“And now, now,” she signed with more emphasis, her breathy voice forming the word as well, “she has finally found happiness, and you’re moping about like a kicked puppy. I love you, Jonathan, but get over yourself.”
Blair walked away without a backward glance to join their friends. His head throbbed with the mental beating the girls gave him, but he was far from giving up and walking away because of his mistakes.
The O’Faolains had plenty of stories about the many apology tours the men in the family had to take before they got the women they wanted.
Jonathan tracked Mags and her date across the room. They were clearly making their way to the back room to meet everyone. He saw his chance a moment later, when the two separated to speak to others.
Mags was telling an attractive middle-aged woman covered in jewels, “I will call your secretary tomorrow to set up a time to take your measurements and see the dress. Thank you for thinking of me. I’ve never embroidered a belt. I’m completely excited. Once I see your home and a bit of your space, I know I can come up with a personal design all for you.”
“I look forward to it, Margaret.”
The moment they separated and before she could reattach herself to her date’s side, Jonathan swooped in. He quicklyentwined their arms to lead her further away. She gave a solid tug, but he wasn’t letting go.
“Let me go,” she growled under her breath, thankfully not willing to make a scene.
He led her through the crowd until they were close to the high-stakes room where their friends were probably already gathered.
Tucking them behind a tall wooden column of intricate Celtic fretwork, he turned her to face him, studiously ignoring how damn beautiful she looked. He placed his hands on her shoulders gently, knowing that despite her showing up tonight, she had to still be in quite a bit of pain.
He looked into her eyes and prayed she would hear him out. “Listen, Mags, I know I have no right to it, but would you please say that you’ll give me a moment of your time tomorrow, or the next day,” he pleaded. “I don’t deserve it, but for the sake of our history, please.”
In this lighting, her green eyes looked more hazel, with hints of brown swirling through them, as she gazed at him with a sadness he had never seen in her before.
Not since the night he’d kissed her.
“I’m not sure what you need to talk to me about, Jon. I’ve assured you more than once after your latest date took potshots at me that, at this point, being belittled by your ladies is as easy to brush off as a fly’s nuisance.” She waved her hands between them like the state of their friendship wasn’t a big deal.
“Apologies for my past mistakes, and the position they’ve put you in won’t make them any less. I know that. I only want to talk to you. Just the two of us.”
“Margaret,” her date’s deep voice sounded firm and just on the left side of aggression.
She immediately tried to step away from his touch, but he couldn’t leave it at that. “Please, Mags. Only a moment.”
“I’ll text you when I have time, though I can’t imagine we have anything that needs sorting.”
Jonathan had to let her go when she wrapped her hand in her date’s. The man stared intensely at Jonathan a beat longer before pivoting sharply on his heel. Jonathan was forced to watch as the stranger stopped before walking into the card room. He lifted Mags’ chin and kissed her on the mouth.
The man, he refused to remember his name, took a beat to glare at Jonathan over her head.
Jonathan felt his body swell with rage. That bastard was staking a claim on his…on Mags. That man might be royalty in Nigeria, but he wasn’t anything in Dublin, and he sure as hell wasn’t an O’Faolain.
sixteen
PATRICK O’FAOLAIN
“Something is goingon with our son,” Patrick growled over his shoulder while he flipped pancakes for the impromptu family breakfast.
Breakfast tended to be at his and River’s flat on the second floor of the O’Faolain building since he enjoyed cooking.
His brother, Bran and sister-in-law Raven, arrived a moment ago. His half-brother, Ulf, had stayed in their extra bedroom last night, so his dour presence was counted. He was ferrying back to Wales today after he met his son, Dagr, and Dagr’s wife, Bébhinn, who was Patrick’s niece and sister, and Rowan’s daughter, for lunch.
River had cajoled Ulf long enough last night that he’d finally relented to sleep over instead of going to a hotel, and clearly had regrets about his interrupted routine.
Dagr and Bébhinn had stopped by last evening on their way to a charity dinner that Bébhinn had helped plan to tell the family the big news.
Bébhinn was pregnant, only a few months. She admitted that she couldn’t keep it a secret from her mom another minute. She was not due until early next summer.
All of them had been overjoyed with the news. Still, there had been a moment during the hugs, kisses, and congratulations that Bébhinn and Rowan had burst into tears—not the joyful kind.
