by Penny Reid
Frowning slightly, I leaned forward in my seat to give Annie’s shoulder a small squeeze. “If it’s any consolation, I think Annie’s right. You can’t just invite everyone and not him, Ronan.”
He shook his head. “Am I the only one who remembers how much of an arsehole he was last year? That he tried to get me booted from the Union?”
“Sean Cassidy?” Broderick sent me a searching glance and I gave my head a quick shake, my heart thundering with panic lest Broderick say something to my brother about Sean being in New Hampshire. Thankfully, my friend seemed to get the message.
“You should be thanking him,” Annie chimed in. “Look how well everything turned out, and he was the catalyst.”
My brother scowled at his fiancée but it soon turned into a smile. “You have a point there . . .”
Seeing Ronan’s shift in mood, I pressed, “Plus, maybe he’s sorry. Maybe he wants to mend fences. You should give him a chance. I don’t think he’s as bad as everyone makes out.”
Ronan locked eyes with me in the rear-view mirror. “Oh, believe me, he is. You’re too soft-hearted with people, Luce. You’re always giving them the benefit of the doubt, but you don’t know Sean Cassidy as well as I do.”
“What if I do?” I blurted without thinking. Broderick widened his eyes at me all, you’re going to tell him here? Ronan narrowed his gaze.
“What do you mean?” he said slowly, suspiciously, and I wished I could take it back.
I scratched feverishly at my wrist. “Well . . . I sort of do know him. We went out for dinner once.” Technically, it was the truth. The first time I’d had a proper conversation with Sean was when he took me out for dinner at Marco Pierre’s.
Ronan abruptly pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder as Annie put her hand to her chest at the suddenness. “Ronan, what are you doing?”
He completely ignored her as he twisted in his seat, his expression a mixture of anger and disbelief. “You, my sister, Lucy Fitzpatrick, went out for dinner with Sean Cassidy? Is this an April Fool?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “It isn’t April.”
“Stop avoiding the question.”
“It was ages ago,” I shrugged.
“That doesn’t make it any better,” Ronan barked and every single person in the car jumped in fright. He looked at Annie. “First you and now my sister. Is everyone blind to Cassidy’s true nature but me?”
“You’re not my keeper. I can have dinner with whoever I like,” I whispered.
He shook his head, his thoughts obviously a churning mess. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Have you no loyalty?”
His question made me feel awful, and my eyes grew watery as I folded my arms across my chest. Maybe Ronan was right. Maybe I was a horrible sister with no loyalty. And maybe it was for the best that I never told him all that had transpired, all that was still transpiring between Sean and me, because I was certain it would irrevocably change our relationship. And I needed my brother. He and Annie were the only real family I had.
Annie took Ronan’s hand in hers in an effort to calm him. “You heard her, Ronan. It was ages ago. There’s no sense getting all worked up about it. You’re being a bully.”
“I’m not . . . ” He paused and rubbed at his jaw. “I’m not a bully. I’m just angry.”
“Yes, and we’ve talked about this before. Anger is counter-productive. If you’re upset with Lucy, tell her, but don’t yell at her like she’s a misbehaving child.”
And just like that, the sweet and shy Annie had gotten through to him. His anger deflated and he cast me a guilty look.
“I’m sorry for shouting at you.”
I only nodded, my voice failing me for a moment. I sat in my seat, quiet as a mouse, with Broderick shooting me concerned looks. He was the only one who knew it wasn’t just ages ago, and that things between Sean and me were far from over.
But how could I tell my brother that after how he reacted to us having one dinner together? He’d probably disown me. Fear had me wrapping the secret up tighter than ever before, determined for him never to find out.
Ronan exhaled and gave me one final glance, before putting the car in gear. I swallowed what felt like a lump in my throat, my mind a whirl of worries. Annie muttered something in Ronan’s ear that seemed to calm him further, and I saw the tension leave his body.
