Page 78 of Fall of a Kingdom
“Have you?” I pressed.
“Haveyou?” she fired back.
“I have. I just want to make sure you have too. You’re perfect for him. You’re exactly what he needs and continues to need. I’m not right for him. I never was. It’s always been Flynn. It’llalwaysbe Flynn.”
She nodded slowly. “You don’t have to convince me, Barrett. I believe you.” She paused and took a sip of her wine and then said, “Do you think there will ever be a time in our lives where we don’t have this discussion?”
“Yes. Starting now.”
“Now?”
“Now,” I affirmed. “This is the last time it needs to be discussed. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
We clinked our glasses together and exchanged smiles.
The front door opened, and I immediately heard the unmistakable sounds of a mother trying to corral a young child.
Frowning, I looked at Quinn and then got up to see what was going on. She followed me.
Ash was attempting to coerce Carys through the front door while maneuvering the double stroller.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, picking up Carys and making Ash’s job easier.
“My house has been overrun with testosterone,” she said. “Sasha showed up and is now in the billiards room with the others, drinking, smoking, and playing cards. The sun hasn’t even set yet. I expect them to party long into the night and into the wee hours of the morning.”
“When did we marry eighteenth century dukes?” I asked.
“Hell if I know,” Ash muttered. “They’re carousing. Like, in epic fashion.”
“I’m inclined to blame Ramsey,” I said. “He’s a bad influence.”
“The worst,” Ash agreed.
“Ash, you look like you could use a glass of wine,” Quinn said.
“Several. I could useseveralglasses of wine,” Ash stated.
“You’ve come to the right place.” I smirked. “I’ve got you covered.”
“Just one little problem,” Quinn said.
“Which is?” I asked, raising my brows.
Quinn lifted the glass of wine to her lips. “Three of us, eight children, no nannies or husbands. We have to stay marginally sober.”
Chapter28
FLYNN
“Read ’em and weep boys,”Ramsey drawled, setting his cards down on the table. “Full house.”
Duncan groaned. “I’ve been on a losing streak all night.” He threw his hand face down with annoyance and then took a sip of his scotch.
“I’m on a hot streak.” Ramsey grinned, eyes glassy. We’d been steadily drinking and gambling for hours, and a heavy cloud of cigar smoke hung in the billiards room.
Sasha had arrived late that afternoon and had been unusually quiet. I knew he enjoyed Duncan and Ramsey’s company, but he looked pensive, often staring into his glass of vodka—which I knew meant only one thing: something was weighing heavily on his mind.
