Delaney busts out laughing, as do I. Keeva hit Eamon where it should hurt him, but I doubt it will.
“You act like I want to be tied down. No thanks. I’ll simply keep going around and enjoying the pleasures of another woman for the rest of my life.”
I shake my head, and Eamon and Delaney walk over to me. “So, this might be bad timing. I didn’t want to bother you with everything going on . . .”
“You’re never a bother. What do you need?” I ask her. She’s looking down at the floor, acting like the shy girl she’s always been.
“Well, the event for the charity is coming up, and since I’m helping Delilah and Cassie . . . I’d really love a dress to wear, like a beautiful one.” Delaney bites her bottom lip, and I know exactly what she’s asking.
“Well then, we’ll have to get you a dress.” As soon as I’m finished with my words, Delaney’s eyes brighten up, and she smiles bigger than I’ve ever seen her.
She’s quick to wrap her arms around my body. “Thank you so much, Keenan. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Delaney begins jumping up and down, and I hold Delaney against my chest. She might be my little sister, but Eamon was right earlier when he spoke about me going into dad mode. Sometimes I feel like I am their father. I know it’s because our mum died when they were all kids and I was barely an adult, but still. I literally raised them, but especially Delaney. When she was younger, she’d stay up until I was off shift just so she could watch cartoons with me. It was too damn cute, and I’ll forever cherish the bond we have, even if it’s odd to some.
I know for a fact our cousin Greer, who’s Liam’s sister, has a clothing line. If I’m not mistaken, she even has a store in Belfast, so I release Delaney and give Liam a call. By the third ring, he’s answered.
“I wasn’t expecting a call from you. Everything going okay?” Liam asks.
“Yes, everything is fine. I’m calling for a favor of sorts. I need to grab Delaney and Keeva a dress for the charity event that’s being held here at the house. Would Greer have something in her Belfast store for them?”
After a few seconds of silence, Liam answers, “I’m sure they do. Go on and head over, and I’ll let Greer know to inform her staff you can take whatever the ladies like.”
As much as I appreciate it, I don’t want him giving us even more. “Liam, there’s no need. They only need dresses.”
“Keenan, you’re Irish royalty. There simply isn’t just ‘only needing dresses’ anymore. The word will soon be getting out that the Gallaghers are of direct relation, and people will either respect you or fear you. Go on and head out to the shop. Everything will be settled when you get there.” Liam hangs up before I can argue, and I know better than to refuse a direct order.
I explain to Delaney and Keeva that we’re heading out, so one of the men assigned as our security pulls a bulletproof SUV around front. Much to my surprise, Eamon asks to tag along, and the four of us funnel in.
Within a matter of thirty minutes, we’re parking at the back of Greer’s shop and we’re being escorted inside by a lovely woman named Mary. She tells us she’s the store manager, and Greer called her to ensure she’d personally assist us. Mary takes us back into a private showroom. There are a couple of dressing rooms on the sides of the room, a couch in the center, and a platform with mirrors on one wall. Two racks of dresses are in the room, and there’s one rack of suits.
Keeva immediately flocks over to the racks, yanking dresses off as quickly as she can. She disappears behind a dressing room door, and Mary has a good laugh. “Appears she loves fashion.”
“She’s does,” I agree.
Meanwhile, sweet Delaney walks up to the racks and lightly goes through the dresses. Liam texted me a bit ago and asked what kind of dresses the girls needed to wear, so I had to call Delilah to get the information. She said cocktail dresses, so I’m sure when I texted Liam back, he extended the information to his sister.
Mary walks off toward Delaney and assists her as a personal shopper of sorts. Meanwhile, Keeva throws open the door in her typical dramatic arse style. “I’d say this one’s a winner.”
Now, I’m sure women love what my cousin is doing here with her clothing line. But what in the actual fuck? I’m a dude, obviously, so maybe I don’t understand fashion, but Keeva would probably marry this dress if she could.
There’s no way I’d know the technical terms for it, but what I can say is it’s white with a glittery like shine to it. The dress stops directly above her knee, but instead of a typical fabric ending, there’s some sort of fluff. Like she’s a damn showgirl in Las Vegas or something. The same fluffy stuff is on her shoulders too. What cracks both Eamon and me up is the way Delaney practically pisses herself laughing when she sees our sister. Then again, Keeva’s always been a little bit over the top. It would be out of character for her if she wasn’t doing something dramatic like this.
CHAPTERELEVEN
DELILAH
Work is insanely busy. Even with the ease of having a new place for the charity event, there are so many details that still need to be worked out.
For example, today, I’m coming back to the house again with a few workmen to take some measurements. We have to ensure that everything is perfect. Especially now with the switch. People will be looking for flaws and flaws in an event can lead to lower donations. Sure it’s dumb. If a person wants to contribute, they should just contribute without worrying about the details.
But that’s not the psychology behind how all of this works. The years I’ve spent learning everything I could about my father’s charity have taught me many things, and this is one of them.
I didn’t bring Cassie or Delaney with me today. They have things of their own to work on. Everyone is putting in one hundred and ten percent to make this a success.
Though deep down, I kind of hope that I’ll get at least a few minutes with Keenan. Alone preferably. He’s been so helpful through all of this that I’ve imagined ways to thank him—inappropriate ways, to be honest.
“Where would you like us to start?” one of the guys, Beck, asks as I stand in the entryway, lost in my thoughts.
“Oh, right,” I mutter, realizing I need to be moving. My heels click against the tile floor. Maybe they’re only loud to my ears, but the sound is like a calling card to let anyone else in the house know that I’m here. “We need to measure this room over here.” We come to a stop in the doorway of the dining room. “I plan to line tables in a horseshoe pattern, but we need to make sure we order the right tables. We have long linens to cover them, so it doesn’t matter how many tables we have to use.”
