While they dressed, she’d told him how she’d come to learn Russian while he begged her to keep speaking in the language.
Before they reached the front door of the pub, she placed a hand on his chest and stopped them. “You mentioned that part of the reason you spent the evening with Marie was that you enjoyed the nostalgia of conversing with someone in your mother tongue.
“I know you have more bad memories of your childhood than any one person should have to endure, but,” she had to swallow her tears so they wouldn’t fall, “I want you to know that you can speak to me in Russian any time you feel like it.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and cleared his throat. “I would like that. Thank you for this, Gray.”
“I also thought we might teach our children.”
He leaned in to kiss her cheeks. “I’m the luckiest man in the world. Truly. You’ve given me everything.”
“Well, you’ve given me your heart and two children. I’m feeling pretty damn lucky myself. Now,” she started, moving them toward the doorman, “we’d better get inside before our friends ask us why we’re late.”
Ciar smirked. “The guys won’t need to ask. No man looks this relaxed unless they’ve just finished coming inside a woman.”
“Men are animals.”
Dinner was loud and obnoxious and completely amazing. Even Blair made it since she was back in town from Wales to meet with her professors.
Many of the staff remembered Gray from their training and were excited to see the owner in house. If Gray didn’t have such an upset stomach, the night would be perfect.
She surreptitiously massaged her belly under the table in an attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort, to no avail. She didn’t tell Ciar she wasn’t feeling great because he would immediately put an end to the evening, and since their group nights out were becoming less frequent, she didn’t want to ruin the fun. Her stomachache was likely just gas—nothingruins romance faster than talking about trapped farts with your partner.
Blair caught Gray’s attention and asked her if she was feeling okay. Conversation died immediately, all eyes now focused on Gray. Blair flinched and mouthed, “Sorry.”
“Gray?” Ciar turned in his chair and began running his hands all over her body.
Was he looking for an open wound? Gray brushed his hands off, assuring him she was fine. Mags piped up, stating, “I think you’ve had your hands on Gray enough this evening already, Ciar. You know sex can bring on labor, right?”
“Shut up, Mags,” Gray said, throwing a napkin at her friend. “I’m weeks away. Also, I don’t recall you being in our home earlier, Miss Know-It-All.”
“I didn’t need to be there, Mrs. Prude,” Mags smirked. “Everyone at this table with a wiener was all but high-fiving your husband. Dagr even went in for knuckles, for crying out loud.”
“Oh my God, Dagr,” Bébhinn elbowed her fiancé, who only laughed.
Gray turned to Ciar, who was sitting back in his chair, looking smug. She shook her head but couldn’t help the smile that stretched her cheeks. “I’ll never understand men.”
“You understood me just fine earlier. Twice,” he chuckled and leaned to the side to miss her batting him in the chest.
Gray laughed and relaxed back into her chair only to have the worst cramp of the night squeeze her entire belly. She couldn’t hold back the moan as she bent over the contracted mound.
“Oh shit,” she heard one of the guys swear.
Ciar was on his knees and in her face instantly. His hands were shaking when he clasped her forearms. “Gray. Baby. Christ, Gray. Is it time?”
The pain eased, and she was able to sit straight again. “I doubt it. Honestly.” Even if she was beginning to suspect the discomfort wasn’t trapped gas after all.
Mags stood and walked to her side of the table, giving orders as she went. “Daniel, call your mom and have her call Josephine. Just in case this isn’t a false alarm, she’ll want to be here. Jonathan, call an Uber. When the car gets here, you and Daniel ride with Ciar and Gray to the hospital.”
When Mags stood next to Ciar, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Get a grip, Ciar. It’s probably not the real thing.”
Except Gray’s body appeared to disagree with her assessment, and another pain ripped through her abdomen, forcing another moan from her.
“Forget what I said. Carry your wife to the front, you moron. How long for the car?” Mags barked at Jonathan.
“Two minutes.”
“Dagr,” Bébhinn started, standing now too, “call an Uber for us. You, me, Mags, and Blair can go to Gray’s and grab her hospital bag. We’ll also need to let Tina know.”
