon right away.

  “Can you believe we’re married?” she mused.

  “Barely.” But I was looking forward to letting it settle.

  While I’d known her only a few months, she’d been my future wife for over two years. Now she had my name.

  “Come on, Mrs. O’Shea. Dinner awaits.” I kissed her hand and exited the car. Three guards were standing near the entrance, keeping watch.

  I ushered her inside quickly, and we were shown to the ballroom on the top floor. The wedding coordinator, who appeared to be permanently attached to her phone and headset, was waiting for us there. She told us my pop was talking, which we could hear through the closed doors. Warming up the crowd while they waited or something.

  Somehow, he was given the green light to introduce us, and Emilia squeezed my hand.

  “And now, it’s my honor not only to welcome Emilia into our family, but also to introduce her and Finn as husband and wife for the first time. Everyone, please stand up and raise your glasses for Mr. and Mrs. O’Shea!”

  The doors were opened, and we were met by nearly three hundred people applauding and toasting for us.

  Wanting Emilia closer, I put my arm around her and kissed her temple. My chest felt tight with emotion, though I managed to keep it in, thank fuck. Emilia had already made me mushy once today.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she chuckled shakily.

  I guided her between the countless round tables where most of the guests sat, across the dance floor in the middle, and because I was me… I spun Emilia around and earned myself a yelp from her.

  “My stunning wife, everyone.” I bowed like a fucking gentleman and kissed the top of her hand. “May she bust my chops for decades to come.”

  The men cheered louder.

  I winked at her blush—and the scowl she couldn’t hold—then put her out of her misery. Unlike me, she wasn’t very comfortable with the attention. Of course, that made me wanna put her under a spotlight.

  A long table was waiting for us in the back, and our immediate family had been seated there. There were two chairs for us in the middle, and a waiter was quick to serve us drinks. Pat had no doubt told them what beer I wanted, and someone had made sure Emilia had a soda and a vodka cranberry ready for her.

  “What happened to us riding in the limo with you guys?” Alec had to raise his voice from his seat a few feet down my side of the table.

  “My bad, I guess we forgot you,” I replied.

  He shook his fist at me, and I wiped away a fake tear.

  I’d been in charge of hiring a DJ because one, weddings bands generally consisted of shitty musicians, and two, I didn’t want a bunch of teen pop songs played at my wedding. Music was a language, and when my words failed, there was always a legend somewhere who could let Emilia know what was on my mind. Said DJ had set up his shit next to the stage to the right, and as the waitstaff began serving entrees, he played songs I’d approved of. On low volume ’cause my mother…she was the spokesperson for the senior citizens who wanted to eat without shouting across the table to be heard.

  The stage was prepared for later. A baby grand stood there, along with a chair for Alec and his guitar case and violin case.

  “Hey. You’re quiet.” Emilia leaned close and kissed my cheek.

  “I’m perfectly content.” I kissed her nose and sat back with my beer. “And hungrier than a kid in Africa.”

  “Finnegan!” She was already startin
g, and I could only laugh. “That was in poor taste.”

  I winked and chugged my beer.

  Dinner was delicious and drawn out by speeches and toasts, and not the funny kind of toasts. I ate two servings of a fancy lamb dish and half of Emilia’s seared salmon while I listened to associates and ass-kissers deliver blessings and welcome Emilia to the family.

  John went on for almost seven minutes about the importance of family and how he couldn’t wait for all the christenings to come.

  “I’m so stuffed.” Emilia clutched her stomach and blew out a breath.

  “You barely ate anything, midget.”

  “Dude, feel how tight this bodice is.”

  “I would love to feel how tight your body is.” I grinned.

  She did her cute girl thing where I got a slap on my arm and she gigglesnorted and shook her head. “Bodice.”

  “Body.” I dipped down and nuzzled her jaw, taking a playful bite.

  Great time to get interrupted by the wedding photographer who not only wanted to capture the best moments but obviously break them up too.

  “Can I help you, mate?” I stared at him.

