Page 132 of Twist of Fate
“I feel bad wishing for it when it means—” Her eyes shift from mine to Niall.
“We get it,” he says gently. “It’s not ideal. but we’ll be all right. No matter what. We all agreed that no matter the outcome, we’re solid. Friends come first.”
Shea grabs my hand, and I take Niall’s. “Wait for Kent?” We both nod. Damien is running late. Otherwise, he would definitely be here, stressing over his job, too. He recently popped the question to Erin, an Irish citizen, so unlike me, no worries about being kicked out of the country.
Speaking of marriage…
I scan the crowd until I find the person I’m looking for. “You ready for this?”
Shea’s eyes widen as her gaze follows mine. “No. I mean, yes.” And then she nods firmly. “Yes.”
Niall and I both laugh. “You sure?” he asks.
Her eyes soften, and she smiles. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“That’s our girl.” His eyes light up as I turn to see where he’s looking. “And look, Damien just arrived, so you better go for it before she notices your parents in the crowd.”
Shea’s happy, dopey expression turns green. “Oh, god. You want me to do it now? Like, right now?”
“When exactly were you shooting for?”
“I don’t know—” She pauses before blurting out. “What about Finn? Finn isn’t here! I can’t do anything without my best friend, Finn.”
“First of all—rude.” I tilt my head in amusement. Seeing her squirm is all sorts of fun. “I thought we were your best friends.”
“Eh.” She snickers.
“Second, Finn is running late.” I hope she doesn’t detect the lie, because I really don’t want to talk about it. I force a fake smile, and she seems to buy it.
“Okay, fine.” She feigns annoyance. “I’ll do it. I’ll go propose to my girlfriend. But only because you guys asked.”
“Thanks,” Niall replies dryly. “We owe you one?”
“Okay, but first,” she says, her nerves kicked into high gear. “I need another beer.”
Oh, boy.
THIRTY-FIVE
Finn
PRESENT
It’s been too long since I’ve been home.
I realize this the second I walk into my parents’ grand estate and see my mother walking down the grand staircase in an…evening gown?
What the fuck?
“Mam?” My voice is hoarse, and my eyes are probably bulging out of my head. I’m finding it hard to breathe because the last time I was here, her wardrobe consisted of tracksuits and robes.
Now, her hair is gathered in a graceful bun. Wisps of gray and silver are still woven into the natural brown, but it seems to suit her. The harsh blond she once had in my youth now seems garish in comparison to this softer new style.
“You look?—”
She lets out a lyrical laugh as she takes the last few steps to greet me in the foyer. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her tone even and her voice clear.
She’s sober.
