Ringo
The luckiest man in the world was in second place as my bride walked down the aisle.She had shamrocks woven into her hair.The gown she wore was lace, almost completely lace.The gaps between the flowers and vines woven into it were such a fine mesh her skin peeked through.She must be wearing something underneath that matched because despite my best attempts, I couldn’t see what I wanted under there.
She climbed the three steps to the altar platform and I snapped my eyes back to her face.Her eyebrow was quirked with knowledge that she’d caught me staring.
For a laugh, I leaned a little to stare at her backside which faced the cathedral.Sure enough, that lace appeared see-through, as well.
Beside her, Allie shook her head.Her dress had the same lace, but only on the sleeves.Both bridesmaids wore soft silk gowns.Floor-length and fully covering them from neck to toe, only allowing the hands to peek free.Kat winked at me.Her escort, Loppa, grinned like a proud papa.Then sobered, mouthing “pay attention” as the priest began mass.
Ninety minutes and a lot of sweat later, I was a married man.Our flight to Ireland left in three hours.While we waited, Ellie held her nephew.
Mario’s boy looked like him.All serious scowls and dark eyebrows.Ellie admired his tiny fingers as she bounced him on her lap.“Isn’t he the cutest?”
No.Ours would be the cutest.
“What?”she asked because of my silence.
I spoke what was on my mind.
That was met with jeers from my side of the family.
“He or she better not have that Conti nose,” Ellie muttered.
The chatter stopped.“That nose has been there since Pope Leo the tenth.”In addition to being a pain in my ass and my newest competition, Firenze was also a history buff.If it was Italian history, that is.
“I didn’t inherit it.”Luckily.But it made me pause.I glanced at Don Manca who was silently watching his family from the corner.I brushed my nose once, asking a question of him.He’d taken the package I’d given him, deep-sixed the photo inside the yellow folder, and never spoken of it since.
His grin lifted.He sent me a knowing wink.
Shit.He’d likely been waiting for this moment since I dumped it on his kitchen table in March.“It’s obvious the luck of the Irish is on us.Our little Devlin, whenever they show up, is going to be as pretty as my wife, or as handsome as I am.”
I grinned at Ellie.
She ate my bullshit up and spat it back out tenfold.“He’ll have ladies lined up for miles as soon as he turns eighteen.”
“She’ll need seventeen bodyguards.”
“Twenty, at least.”
Mario butted in.“My son will be the best shot of them all.”
He was quickly booed down.
“How can he be the best shot when that is me?”Firenze chimed in.
I stood up to set him straight.Ellie frantically tugged me down.“Let him hang himself,” she whispered.
Soon the bragging reached competition level.
Firenze lined up against Molly, who’d taken Kat and Ellie’s mantle as the mistress of the Blarney Zone.With her strawberry blonde hair and those freckles, she was a hit.And when her shots were lined up, Firenze eyed her with appreciation.
I leaned over to ask my wife.“Do those still taste like lemon vodka?”
“Molly prefers light rum with her tea.”
A second later the tumbler hit the wood, and Molly flourished each pour of that evil concoction with a boast.The sign behind her flashed as the countdown began.The patrons pounded on the bar.
Fool he was, Firenze drank the first glass down, not realizing the danger he was in.