Watching them together, I was struck by how grateful I was for Annie, for how happy she made my brother, and how she could ground him with nothing but a few softly spoken words. Ronan had found someone who understood him, who cherished him, who wanted him just as he was. A foreign sensation struck me and I rubbed at my chest. It took me a minute to recognize what it was—longing.
***
When we arrived at the house, I swiftly made my way to my room to do some much-needed yoga. Calm was vital to me right then. I needed to sort out my feelings before I came face-to-face with Sean, which I now knew was inevitable since he’d been invited to the wedding.
Broderick had never been to Ireland before, so I promised to give him the grand tour that afternoon. Unfortunately, my mam showed up and insisted we all go out—meaning, we all be seen—for lunch at her super swanky club. Afterward she wanted Annie and me to go lingerie shopping with her.
The horror!
I was able to beg off by claiming plans with Broderick. As such, we spent that evening and the next morning wandering about the city, checking the sights and whatnot. To his credit, he didn’t bring up Sean at all. Broderick was both wonderful and infuriating in that he never pushed me for more than I was willing to share.
Time flew by and soon it was time to head back and get ready for the evening ahead, i.e. Annie’s hen party.
A couple of the rugby WAGS (wives and girlfriends) whom Annie had befriended over the last few months were already there, alongside my mother, who was happily chatting amongst them. I’d invited a few friends, too, mostly to make sure the whole thing wouldn’t be a massive rugby fest.
When everyone had arrived, it was a little funny to see my kooky gaggle of girlfriends mixed in with the uber-stylish fashionista WAGS. Cara was a Goth lesbian with a mohawk and undercut, Hannah a hipster librarian with ironic ’80s glasses, and Veronica an ethereal hippie with hair down to her backside, who only bought her clothes from charity shops.
When I came downstairs carrying the Where’s Wally costumes, several of the WAGS immediately turned their noses up, my mother included. Not all the WAGS were intolerable, but one in particular, Orla Flanagan, wife to the fullback Gary Flanagan, couldn’t help voicing her opinion.
“Didn’t you get my email about having some figure-hugging jerseys made with our other half’s names on the back? I thought that would’ve been really cute.”
Making brief eye contact with Cara, we each exchanged cynical expressions. “I’m sorry, but tonight is a man-free zone. Besides, not all of us are lucky enough to have a rugby-playing beau in our lives,” I said, trying to keep my tone friendly.
Orla shot another of the WAGS a smug smile as she brought the champagne flute to her mouth. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
When I glanced at Annie sitting on the other side of the kitchen, she sent me a look of apology, but I shrugged it off. Being Ronan’s sister, I’d gotten used to women like these years ago. They weren’t all bad; some were rather nice, actually. But the ones who embraced the stereotype weren’t exactly my favorite people.
“Did you all bring a pair of comfortable shoes?” I asked, glancing around the room and spotting a few too many Louboutins. “You know we’re going on a Pedibus, right?”
“Yes, we all brought flats in our bags,” said Orla. “Though I don’t know why you insist on us going on that bicycle thing. We’ll be horrible and sweaty by the time we’re done.”
“That’s the whole point. A hen party is about having a laugh, not strutting about looking like you just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.”
Orla arched a brow as she looked me up and
down. “Maybe not for you.”
I bit my tongue as I turned away from her, knowing later on I’d be grateful for the simple jeans, T-shirt, and Converse I’d decided to wear. Placing my hand momentarily to my chest, I felt a strange sort of comfort as I felt Sean’s pendent resting beneath my top.
I handed out the stripy jumpers, hats, and fake glasses, and after Annie exclaimed her delight at the silly costumes, the rest of the ladies soon put their prejudices aside and joined in on the fun.
The Pedibus was sort of like a tandem bike, except it was more of an open-air tram with a table in the middle. We all had to cycle to keep the thing moving, with a driver at the front to steer us in the right direction around the city. We got a ton of honks and shouts of approval and I was delighted to see Annie was having a blast.
Broderick was wedged in between two WAGS, but he seemed happy enough to chat with them. That was kind of what I loved about him, no matter the environment, he’d always find some way to ingratiate himself.
