“This is a waste of time,” Graham said. “We should get going. I’m supposed to get married,” he began, but was cut off.
Gabby was fighting the good fight.
“Finn hasn’t called. The kilt must be taking more time than they thought. How about we go through the journal we found in the corridor? It’s in Scottish and you’re the only one here who can read it.”
He sighed.
“Okay,” he said, finally relenting.
Only, deep down, he was freaked out thinking that D’Artangnan…Michael had run, and they were just not telling him.
That would kill him.
He’d never survive that.
So, to distract himself, he took the old journal that Gabby handed him, and focused on that task.
Ian reassured him.
“He’ll call. I know why you’re worked up. Michael isn’t going to run,” he offered.
Well, he’d nailed that.
“I just fear that all over again.”
The man stopped him in his tracks.
“Michael is the most honorable of Marines. He’s kind, sweet, and he wouldn’t hurt someone intentionally. You need to believe that.”
He was right.
“I do. I just lost him once. That is what has me rattled.”
Gryphen was in his kilt too, since he was going to be at a wedding.
Well, he was in it because his fiancé got off on it, and that meant they got…off.
A lot.
If anything, he was easy when it came to wanting to have sex with his man.
“Do I look okay?” Graham asked, knowing they’d not lead him astray.
This was his family, of sorts.
Gabby giggled.
“He’s going to be smitten even more than he is. You look absolutely handsome in your kilt and whatever the rest of that stuff is.”
He laughed.
“Gabby, we’re going to have to teach you what it is. You’re marrying a Scottish man, and if you have a son, you’ll have to help him learn.”
Honestly, she wasn’t feeling well.
Her stomach hurt, and she was feeling crampy. That scared the hell out of her, but this wasn’t the time to say anything.
She didn’t want to rain on Graham and Michael’s moment or freak out Finn while he was working so hard to make the wedding happen.
