Sash My Way? She’s a loyalist chic turned drag queen camp, the kind of look that makes you laugh and cringe all at once.
Ginger Snapped storms the stage, all wild red hair and feral energy, so much like my youngest sister that I get a finger flipped in my direction the second she spots me staring.
And then there’s GAA-Ga—thighs carved out of hurling season, hair big enough to belong in a showband poster from the sixties. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous.
By the time they’ve done their standup, skits, and lip-syncs, my sides hurt from laughing. And I feel like the luckiest girl in the whole fucking world. I’ve successfully avoided being in my father’s company for most of the night, a fact I’m sure Robert hasn’t missed out on.
When he finds me after Robert heads to the bar for what’s undoubtedly going to be my last drink of the night because I think my hangover’s already kicking in, I want to be anywhere but here.
“Thanks for the party, Dad.”
He gives me a one-armed hug. “It’s not every day your oldest daughter turns thirty.” His tone is flat, cautious, and I know he’s still pissed that I’m dating his enemy.
I may not know why Robert did what he did, but I know he’s not a malicious man. A loyalty I’ve held dear to my father with both hands my whole life is fraying, and I’m not sure how to resolve that in my heart.
I still love him, I do. But I’m not on board with how he’s treating Robert, and the more I pay attention to the way he’s handled our rugby careers, the less sure I am to be on board with that either.
“I don’t like that you’re with that man, Rhiannon.” Hereit comes. Another father-knows-best lecture. “It’s not good for your image, for your career, for the family.”
What he’s not saying is that it’s not good forhim. He doesn’t like Robert, he doesn’t think I should like Robert, and historically speaking when Dad said jump, we all said how high. He’s not used to dissention in the ranks.
“He’s good for me, Dad. And I’m sorry you don’t like that. He’s?—”
“Don’t.” Dad holds up a hand, cutting me off like a scythe. “I’m not interested.”
I reach for the three birds on my collarbone to ground me. He’s not even going totryto listen, to understand where I’m coming from, or to even tolerate Robert because he’s important to me.
It’s not that he’s strict, he’s controlling me, my sisters,us,with compliance. It’s his way or the highway.
I take him in, staring at the face of the man who is supposed to love me most, love me no matter what. Unconditional, isn’t that what they say a parent’s love should be?
But for Michael Morrigan, his love comes with plenty of conditions. And as I stare at the frown pinching his face and the hostility in his eyes, it occurs to me that it’s a cost I’m not sure I’m willing to pay anymore.
It’s not anger that threatens to crack my heart, but a heavy wallop of grief that I don’t have to face because the man in question appears and ignores my imposing father figure, two drinks in hand.
“Thanks, did you forget the peanuts?”
He cocks his head to the side. Peanuts was our “get me the fuck out of here” safe word. The rule about code word clearance was part joke when we put the rules together, but here and now I want out of this conversation and away from my dad. I don’t want to spend the last few hours of my thirtiethbirthday party being berated for who I choose to spend my time with.
“I did forget them.” He reaches forward to pass me my drink and somehow clips Dad’s elbow accidentally on purpose, tossing Dad’s entire drink over his trousers.
Dad doesn’t say a word. He glowers at my boyfriend, gives me an “I told you so” look, and storms off.
“That wasn’t as dramatic as I expected.”
Robert gives me my drink with an apologetic smile on his face. “It was the quickest thing I could think of. I wasn’t sure you’d want me to throw you over my shoulder and stride out of your birthday party. It would have looked like I was taking you out back to fuck you.”
I cup his face with my palm before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve heard of worse ideas.”
CHAPTER 43
Robert
Last night went better than I could have hoped it would. The party was a roaring success, Rhiannon loved my gift, and I didn’t get murdered for lobbing a drink on her Dad’s trousers.
When we got back to my house, she let me take her to bed and make her moan my name for over an hour.
I’ve woken up before she has, and my body is heavy, contented, and the warm glow I’m feeling inside is something that’s becoming a habit around this woman.
