Page 111 of Stolen Rival
When she reaches me, I slide an arm around her waist and kiss her temple. “I love you.”
She gazes up at me, the hearts in her eyes reflected in mine. “I love you, too.”
The staff at Glenraven Village, an eighteenth-century manor house that now hosts weddings, greet us warmly. Sorcha hasn’t closed her mouth once since we arrived, her eyes on stalks as she drinks in the beauty of this place. Set on a hundred acres of the greenest Irish land, it’s the perfect setting for a celebration of love.
The guests gather in what was once the barn, and we wait in the foyer beside the twelve-foot-tall Christmas tree as they are seated, ready for our big entrance. We might have married months ago, but I told the staff we wanted the full wedding experience. It’s the least my wife deserves. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully quash the ball of regret at my actions. Not because I don’t believe her father deserved it. He did. So did her brothers. But Sorcha? I can’t give her back what I stole from her, and she may never fully forgive me for it, but I can make damned sure I treat my wife like the fucking queen she is for the rest of her life. Each day, I wake up glad she chose to stop letting my choices ruin her life.
We’re given the nod, and the heavy wooden doors slide back. A round of applause breaks out as Sorcha and I enter. Several round tables are crammed with friends and family, pink and white peonies adorn the candle chandeliers dangling from the vaulted ceiling, and hundreds of lights hang from the walls. I left the decoration to the staff—what do I know about design?—and they’ve gone above and beyond.
“Patrick, it’s beautiful.”
“So are you.” I lead her to the top tablewhere Liam, Darragh, and Cathal, along with his nurse are already situated. A harpist plays soft music from a small stage set up at the far end where, after we’ve eaten, the DJ will play tunes to which we can dance the night away.
After a short toast, Liam gets up, and he’s got this mischievous look in his eye that tells me to ready myself for payback.
I groan. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“Too late, brother.” He claps me on the shoulder, then taps a spoon on the side of his glass.
“Hi, everyone. Most of you know me, but for those who don’t, I’m Liam, the unfortunate bastard who’s had the dubious honor of growing up with this eejit here.” He pauses for a ripple of laughter to abate.
“Patrick, as the eldest Mahoney, grew up with certain privileges, ones he used to his advantage at every opportunity. He was always three steps ahead. When he was ten and I was eight and Darragh five, Patrick here set up a lemonade stand at the end of our driveway. Me and Darragh squeezed the lemons, and Patrick kept the profits. He told me it was a ‘strategic partnership,’ which basically meant we did all the work and he sat back and counted his euros.”
More laughter and applause. I roll my eyes. He’s really taking advantage of this. One day, his turn will come, and I’ll make sure I get my revenge.
“Some of you know Patrick as a hard-nosed businessman, others as a prominent member of our community. I know him as the lad who once tried to build a zip line out of Mam’s washing line and a coat hanger. Needless to say, his adventure ended with him arse up in Mrs. Dobbs’ prize rosebushes, and he got a spanking from Da for his troubles.”
I did, too. Couldn’t fucking sit down for a week.
“And then there was the time when thirteen-year-oldPatrick, all juiced up on teenage hormones, had a crush on fifteen-year-old Cara O’Brien and decided to win her over by serenading her under her bedroom window. Little did he know that Father O’Connor was visiting the O’Briens that day to discuss the youngest daughter’s communion and was treated to a full-throated version of “Sex on Fire” by our Patrick here.”
“Oh, my God.” Sorcha bursts out laughing, and the rest of the guests join in. I smile and nod and plot painful retribution.
“But then along came this beauty. The lovely Sorcha. The woman who tamed the lion. The only person who’s ever rendered my brother speechless. Together, you are a force. May your days be filled with laughter, your nights with love, and your secrets… forever buried, eh?”
Another ripple of amusement echoes around the vast space. I shake my head, but I can’t help smiling.
He raises his glass. “To Patrick and Sorcha.”
Chairs scrape on the wooden floor as everyone gets to their feet. “Patrick and Sorcha.”
I grip Liam’s upper arm and yank him into his seat. “You’re dead.”
“Hey.” He throws his arms in the air. “Be thankful it was me and not Darragh. He had way more stories he wanted to tell. I toned it down.”
Darragh grins. “It’s true.”
“That was the best speech ever,” Sorcha says, getting up from her seat to hug my brother. “And you.” She hugs Darragh, too. “I want to hear all those untold stories.”
I groan again. “No, you don’t.”
“Oh, but I do. There are no secrets between husband and wife.”
Pushing back my chair, I rise to my feet and wrap my armsaround her waist. “Time for our first dance, and maybe, if you’re good, I’ll whisper one of those secrets in your ear.”
She grins. “You have yourself a deal.”
I dip my chin at the harpist who nods in acknowledgment, then begins playing the song I chose for our dance. I lead Sorcha onto the dance floor, and we sweep around the room, the lessons she kept up after revealing her secret at her twenty-first birthday party paying off. She’s almost as good as I am now.
