Page 9 of Shameless Royalty

At that, she stops in her tracks, whirling on me. “Nikolai? That little Russian gobshite?”

The laugh escapes before I can stop it. “You never liked him much, did you?”

She scowls. “He’s a cocky prick, and now he’s got my Cat tied to him with that baby. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Neither have I,” I admit, my smile fading. “But he’s here to help.”

“Oh, he’s here to help,” she says, throwing her hands up. “Well, isn’t that grand? Let’s just roll out the bloody welcome mat.”

“Ma,” I say, stepping forward. “It’s not about him. It’s about Cat. You know that.”

Her shoulders sag slightly, the fight draining out of her. “I know,” she mutters. “I know. I just… I can’t stand the thought of her bein’ hurt, Connor. Or worse.”

“She’s got your fire, Ma,” I say softly. “She’s not goin’ down without a fight.”

Her lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through. “You always did know how to talk your way out of trouble.”

“Must’ve got it from you,” I tease.

She snorts, grabbing her tumbler again and taking a long sip. “Don’t think flattery’s goin’ to stop me from worryin’. I’m your mother. It’s my bloody job.”

“I know,” I say, moving to stand beside her. “And I wouldn’t change it.”

We stand there for a moment, staring out the window at the garden. “You’re not just going for her, though,” she says suddenly, her voice quieter now.

I glance at her. “What do you mean?”

She turns to face me, her eyes searching mine as she puts down her tumbler again. “You’ve got that look in your eye. Same one your da gets when he’s got somethin’ to prove. You’re not just bringin’ her back—you’re trying to make up for somethin’.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words don’t come. She’s right, of course. Deirdre Cunningham always is.

“I let her down,” I admit finally. “I should’ve seen it comin’ and protected her better.”

Her hands come up, surprising me as she cups my face in them. “You listen to me, Connor James Cunningham. This isn’t your fault. None of it. You’ve been a good brother and a bloody good son.”

“Not good enough,” I mutter, looking away.

“Stop it,” she says firmly, giving my face a little shake. “You’ve done everythin’ you could. More than most. Now you’re doing the one thing that matters—bringin’ her home.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “I won’t fail.”

“I know you won’t,” she says, dropping her hand. “Because you’re my son, and we don’t fail. We fight. We win. And then we have a pint.”

I can’t help but laugh at that, the tension easing just a little. “You’ve got a way with words, Ma.”

“Damn right, I do,” she says, picking up her tumbler again. “Now, go. Your da’s probably pacin’ trenches in the carpet waitin’ for ya.”

I hesitate, glancing at her one last time. “I’ll bring her back. I swear it.”

She nods, her expression softening. “I know you will, love. Now get out of here before I start cryin’ and embarrass us both.”

With a small smile, I turn and head for the door, her voice calling after me as I go. “And Connor?”

“Yeah?” I pause, looking back.

“Tell that Russian gobshite if he so much as breathes wrong, I’ll gut him myself.”

I grin. “I’ll pass it along.”

---