I almost lost my footing on the pedals for a second when I felt my phone vibrate inside my jeans. Pulling it out to check the message, I found it was from Sean.
Sean: Half the boys are already loaded and it’s only six. Although there’s supposed to be a stripper arriving soon so things could be looking up. Literally ;-) How’s your evening going?
This was the first time he’d texted me since his odd message about Ronan yesterday. I felt an unexpected pang of annoyance and jealousy at the idea of him ogling some booblicious stripper, but was happy to hear from him no matter the context.
Lucy: Great, aside from Orla Flanagan kicking up a fuss about my plans for the night. She wanted the girls to wear jerseys with their other half’s names on the back. Kill me now.
Sean: Well, you could’ve worn mine ;-)
Lucy: Ha! That wouldn’t create a shitstorm of unnecessary drama at all.
Sean: I dunno. I kinda like the idea of you wearing my jersey…and nothing else.
Lucy: Why am I not surprised?
Sean: Because you like the idea, too.
Sean: Come to my place later.
I inhaled, momentarily flustered as to how to respond. In the end I went with an easy excuse to be noncommittal.
Lucy: I don’t know your address.
Sean: I’ll text it to you.
Lucy: Let me think about it. I’m not sure what time we’re finishing up. It could be really late.
Sean: I don’t care how late it is.
Annie elbowed me in the side, distracting me from the message. I startled slightly before tucking the phone back in my pocket.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“Fine and dandy. You enjoying yourself?”
“I’m having a great time. Plus, I’ll feel so much better about gorging on sushi later since I’ve earned it with all this exercise.” She paused to lower her voice. “Your mom has already been warning me about the dangers of not fitting into my dress on the day of the wedding.”
I leveled her with a serious look, making sure to lower my voice as well since Mam was sitting just a few seats away. “Never listen to my mother. If she had her way we’d all be going around looking emaciated.”
Annie barked a laugh. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of giving up my beloved pastime of eating. It’s a good thing your brother likes the curvy gals.” Now she gave me a sassy wink.
“Please, no talk of Ronan’s sexual preferences in front of me. I don’t want to vomit up the champagne I drank back at the house.”
“Believe me, there’s absolutely nothing barf-worthy about your brother and sex, absolutely nothing.”
She was doing it on purpose now. I held my hands over my ears. “Yes, yes, we all know how happy you are in the bedroom. Just keep the details to yourself, please.”
Annie laughed loudly. “You’re too easy sometimes.”
When we arrived at the restaurant, I was delighted that the cycling had made the WAGS hungry for carbs, so I wouldn’t have to sit through them all ordering salad with no dressing. Mam had wrangled her way into a chair beside Rick and was being a little too flirtatious for my liking. My friend seemed vaguely bewildered by her attention, and since I knew (but wished I didn’t) that my mother had developed a taste for boy toys in recent years, I cast her a sharp, disapproving glance that said, please don’t.
She pretended she hadn’t seen, the wagon.
A waiter went around the table, pouring glasses of sake as we all perused the menu. After we’d eaten our fill it was time for karaoke, which I adored even though I didn’t have a note in my head. I managed to lure Annie up onto the stage so we could sing “Talk Dirty” by Jason Derulo, which was just hilarious since she blushed through the whole thing.
Rick shook his head at my corny choice of song but I just stuck my tongue out at him, the big music snob. Besides, I knew he found it funny because I could see him trying not to laugh.
Orla, drunk on sake, stood on her chair and filmed us on her phone. I knew the video would probably find its way onto Facebook but I was having too much fun to care.
When it was time to pay the bill, I had Ronan’s credit card at the ready while the ladies put on their coats to move on to the next venue in Temple Bar. I slid my arm through Annie’s and we chatted about her jitters for the big day. It was as we were wandering down the cobbled streets that I heard a few recognizable hoots and laughter.
We’d crossed paths with the stag party.
