Page 41 of Keep Me In Your Heart

After hurriedly getting dressed, I jog down the stairs. Heading straight out the door to the field behind the house, I greet the ladies, who are all sitting around a table with cups of tea in front of them.

Except for Sylvie, who’s sipping what I assume is her third cup of coffee. She glances up at me over the steaming liquid. Before jogging out to meet the guys, I hesitate.

I’m supposed to treat her like my wife, aren’t I? What would a husband do in this scenario? I imagine Greg or Nick would kiss their ladies. Sylvie’s eyes narrow at me over her cup as I hesitantly make my way over.

“Mornin,” I mutter as I press my lips against her forehead. The other women at the table ooh and aah over the gesture, but Sylvie barely reacts. With a cold expression, she softly mumbles, “Morning.”

“All right, two on two!” Liam bellows from the stairs of the veranda. “Let’s go, old man.”

He tosses the rugby ball at me with force, and I catch it against my stomach. It nearly knocks the wind out of me, but I keep my smile.

Before he and I rush off to the field with the other guys, I notice the way his gaze lingers on Sylvie.

My idea from earlier resurfaces.

If I could get Sylvie to sleep with Liam, it would clear my conscience for the rest of our marriage. He’s a good-looking guy. Built, tall, rugged. He has more of a clean-cut look without the beard, and he makes a lot of money. I know that’s important to her.

The four of us play a slow and painful match of rugby, all putting in far more effort than we have at our ages. Nick takes a hit that he almost doesn’t get up from, which we all tease him about since he’s the oldest by four years. The ladies come out and cheer us on a bit, taking pics and laughing at us as we fall over.

It’s nothing like it used to be when we played in uni nearly fifteen years ago. But it’s fun.

Not once in the past decade have I thought about what I was missing—until now.

After an hour, we are all sweaty, muddy, and starving. Angus ambushes Claire with a disgusting hug, making her squeal as he wraps his arms around her. Sylvie gives me a pointed glare.

“Don’t you dare,” she mutters. I laugh, wanting to hug her just to piss her off now.

I choose not to and walk beside her instead.

Liam strides beside me. “So, Sylvie. You’re not taking this big Scotsman to America, are you?”

She glances up, first at me and then at him. “No,” she replies, shaking her head. “I’m not going back.”

“Ever?” he asks.

She gives him a shrug. “I don’t have much reason to. My parents and I don’t get along well, and I like it here.”

“I read something about your parents,” Claire says from behind us. When we all turn, she gives us a sheepish grin. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing that up, but I saw it online when Killian’s family made the announcement. That your parents are famous artists or something.”

My gaze darts toward my wife, waiting for her reaction as the entire group meets the gray stone steps of the house. My sister mentioned something about Sylvie’s parents being artists, but I never gave it a second thought. I didn’t care much, and technically, I still don’t. It’s just curiosity.

Sylvie smiles at Claire. “It’s okay. They are pretty famous in the art world. They have paintings in museums all over the globe.”

“But you don’t get along with them?” Angus asks.

Softly, she shakes her head. “No. They’re just…fucking assholes.”

This makes the group laugh, but my mouth doesn’t move toward a smile.

Sylvie has been calling me an arsehole since she arrived, and I’ll admit…Iaman arsehole—to her. Are they? What could they have done to warrant that sort of reaction?

“Well, you turned out all right,” Liam says with a wink. She gives him a soft smile.

That’s a good sign.

“Let’s get inside and get cleaned up,” I reply, breaking up the moment.

Once in the house, we all scatter in different directions. I jog toward my room while the rest of them move toward the guest rooms, which are mostly on the third floor. After taking a quick shower, I step out of the bathroom and dress in a rush. My growling stomach has me hurrying. Whatever Martha made for lunch smells delicious all the way up here.

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