Only then, did he give into the pain and allow the doctors to treat him.
“Speaking of visitors,” I say now. “They’ll be here soon.”
It’s Christmas Eve, and my mom and Carol are coming to spend the holidays with us in Ireland. Declan sent the private jet for them; I can’t wait to see them, but I also can’t wait to hear what Carol has to say about crossing the Atlantic in a private jet.
I stand back and survey the tree. “Do you think it’s wonky?”
“It’s perfect, just like you.”
I bat his arm playfully. “You’re not even looking at the tree.”
He grins at me, his entire face lighting up. “I don’t need to look at it to know that you’ve made it perfect.”
We make our way to the kitchen, slowly, Declan’s arm around my waist.
I haven’t asked what happened to Michael Morran. I don’t want to know. But his son Cillian has asked if he can visit over the holidays, and I said yes. He’s my half-brother. I’ll never have a relationship with my biological father, and I’m okay with that, but it would be good to have Cillian in my life. If that’s what he wants.
The entire house is aglow with fairy lights. The three of us, Orla, Declan, and I, have spent days hanging strings of bulbs around every ceiling, every wall, every available surface that we don’t need to sit on or eat from.
Is it over the top? Absolutely.
Would I change a thing? Absolutely not.
Orla is removing a honey-glazed ham from the oven, struggling to straighten her spine clutching the heavy pan with her oven mitts.
“Let me help.” Declan rushes to her and takes over, setting the pan on top of the Aga.
There was a time when Orla would’ve refused help from either of us and kept going until her body slowed her down. She seems to have regained some of her sprightliness since Ruairi’s death, but she knows her limitations too. She’s gradually handing over recipes that have been in her family for generations to me, and we even made a Christmas pudding, tossing in a silver coin and taking turns to make a wish while stirring the mixture.
She’s still holding onto the bread-making tradition though. For now.
And I’m happy to let her keep it.
Voices reach us from the foyer, and my heart performs a happy dance.
Declan smiles. “Go.”
I run to meet my mom and Carol, who are waiting in the foyer in their coats and wooly hats and fluffy scarves, peering around as if unsure of the sparkling world they just stumbled into.
“Mom!” I hug her so tightly, her arms are pinned against her sides. Then I hug Carol, who hugs me back, squeezing my ribs and making it hard to breathe.
Finally, I stand back and we form a circle holding hands, the three of us. “I can’t believe you’re both here.”
“That’s the miracle of private jet travel,” Carol deadpans. “It gets you from A to B in no time.”
I giggle. “I’ve missed you both so much.”
“How is my baby girl?” Mom holds me at arm’s length and inspects me for damage the way she would an item of furniture that has just been delivered. “Are you getting enough rest?”
I told her about the pregnancy after what happened with Michael Morran. She was about to buy a plane ticket to Dublin, and I didn’t want her first meeting with Declan to be in a hospital room. She’d have questioned my sanity choosing a mafia boss, a man thirty years my senior, and my employer to boot.
She took it all in stride, her only question—are you happy, Amelia?
“Yes, I’m happy. I’m resting, Mom. Declan is looking after me.”
“It’s the least he can do,” Carol chimes in. “So, where is he, the man who stole my best friend’s heart? Is he avoiding us?”
“He’s giving us some space.” I glance behind me at the double doors reflecting the glow of twinkling fairy lights. “He knows how excited I am to see you both.”