Tom, having come home to be Ronan’s best man, had been the one to organize it, but I thought they’d go someplace boring, like the rugby clubhouse or an old codger’s pub. Before I knew what to think about this unexpected turn of events, the hens had mixed in with the stags, everybody drunk as a skunk, and I knew there’d be no separating them.
“Annie dearest,” came Ronan’s voice as he extracted Annie’s arm from mine and folded her into his embrace. She protested at first but then started giggling, and before long, the two were canoodling like a pair of lovesick teenagers.
I would have been grossed out if I hadn’t been a mess of anticipation and nerves, unconsciously searching the horde of muscular rugby players for one in particular.
In the end, I felt him before I saw him. I felt his familiar presence and when I looked up I found Sean standing a couple feet away, leaning against the outside wall of the pub, his gaze on me.
I shivered, unable to tear my eyes away, hungry for the sight of him.
He smirked, his eyes traveling over my silly outfit.
I scowled—mostly for self-preservation, because God forbid I be caught dreamily staring at my brother’s nemesis—and glanced around to make sure nobody was looking as I mouthed, what?
He just kept on grinning like he couldn’t get enough of the sight of me. My chest felt airy with anticipation and I was barely able to meet his gaze as it transformed from amused to intense.
With that single look I knew, regardless of my best intentions and weeks of espousing the benefits of distance, Sean and I were far from over.
Chapter Seventeen
@SeanCassinova Throw me a goddamn parade.
@THEBryanLeech to @SeanCassinova You mean a pity party?
@SeanCassinova to @THEBryanLeech Go fuck yourself.
@THEBryanLeech to @SeanCassinova Too late :-D
*Sean*
“That’s a bad idea,” Bryan said, standing next to me, a lurking pariah. Clearly, he’d noticed the mutual eye ogling between Lucy and me.
I responded without sparing my teammate a glance. “If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it.” I hadn’t seen Lucy in weeks, and was hungry for the sight of her. I wasn’t craving goody-goody censure from our team’s bad egg.
Well . . . the other bad egg.
“First his girlfriend, now his sister? Tsk,” Bryan tut-tutted, though his tut-tutting was slurred and sloppy. “Why don’t you lay off, eh? It’s his feckin’ wedding. Give him a bloody break, ferchissakes.”
Most of our team
mates were pissed—some more than others—yet I wasn’t even buzzed. I’d made a conscious decision to maintain my sobriety. I’d meant it when I’d texted Lucy that I didn’t want to make things hard for her with her brother. If I’d drunk to excess then I was liable to do just that.
I’d lost count of the number of times I’d nearly announced my intentions to claim Lucy as my own. But I hadn’t, not yet. Instead, I’d bitten my tongue or excused myself.
Basically, I’d been a saint.
“Not everything is about Mother Fitzpatrick,” I mumbled, though I hadn’t yet looked away from Lucy. But then she hadn’t yet looked away from me. An enchanting smile still lingered on her lips and behind her eyes.
Christ, I’d missed her. The last month had been the longest of my life.
Aside from the first two weeks after my departure, we’d texted every day but she’d never sent a picture of herself, always memes or shots of arseholes coming on to her, purposefully misspelling her name on coffee cups. I’d missed seeing her. I’d almost asked her to send a picture, but she’d drawn a line before I left. A line I didn’t know how to cross without storming over it and begging her on my hands and knees to give this—us—a chance.
In other words, I didn’t know how not to be a fool with Lucy Fitzpatrick. And oddly, I didn’t care.
Nevertheless, I had no pictures of her or of us together, a sad fact I planned on remedying as soon as possible.
“You’re a fecking eejit.” Bryan chuckled, forcefully pushing my shoulder.
“Am I?”
He didn’t respond at once and I sensed his inebriated attention shift away from me, several seconds passing before he admitted, “She’s hot.”
“She’s beautiful.” My declaration a pointed contradiction to his underwhelming assessment.
Bryan nodded, presumably now inspecting Lucy with a critical eye. “Pretty in an odd, freaky sort of way.”
My frown was immediate, hating his description, but I maintained my hold on Lucy’s gaze.