Page 108 of Honorable Sins

Róise sighs. "Apparently, having the entire Shaughnessy organization in one place makes this gathering an unacceptable security risk now that we have a child."

"He isn't wrong."

"No, but we can't let the dangers in our world stop us from living."

Thinking about our upcoming trip to Disneyland, which will have more security than a Presidential tour, I grin. "You aren't wrong either."

"Exactly." Róise looks at our two husbands. "They're ridiculously protective."

"One hundred percent."

Mick's thumb strokes once over the inside of my ankle.

Róise's mouth curves. "And we're very lucky."

"More than either of us could have imagined when we married our made men."

Mick squeezes my ankle while my cousin gives her husband, Don of the Genovese, a sappy besotted look.

I don't say a word because I'm pretty sure right now there's a lot of family resemblance between the two of us.

Across the lawn, Áine stands with Wraith near the refreshment tables. She is saying something to Neeve, who has left her book long enough to collect a bottle of fizzy juice. Wraith has one hand at Áine's waist, his fingers spread possessively over her side.

He isn't looking at her.

He doesn't have to.

His body is angled toward hers, a living barrier between his wife and anyone who might come too close. When Joy barrels toward them, he releases Áine long enough to catch the little girl against his chest before she can crash into the table.

Joy laughs and loops her arms around his neck.

Wraith says something that makes her grin, then sets her down and reaches immediately for Áine again.

There is nothing left of necessity in their marriage. The man who once claimed he did not have whatever other people called a heart watches Áine like she carries his outside his body.

Áine looks up at him and smiles.

His eyes warm in a way they never do with other adults.

"He's so gone for her," Róise says.

"Utterly." My gaze travels to the blanket in the center of the lawn.

My father sits in a wooden lawn chair because Hope finally persuaded him that getting up from the ground without making a production of it was not a test of masculine virility. She sits beside him, turned slightly in his direction as they talk.

Brogan's hand rests over hers on the arm of her chair.

He looks lighter than he did six years ago. Not physically. My father will always carry authority like another layer of clothing. But the tension that once lived in his shoulders is gone.

Hope has done that.

Or loving her has.

I wanted more from my father when I was a child. I wanted him to see me, his daughter, before he saw the pawn he could use to secure his succession. I wanted him to ask what I needed instead of telling me what our family required.

For a long time, watching him give Enoch the attention I once craved hurt.

It doesn't today.