Page 32 of On The Rocks

Glancing at Donovan, I nodded. “Just tellin’ Paddy what went down with Maeve this morning.”

“Right,” Donny drawled.

Paddy had the nerve to look affronted. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Hope so,” my bro muttered. “Would hate to start a family feud because your girls are being disrespectful. Our mam won’t like that shit, she thinks the world of Maeve, and we know how Ma can get feisty.”

Paddy tipped his head back, muttering, “God help us all. Fucking women will be the death of me.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to agree with him, seeing as the ones he’d raised were spoiled brats and his wife behaved like a stuck-up witch, but I reckoned I’d already pushed my luck enough for one day. Telling the head of the Irish Mafia—related or not—that he wasn’t effectively handling the women in his life crossed a line I was already skating close to. I’d gotten my point across; I didn’t need to flog a dead horse, especially as the dead horse in question would be me if I carried on.

Murmurs came from the tiny congregation, and the first strains of music filled the church.

I looked up expectantly, and my head whipped toward the door to see Aislynn giving me the thumbs-up as she disappeared outside.

I breathed a discreet sigh of relief.

Maeve was here.

Paddy clapped his hands and rubbed them together gleefully. “Right. Let’s do this.”

He turned for the pew, his stare resting on Orla, who looked decidedly uncomfortable. “No disappearing after the service,Dear. We need a chat.”

Shannon giggled loudly, letting out a loud “Ouch” as Erin elbowed her in the ribs.

“Shut your mouths,” Patrick snapped with a thread of warning in his tone that would’ve made a grown man’s balls shrivel up.

Shannon’s face burned with anger, but she obeyed, albeit huffily.

Light suddenly shone from the back of the church, and I caught a glimpse of Ash. Then Tadhg stepped forward and dipped his head to talk to the woman by his side.

Swathes of white lace ruffles caught my eye. My gaze fell upon Maeve, and my heart plummeted.

Jesus fuck.

Maeve really did look fucking awful.

I detested myself for even thinking it because who fucking did that? Who looked at his bride walking down the aisle and had to stop himself from recoiling?

Her dress was old-fashioned, verging on the ridiculous. It had a high neck where a scrap of lace looked as if it was choking her. Cheap netted material covered her chest, with ruffles on either side going from shoulder to waist in a V shape reminiscent of something Michael Jackson wore in his “Thriller” video.

The godawful dress didn’t even fit her. It hung baggy at the shoulders, pulled tight across her tits, then pulled baggy at the waist again. Orla must have taken Maeve’s measurements and told the seamstress to completely goddamned ignore them.

I wasn’t a fashionista by any stretch of the imagination. Still, even I could see that dress was a fucking eyesore.

The closer Maeve approached the aisle, the louder the murmurs became.

A few titters went up from a group of older women who sat in the second row, mingling with the loud coughs filling the air as a couple of young guys I didn’t recognize tried to disguise their laughter.

Maeve looked completely stricken. Her cheeks burned with humiliation, and I had to consciously stop myself from stomping over to the assholes and not rip their throats out.

“Easy, tiger,” Donovan muttered. “They’ll keep. Think of Maeve; she’s probably embarrassed enough without you starting a fight in the fucking church.”

My eyes met hers and held before I jerked my head high, a silent command for her to do the same.

She furiously blinked, no doubt trying to stop her tears from coursing down her face. Still, she tipped up her chin and glided toward me, her movements graceful while her watery gaze remained fixated on mine.

My hand reached for hers, automatically splaying our fingers together, and I whispered, “Ignore them.”

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