Father Gregory smiles, soft and genuine. “By the power vested in me by the Holy Catholic Church and the Republic of Ireland, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He looks at Cavin. “You may kiss your bride. And mind yourself—we’re still in the presence of God and family.”
Cavin doesn’t wait. He cups my face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away my tears, and kisses me.
It’s not gentle. Not polite. It’s claiming and desperate and ours, and I kiss him back just as fiercely, my fingers curling into his shirt. I relish the quiet contentment that floods me.
The room erupts. Cheering, clapping, Bridget screaming through the phone, Declan whistling loud enough to wake the dead, Seamus popping open a bottle of champagne.
When we finally break apart, Cavin presses his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“Mine,” he murmurs, just for me.
“Yours,” I whisper back.
The next half hour is a blur. Hugs and congratulations, and my mother crying into my father’s shoulder while he looks equal partsbewildered and resigned. I can’t believe that I… won’t be going home with them tonight.
Seamus claps Cavin on the back so hard he nearly knocks him over.
I’m tucked into Cavin’s side, his arm a solid weight around my waist, when he leans down to murmur in my ear.
“We’re not going upstairs. Not tonight.”
I blink up at him. “What?”
His mouth curves into that wicked smile I know too well. “I’ve a surprise for you, Mrs. McCarthy.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Erin
My stomach flipsat the name.
Mrs. McCarthy.
“What kind of surprise?”
“The kind you’ll like.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “Come on, lass. Let’s go.”
I’ve never seen Cavin this… happy. I’ve seen him smile and look boyish—I’ve seen fleeting moments of joy, but now it looks like he’s practically vibrating with excitement.
And I like it. He’s excited about something he wants to showme.
The drive is short—twenty minutes, maybe—and Cavin won’t tell me where we’re going, no matter how many times I ask. His hand stays on my thigh the whole way, warm and possessive, his thumb tracing absent circles that make it hard to think.
I’m excited and nervous, and I can’t believe we just did that. I text Bridget the whole way. She’s out of her mind excited that we’re married and that Mam doesn’t get to control this for another bloody second.
Bridget
He sounds like he isn’t the boy who tormented you anymore
I swallow hard and look up at my… at my husband before I reply.
He’s not
When we finally pull up, I don’t recognize the house at first. It’s set back from the road, surrounded by trees, with a long gravel drive that crunches under the tires. It’s not huge, not ostentatious, just a beautiful stone cottage with ivy climbing up one side and warm light glowing from the windows. The kind of place that welcomes you, apart from the rest.
“Cavin,” I whisper. “What is this?”
He cuts the engine and turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Ours.”
