Page 112 of Geordie

While he's gone, I look over the aged whiskey, the photo of my parents and a copy of the family album that I set on the table. Lochlan returns with a bottle and glass in hand. He pulls a photo from his wallet, one of his parents, his mother holding him in her arms.

We swap stories about our fathers, which sound like mythical tales of heroes that were told by Granda, and we recall the sweet romances of how our fathers met our mothers.

I wish I could remember the sound of my mother's voice or the solid feel of a hug from my father, but I cannot. We were toddlers when we lost our parents. A typhoon caught them vacationing on an island off the coast of Thailand.

We talk for about an hour and a half until we're drunk on whiskey and nostalgia. I splash a dram into my glass for the last toast.

We stand holding our glasses, a little unsteady, towards the screen and recite the toast once again as one.

“To the parents who gave us life.

To the clan men and women, whose blood runs through us.

To Scotland that nourished us.

To our ancestral lands of Dunrardarie, County Argyll.

We vow to follow the proud traditions of clan MacTavish.

That the generations to come will keep our memories, as our clan's motto demands:

Do not forget me after death.”

I'm restless when the screen goes dark and I'm alone. It always takes me a while to recover from our ceremony, but with the co-parenting agreement with Lily, it's worse. My hands rub my face and I make a silent vow to bring my daughter into this world when I find the means to accomplish this. I'll not leave her until she is a grown woman with children of her own. I'll not leave her fatherless.

Chapter fifty-five

Happy Birthday, Ms. Lily

Lily

Iwakeinthewarmth of Geordie's strong arms, snug in our bed. The room is bathed in early-morning darkness, the dawn not far away. A gloom I've felt for several days lifts because today, everyone I love will be here celebrating my birthday.

Geordie stirs, his arms catching me in a bear hug. “Happy Birthday, Lily,” he says, kissing my hair. I smile, twisting away to stretch my hands above my head, trying to tempt Geordie for some morning birthday sex. I really don't need to tempt him. We agreed anytime, anywhere when one or both wants to do the down and dirty, and this morning I really need his cock somewhere inside me.

He rolls out of bed, rubs his face, and the bed jiggles as he gets to his feet and pads towards the bathroom.

“Where are you going, mister?” I tease, watching his cute ass walk away. “I really need your cock. Desperately.”

He disappears into the bathroom and the door closes with no answer.

I push to the headboard, feeling the coolness of the room. Neither of us is wearing anything. Sleeping with Geordie is like snuggling with a furnace. “Remember our agreement,” I sing song, hoping he can hear me through the door. “It's my birthday, and I thought I'd go for a hard ride this morning. I can do a little fellatio to get you in the mood, or cunnilingus if you'd like to eat. I'm pretty much open to anything.”

A toilet flushes, followed by water gushing out of the faucet.

I pull the cover to my waist. Why didn't he just tell me he needed to wiz? He probably didn't hear any of my offers, so when I restate them, I'll leave out fellatio.

“Close your eyes, Leannan, I have a surprise.” His voice drifts from the bathroom slash spa; the place is so freaking big in there.

“I don't like surprises,” I moan.

“We'll both like this one. Are your eyes closed? Because if they're not,” he mimics my sing-song speech, “I'll spank your plump bottom and you'll have to stand all evening at your party.”

I weigh the options. A spanking would be fun. We haven't done that in a while, his large hand coming down repeatedly on my ass until it's bright pink while he tells me I'm a bad, disrespectful wee witch. That little play makes me so horny, I'll fuck anything. Yeah, that's some good times.

I glance at the clock on the table. Damn it, we don't have that much time today. Our day staff and the decorating company will be here in less than two hours. I close my eyes.

He's stealthy for a big man. I don’t realize he’s beside the bed until he tells me to open my eyes. I open one eye, then pop the other open. Four inches away from my nose is the biggest bouquet of lavender roses I've ever seen, with sprigs of baby's breath and long, weedy slips of grasses. I clutch the flowers, the scent heady. He produces a large, black velvet box. I scramble to my knees, the roses abandoned on the bed. I pull the tiny satin tap and the hinged box springs open. There, in a crush of soft beige satin, is a necklace of pale pink diamonds and earrings to match.

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