They still hadn’t told me anything, and now that we’d stopped, I realized my bladder might burst if I waited much longer to use the facilities.
“I need to pee. Like, right now.”
“OK, Pixie, let’s get you out of here.” Ronan opened the door and held my hand as I awkwardly shuffled my ass across the leather seat. Pregnancy had not made me more graceful, and I sighed, wondering if Declan ever missed the supermodel he’d once dated.
Bridget had been grace personified. And also a Grade-A bitch. But since he’d chosen me over her, I wasn’t petty enough to gloat about it.
Much.
Ronan and Conal held my hands as we walked up a stone pathway bordered by bougainvillea bushes laden with pink flowers. The flowers smelled divine, like expensive French perfume. A small whitewashed villa topped with faded terracotta tiles appeared through the stubby trees. Not a cloud dared sully the azure sky high above, and as the sun beat down on my skin, I sighed with pleasure.
As much as I’d grown to love Ireland with its lush green landscapes and wild coastline, this was my birthplace, and I missed the sultry heat and dazzling golden light.
Maybe when this baby arrived, we could spend our summers here. The contractors had completed the Sicily house the previous year. The guys had taken me there for our honeymoon; three glorious weeks of making fresh memories to thoroughly obliterate the tainted ones of the past.
By the time we left Sicily, I’d thoroughly vanquished my demons and made plans to landscape the gardens with the help of a local contractor, a woman chosen by me and thoroughly vetted by Declan.
I longed to return to see how the gardens were progressing, but problems with the few remaining O’Rourkes still rumbled on, and so far, my grumpy husband had not found the time for another extended break.
Still, he was here with me now, so I couldn’t complain. Although, I wasn’t dumb. I knew he’d insisted on tagging along for this final visit to see Francesco - I refused to call him my father anymore - because he feared my mental health might suffer a setback.
I loved him for it, but my therapist had been adamant I was ready to close the door on my past.
And she was right. With our baby due soon, it was time to move on. Francesco’s toxicity had cast a long shadow over mylife, but what had happened to me as a child did not have to define me as an adult.
Yes, I’d made some poor decisions and chosen the wrong people to trust, but with the help of my therapist, I was slowly unpicking my trauma and re-framing how I viewed myself.
I was a survivor, not a victim.
I was strong, not weak.
One day, I planned to help other kids and teens who’d been through similar experiences. Therapy had helped me, and I wanted to give something back. But that was something for future me to explore. My only priority right now was the baby I carried. Once she arrived, safe and well, then I would broach the idea of going back to college and studying for a counseling qualification.
“Hang on, I need a minute,” I huffed. This path was way steeper than I was comfortable with. At seven months pregnant, walking anywhere had become a chore. My bladder situation had also reached critical mass. If we didn’t reach a bathroom imminently, there was a risk I’d embarrass myself.
Conal and Ronan exchanged a glance and then Conal scooped me up in his arms like I weighed nothing. I squeaked in alarm.
“Put me down before you hurt your back!”
“Oh behave, sweetheart,” he scoffed. “I can bench twice your weight without breaking a sweat.”
OK, so perhaps he had a point, but still. I was no petite little pixie, despite Ronan’s nickname that refused to die.
“Put our wife down!” Declan grumbled as he strode up behind us, still wearing a black suit and aviator shades, even though the twins wore tees and shorts. My grumpy husband looked like a mafia boss.Oh wait. He was.
I giggled to myself.
“Why? So you can carry her instead?” Conal rolled his eyes. “No. You had her last night. We haven’t forgiven you for locking us out of the suite, dickhead.”
Declan smirked. “Served you both right for lingering in the bar. Our wife wanted an early night.”
“They had Rothmore single-malt whiskey. I like that shit.”
“Keeping my wife happy is more important.”
“She’s our wife, too!” Ronan’s jaw clenched in annoyance, and from the gleam in his eye, this would spiral into a full-on argument if I didn’t de-escalate things. But before I could open my mouth and utter something soothing, a woman’s voice spoke from behind us.
“Verity, my dear sweetragazza, you found me at last.”