  He could consider himself lucky that my mother chose that moment to clink her glass.

  Someone was quick to hand her the microphone.

  “Can I have everyone’s attention?” She turned to Emilia and me with a warm smile. “My husband and my youngest son—I’m very sorry, Patrick—were born with romance in their hearts.” I smiled and clapped Patrick on the back. He scoffed. “Whether they speak through music or words, they always know what to say—and when to strike.” She paused and raised her glass at my brother. “As for my sweet Patrick, I’m sure he’s got something grand planned for his speech, for which his brother will want to throttle him.” Chuckles traveled through the ballroom. “That’s how it goes in our family. The boys are up to no good, and I keep them in line.”

  I smirked as the women around us applauded. Emilia snickered and hugged my bicep, her chin landing on my shoulder.

  “Emilia has finally joined us to help me with that,” Ma went on. “Someone have mercy on you heathens because we won’t.” Fuck, I loved that woman. “Keeping them in line sometimes includes telling them to go where the sun doesn’t shine, but for now, my darling Finn, I’m only telling you to lead Emilia to the floor for your first dance as husband and wife.”

  That, I could do.

  I removed my napkin from my lap and tossed it on the table, then left my seat to make Emilia blush again. I bowed and extended my hand to her.

  “You’re all freaking sorcerers,” she whispered and took my hand. It wasn’t the first time she’d told me that, and I prayed for a lifetime of having that effect on her. God knew she had it on me.

  The lights dimmed in the ballroom, except for a few spotlights on the dance floor, and the first notes of the song I’d picked for this filled the air. Eric Clapton knew a thing or two about how to tell someone how wonderful they looked.

  Once on the dance floor, I gave Emilia a soft spin before pulling her close to my body.

  “Hey, wife.” I pressed my forehead to hers and kissed her smile.

  “Hi, husband.”

  I parted my lips to respond, only to realize there was nothing else to say. We would get one song before family cut in for an hour of dancing, and I wanted to enjoy it. The cake hadn’t been wheeled in yet, and I was ready to take Emilia home.

  If I’d known this beforehand, I wouldn’t have made plans to crank up the party later on, ’cause I wasn’t sure we’d still be here.

  “What’re you thinking?” she asked softly.

  “That I have this whole playlist that was gonna turn this place into the third class on the Titanic, but I’m ready to steal you away.”

  She laughed under her breath, and I gave her another twirl.

  “I hope you mean that the Irish know how to party and not so much about the iceberg that crashed said party.”

  “Yeah, that part kinda killed the mood,” I chuckled.

  She hummed and dropped her forehead to my sternum. “I’d make room for you on that door raft thing.”

  See? We were meant to be.

  “I bet you wouldn’t be stupid and drop the diamond in the ocean either,” I murmured.

  “Jesus Christ, no. I mean, who does that?”

  I cracked a grin and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  We danced the rest of the song in silence, and I grew more determined to sneak her out of here early. Two more hours, tops. Then she’d be mine for the next thirty-six hours.

  As the song drew to a close, Pop appeared with a hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t shoot.” He offered a smirk.

  I laughed through my nose and reluctantly let him cut in. “Holler if you need to be rescued, princess. I’ll come running.”

  My mother was on her way over too, but before she talked my ear off during our dance, I needed a status report. Pat was the closest, so I walked over to our table in lieu of finishing my beer, and I asked him if everything was good.

  “It is now,” he replied with a nod. “Someone was lurking around the delivery bay, but he’s gone.”

  “Hm.” I guess I needed to drain my beer, after all.

  “We’ve got this covered, little brother. Enjoy your wedding.”

  I nodded with a dip of my chin, unsatisfied, but there wasn’t much I could do about it right now. “Ask your girl to dance.” Walking toward the end of the table, I joined up with my mother and gave her a twirl too. They always made her smile widely.

  “Sweet Finn.” The woman was already getting emotional—or maybe I should say, again. “Did you pick this song?”

