Page 38 of Stolen Mafia Vows
We haven’t used the ‘love’ word yet. I don’t know how long we’ve been together—I stopped counting days when they started slipping through a time glitch and into an alternate reality—but it hasn’t been long. If all the social media influencers are to be believed, guys get scared if a girl mentions love too soon, and although I don’t live my life by all that bullshit, my subconscious has been telling me to dial it in until the time is right.
So, is this Eoghan proving the experts wrong?
“My heart, Emily. You must know how I feel about you.”
My heart is trying to escape right now, so I think I do.
“I love you, mo chroi. I knew it the moment I saw you; I’m only sorry it has taken me so long to get the words out there.”
Fuck the influencers. Every woman needs to hear this, and if guys don’t get it, they don’t deserve the woman sleeping next to them at night.
“Say something.” His eyes are stormy again like what he just said is going to have dire consequences.
I prod my cheeks; they’re aching from all the grinning I’m doing. “I love you too. I wanted to say it weeks ago, but…” It’s hard to take a deep enough breath to fill my lungs, and I’m feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen to my brain and too much wine. “But I didn’t want to scare you.”
His lips stretch into a wide smile. “You could never scare me, Emily.”
“Are you sure about that? You haven’t seen me ugly cry at a sad movie yet.”
He chuckles. “You couldn’t ugly cry if you tried.”
A comfortable silence settles itself around our shoulders.
“So, why do I need to trust you exactly?” I slant my eyes at him.
“You’ll see.”
The following day, we drive across Scotland to the borders.
We sing along to the popular songs being played on a local radio station, laughing when Eoghan tries to hit the high notes to ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’.
He doesn’t mention again the reason why he asked me to trust him. He doesn’t tell me where we’re going until I see the signs for Gretna Green. The name sounds familiar, unlike some of the other towns and villages that we’ve passed along the way. Thorthorwald, Ecclefechan, Mouswald. Names that I have no idea how to pronounce.
We pull off the motorway and drive into the town center, where it soon becomes apparent that this is a popular place for weddings.
Eoghan finds a parking lot outside the Blacksmith’s Shop and kills the engine.
“Why are we stopping here?” I study his face, but his expression is giving nothing away.
“No more questions.” He gets out of the car, and I follow him.
Peering all around as if trying to get his bearings, he places his hands on my shoulders and says, “I need to sort a few things, Emily. It shouldn’t take long.”
“What things?” I sound like a child being asked to wait outside a toy store while their parents go inside and play, and I don’t like the neediness in my voice.
“No.” He raises a warning finger. “You’ll find out soon enough. Meanwhile, I want you to make friends.”
A giggle rises into my throat. I soon realize that he isn’t messing around. “Friends?”
“Two, to be precise.” He leans closer and kisses the tip of my nose. “Now go. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”
I watch him walk away. He nods greetings to people passing by, but it’s his confident gait and his broad shoulders thatI’m fixated on. How can I be turned on by watching him walk? Is that even normal?
When he is swallowed whole by the crowds of people milling around, I turn back to the Blacksmith’s Shop, take a deep breath, and resign myself to exploring for the next sixty minutes.
The sign above the entrance is misleading. The shop is now a museum and immersive experience center where visitors can see the famous anvil where people historically got wed. There’s a stagecoach that was apparently used to carry young lovers eloping across the England-Scotland border. There’s even an entire section where visitors can listen to real love stories.
It’s a beautiful shrine dedicated to all the romantics of the world, and I wonder if Eoghan knew about this before he brought me here.
