Dad looked down at me, eyes wide.
“I’m not proud of it,” I said. “But I’d do it again,” I added.
“Blake,” he murmured, though I didn’t miss that now, he was fighting a smile.
“This is not amusing, Ned!” Mum squealed.
Dad’s head snapped in her direction, and he hissed, “Keep your voice down.”
“Kenna…love,” Balfour was saying.
I lost track of them with the Mum stuff, so I looked that way to see Balfour had his fingers wrapped around Kenna’s arm.
She pulled vehemently away.
Bally went for her again, but Dair let me go and stepped forward.
“Touch her, I’ll ram your fuckin’ teeth down your fuckin’ throat,” he growled.
Bally squared off against Dair, still with lipstick smeared all over his mouth, four inches shorter, having a good thirty pounds (at least) less muscle, a small pot belly, and he couldn’t look more of a fool.
“Ye dinnae speak to your father that way,” Bally stated.
“You’re not my father. You’re a common, piece a’ shite cheat,” Dair retorted.
Bally’s eyes narrowed, but even so, I saw how that blow landed, and it did it hard.
“Men,” Dad intervened, pushing between them both.
They stood down but didn’t lose eye contact.
Dad didn’t bother with them further.
He turned to Dair’s mother. “Kenna, I’ll see to it you’re taken safely back to your hotel.”
“Obliged, Ned,” she said softly, but her eyes strayed to Balfour. “Ye want her so badly, Bally, she’s yours.”
“Darling—” Balfour started.
“Do not come back to our room. Do not phone me. I’ll be gone tomorrow,” Kenna warned, and then she assumed another expression I wished I’d never seen. “What we had never really was, not with her around. And now it just plain isn’t.”
“Kenna,” Balfour groaned.
“Excuse me?” Mum asked him.
Balfour looked to her.
Dad stopped from leading Kenna away, and he turned to Mum.
“Get gone from here, Helena, and take him with you.” He jerked his head toward Balfour. “If I see you anywhere near the reception, I swear to God, I’ll throw you in a car my damned self and tell the driver to take you to the desert, drop you off and leave you there.”
Mum put her hand to her chest in open insult.
“Don’t test me,” Dad stated. “I’m not joking. You aren’t the only one who can throw a drama in this family.” His gaze raked her up and down. “And I learned from the best.” He then looked to me. “You need to distract your sister, sweetheart, so these two can clear the premises.” His piercing eyes hit on Balfour. “And you’ll be doing that quietly and immediately. Am I understood?”
“I dinnae—” Balfour started.
“I don’t care what you don’t,” Dad cut him off harshly. “Get the fuck away from my daughter’s wedding. And if you,”—another head jerk, this one to Mum—“or her, make even the slightest scene, I will stop at nothing until you’re ruined. Am I understood now?”
