Page 52 of Accidental Irish Daddy

She tilts her head at me curiously, then says, “All right. You’ve got a deal.”

16

Aisling

I’m standing in the public bathroom of the courthouse, looking at myself in the mirror. This store-bought white midi dress I’m wearing is starting to chafe a little under my arms. It’s right ugly. Flat, heavy cotton material without any frills or flowers.

This isn’t exactly how I pictured this moment. I look down at my scuffed Mary-Janes. The nicest shoes I own that aren't stripper heels.

I look up at my face, at the makeup job that I did myself. It’s fine. Not too much blush or foundation, very little lipstick. I don’t even have something blue or borrowed.

Not that any of that matters. This isn’t a real wedding, after all. We’re just going to stand in front of a judge and say our ‘I dos’ and that’ll be it. No doves overhead or harp music. I don’t even have a bouquet.

My stomach is doing cartwheels. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering what will happen when Mr. Duncan sees me. Will he look at me and fall magically in love with me at that moment?Will he sweep me off my feet and carry me away, insisting that we have a real wedding with a real priest and everything?

I look down at my chipped fingernail polish and sigh. Not a chance. I take one last look at my eyeliner to make sure it’s on straight, then I walk out of the bathroom.

Just outside, Martha and Bridget are waiting for me. They both look positively chuffed about today. I plaster a fake smile on and join them outside.

“You look radiant, my dear,” says Martha. “I’ll tell you; I knew that this would be just the thing for the two of you.”

I give her a nervous laugh. No idea what to say to that. “Where's Mr.—um, Grant, anyway? It’s getting close to our appointment time.”

“He’s talking to the judge. He’ll be back in a moment.” She pushes a strand of my hair out of my eyes and smiles pleasantly at me. “So lovely. Isn’t your sister a vision, Poppet?”

Bridget, standing next to her in her best red and blue flowered dress, nods brightly. “She sure is.”

“Thank you,” is all I can say before they can gush over me anymore. Mr…well, Grant walks out from one of the offices. I’m never going to get used to calling him by his first name, I swear.

He’s wearing a suit and tie that looks like all his other suits and ties except that it’s black. He looks very handsome in it, even though it seems very low effort.

“We’re about ready,” he says to me as he walks up. “Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

I look up at him and that warm feeling comes over me again. Hope that he’ll cancel this farce and do it for real, maybe? I’m such a dreamer…

“All right, let’s go, then,” says Martha. She and Bridget walk forward, then Grant takes me by the hand and smiles down at me.

“We’ll be done before noon,” he says and squeezes my hand.

Great. Fifteen minutes and I’ll be legally tied to this man until divorce does us part.

***

Fifteen minutes and one week later, I’m now Aisling Duncan. I should have kept my name, but Grant insisted that I change it for legal purposes. “To make it easier,” he said. Easier for what, I have no idea.

He also seems pretty focused on keeping up appearances. He put out an announcement with the local paper and told his father and stepmother about it. He hasn’t let Martha in on the arrangement and he urged me to keep it from Bridget. I don’t know what difference it makes, but it’s important to him, so I’ll toe the line. For now.

This afternoon, I’m supposed to talk to one of his contacts about a possible internship with a home across town. I’d be working there in the mornings while Bridget’s in school, then I could work at the club at night. That seems to be the appropriate arrangement, anyway.

Appropriate. Ugh. I’m so tired of that word.

It’s the middle of the day, and Bridget’s over at Martha’s house. The two of them have started growing peonies and some other flowers around the edge of the garden. Bridget really looked forward to going over there this morning, so I expect her to be there all day. Which is fine. I could use a little peace and quiet around the house.

I’m in the kitchen having tea and eating the leftover Jaffa cakes that Martha brought over yesterday. Bridget can’t keep her hands off them. I’m lucky to have any at all.

I’m going over what I’m going to say when I meet Grant’s contact. He’s the head administrator over at the facility…LovelyAcres, it’s called. I looked him up on my phone and he seems like a little bit of a dry shite. That’s fine, though.

Since this is Grant’s contact, the subject of my current place of work won’t come up. No chance of a morality clause biting me in the ass here.

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