Page 11 of Stolen Mafia Vows
“That makes me the luckiest man alive.”
My smile grows even wider. “No one has ever said anything like that to me before.” I’ve never wanted anyone to say anything like that to me before.
“You’d better get used to it,mo chroi. My heart.”
Did he just speak Gaelic to me? A shiver runs right through me, and it feels as if every nerve ending in my body is on fire. “Say that again.”
“Mo chroi. I will never let you forget how fucking beautiful you are, Emily, and that’s a promise.”
“It’s the wedding tomorrow.” I instinctively glance at the door and drag the sheet over my body to cover my nakedness.
Eoghan doesn’t miss a thing. “Move the sheet, Emily. I want to see all of you.”
Smiling, I kick it off the bed and hold the phone in the air so that he can see more of me. I watch his eyes roaming my body, and any self-consciousness I might once have felt evaporates. Then, he hooks a finger at the screen to let me know that he wants to come closer, and I oblige.
“Don’t touch yourself tomorrow, Emily. I want you just as you are when you come to me. Because, to me, you are fucking perfect right now.”
I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak.
“Oiche mhaith, Emily. Goodnight.”
“Oiche mhaith,” I repeat, the words sounding clumsy in my American accent.
Kyle and Sienna’s wedding is like something from a fairy tale.
A female celebrant talks them through the ceremony which is all about loving and cherishing each other, and I can’t help picturing me standing beneath the flower-covered archway gazing into Eoghan’s eyes.
It’s crazy, I know. I only spent an hour in his company at the airport. I know nothing about him. But at the same time, it feels as if I know all there is to know about Eoghan Byrne.
He makes me feel like a princess, like I could do nothing wrong in his eyes, like no matter what I do or say, I will never be anything less than perfect. And this electric knowledge is like waking up one morning and discovering my superpower.
Because, to me, you are fucking perfect.
I feel guilty when the ceremony is over and my mom nudges me in the ribs with her elbow, reminding me that it’s time to throw the confetti.
I go through the motions, my face heated, my head spinning with images of Eoghan watching me last night while I made myself come. How has this happened? How have I morphed overnight from a college student into a woman aware of the fabric of my panties rubbing against my pussy every time I move?
Back at the house following the ceremony, the day descends into sweet, noisy chaos the way it always does when we have something to celebrate. The champagne flows. The food is exquisite. The music is so popular that no one sits down for longer than five minutes to catch their breath.
My brothers get louder and more raucous when they are drunk. Victoria dances so hard and with such energy that she flops into a seat, her hair sticking to her sweaty face. Mom talks more. I’ve never seen my mom drunk, and my dad jokesthat it’s because her liver is ninety percent alcohol. My dad wanders around with a glass of his favorite brandy in his hand, his eyes glittering with pride at his beautiful family. He has always been more than a stepdad to my brothers; when he met my mom, he became their dad too, and it shows.
I deliberately linger in that fuzzy early stage of drinking enough champagne to tint the world rosy, but not so much that it feels as if I’m on an airplane that hit some turbulence.
I’ve left my cell phone in my room—Mom’s orders—but I still wonder if I’ve received any messages from Eoghan. He’s like a drug. Addictive, powerful, all-consuming.
“Are you having fun?” Sienna strokes my hair away from my face.
I didn’t hear her sneak up on me. Victoria is trying to teach Abigail and my brothers the ‘Thriller’ dance, and her niece is the only one who seems to have any brain-limb coordination left. Sienna isn’t drinking either, for obvious reasons.
“Yes.” I smile and give her shoulders a squeeze. “Today has been … perfect.”
Sienna’s smile is a little slower, as though she has to think about what she wants to convey before it appears. “Does the gleam in your eye have anything to do with a certain red-haired guy that you met at the airport?”
“Oh my God, is it that noticeable?”
She tips her head back and laughs. “Only to those of us who are still sober.”
My gaze instinctively seeks out my dad who is standing just outside the open doorway of the conservatory, blowing cigar smoke into the starry sky.
