It was clearly working this time as he glanced at Sweeney for support. Like that eyebrow didn’t terrify her as well. ‘It was for show,’ she blurted.
A nerve just under Fin’s eye started to twitch. ‘Right,’ he said, nodding vigorously to make up for the lack of conviction in his response.
‘We knew we were being filmed so we figured we might as well give them a show.’
‘Right,’ Fin repeated, sounding more confident now. ‘It was just an act. That’s all. Like the mistletoe kiss.’
Except, as he had been at great pains to explain last night, the mistletoe kiss had been an exercise in chaste. Not the hot, wild beast that had roared to life between them last night.
‘We figured if they got what they want,’ Sweeney continued, making up shit as she went along, ‘the entire Murphy population of Ballyshannon might stop hunting us like we’re in some kind of Hunger Games for lovers.’
Lovers.The word felt both unfamiliar and startling on her tongue. If she and Fin somehow ended up with carnal knowledge of each other because of this ridiculous situation, then god knew what would become of them. Damn it, if this whole exercise ruined her friendship with Fin, she was going to be truly pissed at the mothers.
‘Oh yes,’ her mother enthused, ‘that’s an excellent idea.’
‘Totally,’ Ronnie rushed to agree.
‘You should both come to church.’
Sweeney blinked. Well,hell. They’d walked straight into that one.
Fin glanced at her then back at the mothers. ‘Look … I don’t think we need to go overboard here.’
Another eyebrow came their way. ‘You want exposure to desensitise the family to your … situationship, right? Then there’s no place like church.’
Sweeney blinked again. Situationship? Since when did Rhonda know such a Gen Alpha word? And why was she looking at them as though it was something of their own making? They wouldn’t be in any damnsituationwithout these two women.
‘Also,’ she continued, ‘I’m sure you’ll have something for confession after your very public display of fornication last night.’
For someone who’d seemed pretty damn smug about that video, Rhonda wasn’t hesitating to hold it against them as if they were both fifteen instead of thirty-two. But between that eyebrow and the reproach in his mother’s voice, Sweeney knew, for sure, they were headed to church.
Fabulous.
Thanks to their ill-advised, public make-out session last night and her big mouth, it seemed they were now destined to switch from their stay hidden away plan to one ofdesensitisation. Absently she wondered if God took pre-confessions, because she was feeling mildly murdery at the moment…
*
It took three days for the #Feeneysightings to settle down and completely disappear from the WhatsApp chat. It seemed that with every Tom, Dick and Harry Murphy flooding it with pictures of Sweeney and Fin out and about—church on Sunday, grocery shopping on Monday, the garden store on Tuesday, bingo with their mothers at the RSL hall on Wednesday, as well as the training sessions—their rarity, and therefore value, had diminished.
As much as she was at pains to admit it, if only they’d listened to their mothers at the beginning, they’d have saved themselves some angst. Sweeney had been sure that hiding away would protect them from screwing up and from the Murphy gossip grapevine, but it had the opposite effect, turning every family member, it seemed, into closet paparazzi.
Ridiculous considering there was no price for their pictures, just family cachet.
But Sweeney would take it. Now they were everywhere, no one seemed to care about Feeney. The family had, as Ronnie had said, become desensitised. Hell, even MarjoriefreakingWeaver seemed less suspicious now she and Fin were everywhere.
Hallelujah.
But they’d also become desensitised to each other as they played the public role of newly engageds. Or at least that’s what Sweeney told herself. They held hands. Hugged. Kissed even. Fin had taken to dropping them on the top of her head, and occasionally around people there’d been the quick hello/ goodbye peck near the mouth. As adults they’d always greeted each other with a brief, perfunctory kiss on the cheek. So, a brief, perfunctory peck near the mouth shouldn’t feel that different.
But it did. Because sometimes it was very near. Sometimes not so quick.
And it made things shift and stir. Made her want to lean in. Made her want to place her hand on his chest and curl her fingers into his shirt. Made her want to linger as his nearness triggered memories of that night on the sand.
How he’d smelled and tasted as they’d kissed with abandon. How the timbre of his breathing and the low susurration of his groans had curled her toes.
Made her wish for that stupid Indonesian volcano to stop spewing out ash. There’d been three days in a row when it had stopped and flights had been set to resume, and then it had erupted again and Sweeney knew in her bones that it wasn’t going to be the get-out-of-fake-engagement-free card she needed.
They both needed.