  “Of course I did.” I smiled down at her, leading her closer to the middle of the floor where Pop and Emilia were dancing. He was making her laugh at something. I refocused on my mother and the Etta James tune that was playing. “You and Pop danced to it at your wedding.”

  She sighed contentedly. “We did a good job with you—for the most part.”

  “A fantastic job.”

  “Let’s not push it, dear. You’re still as mad as a ditch and a bit of a dick.” She patted my chest, and I snorted a laugh.

  “My mother, everyone.” I shook my head, chuckling. “Eh, you know what they say. Rather a dick like me than thick like Pat.”

  She smacked me upside the head, and that was how easily we had people’s attention. “Don’t you call your brother an idiot, boy. He’s just…comfortable.”

  I literally had to bite down on my lip to keep from guffawing. Comfortable. Yeah, that was one way of putting it—although he’d been doing a hell of a lot better lately.

  “Whatever, I’m your favorite.”

  She smirked wryly and adjusted my tie. “The trick to raising hellion sons is to make both children feel like they’re their mother’s favorite. In reality, the mother prays for the day they get married.”

  “One down then, eh?” I spun her around, causing her dress to flare out.

  She tittered a breathless laugh and supported herself on me. “One down, one to go,” she confirmed. “Don’t forget to let her come up for air tomorrow.”

  Yeah, there was no way I was going to discuss my sex life with my mother, so I merely nodded.

  “We’ll have brunch together on Monday before your flight,” she went on.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I wasn’t gonna win this one anyway. If I had my way, we’d be leaving tonight—or tomorrow. But I supposed I could suffer through brunch with the family before the honeymoon. “Will you get some cake boxed up for us before we head out tonight?”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” She smiled at the other couples who’d joined us on the floor by now. “Some leftovers too?”

  “Fuck, yeah.” I kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t come and say I’m not your favorite, Ma. Everyone knows it.”

  She shook her head at me, mirth swimming in her eyes. “You’re certainly something, Finn.”

  Aye, her favo
rite.

  Emilia and I got to cut the cake with everyone watching, and I didn’t ruin her dress; I only smeared some frosting across her cheek. She, on the other hand, got cake on my suit jacket, so I lost it somewhere. Just as well. After dessert, there’d be more dancing, and Alec and I were playing for Emilia.

  The spotlight was hot, and my twelve-year-old cub was sampling the champagne. He’d shed both his jacket and vest at this point, and his cheeks were rosy.

  Before our little gig, I was shoveling cake and coffee into my mouth, and waiters left trays of pastries and liqueurs on our table that had to be tested too.

  “If you eat any more than that, you won’t make it to the stage, hon.” Emilia was having fun watching us guys eat.

  “Ye of little faith.” I patted her on the head and bit into a cannoli.

  “You gotta try this one.” Kellan pushed another tray of something from his spot on the other side of Patrick. “The one with chocolate flakes.”

  He spoke my language. “Motherfuck, this is some good shit.”

  “Patrick, maybe you should slow down?” Sarah leaned forward, eyeing Pat as if he was gonna explode. Not an entirely wrong presumption.

  “In a minute, babe.” He had to try the chocolate flake pastry too. “One more, and then I’m gonna give my toast.”

  “I mean, she’s not completely out there,” I reasoned. “Sarah’s the one who’s gotta deal with your lactose intolerance.”

  “Oh my God.” Emilia cracked up. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” Sarah groaned. “He always forgets to take his pills.”

  “Shite,” my brother said. “I knew I’d forgotten something.”

  I slipped Sarah a couple of those small bottles of vodka. They couldn’t hurt.

  “Okay, I’m ready.” Patrick wiped his mouth on a napkin and stood up with his glass of untouched champagne. “Someone gimme a—cheers.” I’d handed him my spoon, ’cause I was a good little brother.

  While he started clinking his glass, Emilia scooted closer to me, and I put my arm around her shoulders.

  “Oi!” he yelled. “If I clink my glass any harder, it’s gonna fuckin’ break!”