Page 90 of King of the Cage

Keiran shook his head. “I might be an O’Connor, but I’m a doctor first, and I take those oaths seriously.”

“As you should, but that has fuck all to do with my wife,” Bran warned.

Keiran sighed, but his eyes lowered to the table and stayed there as he picked up his phone and shoved it into his pocket. It was clear who was retreating.

“I’ll be seeing you, Giada. Take care of yourself,” he added and glanced at Bran before stepping past him.

Bran reached out and stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You might be a doctor and an O’Connor man, but you’re my friend, first and foremost. Don’t forget that, Doc.” He gave a couple of slow, heavy pats on the shoulder and then pushed him away. “Off you go, you eejit.”

With that, Keiran headed to the door, and Bran swung into the booth right beside me.

“There’s a whole other side, you know,” I protested, pointing to the opposite side of the booth.

“I prefer this side,” he drawled.

“Well then, I’ll move—” I started but didn’t have a chance to finish.

Bran’s arm snaked around my waist and pulled me into his side. “Hush, woman. I’ve not had my coffee yet.”

“Here, you can have mine,” I said with faux sweetness and offered him my cup.

He narrowed his eyes at me but took the cup, putting it to his lips without glancing inside. He only took one sip, shuddering in disgust.

“Jesus, what is this? The Devil’s piss?”

“It’s decaf tea that Aoife forced on me, because ‘women who want to conceive shouldn’t have caffeine,’” I snapped.

Bran stiffened at that for a second and then laughed. A hearty, rumbling sound.

“How’s that funny?”

“We’ve only been wed a few hours, and she’s already picturing little O’Connors running around the pub, bless her.”

“So, you know that’s crazy, right?” I asked, vaguely relieved.

Bran nodded. “We need a month at least…”

I smacked Bran in the stomach with my elbow, and he only chuckled more.

“You know, when I’m toasting your demise at your funeral, I’ll think fondly of the time, only hours before, when you actually thought that my brother would let you live long enough to have kids.”

Bran nodded, still grinning.

Aoife appeared then, carrying plates laden with food. She struggled to hold the heavy plates, and Bran had stood and taken them from her before I could move.

“What is this?” I asked, being from the side of the world where coffee and a small pastry was the extent of breakfast. He placed the plates down on the table, while Aoife followed and patted him on the shoulder when he sat again.

“A full Irish. Enjoy. You need to eat to keep your strength up with this one.” She cast a look at Bran and left us to our ridiculous breakfast.

“We can’t be expected to eat all this, right?”

“How are you going to carry all those hearty, hale Irish babies if you don’t eat up?” Bran asked, already reaching for his fork.

I clenched my fist around the knife, and he tutted.

“No stabbing at breakfast. No stabbing at all before your brother kills me. I want an open casket, so you can give my corpse the finger one last time, for old times’ sake.”

Just then, my stomach growled in the loudest, most unladylike way. Bran smirked and held a piece of crispy bacon to my lips.

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