Aoife: So?
Jen: So?! I should be her MATRON of honor. But she’s getting married first.
Aoife: Take that up with the bride, lol.
Jen: Like you’ll escape that fate. She’ll ask you to be a part of the bridal party too.
Aoife: I asked her not to.
Jen: She won’t listen.
Aoife: She will. Finn talked with Aidan about it.
Jen: Do you think Jerkface Junior will listen to Luc?
Aoife: I doubt it. Lol.
Jen: Damn. Fucking Irish. Always sticking together.
Aoife: Like you can argue with that! You’re Irish too!
Jen: Pfft.
Jen: By the way, you’re not getting out of it with me. I hope you know that.
Aoife: I know, lol.
Jen: Matron of honor. That’s on you where I’m concerned.
Aoife: Well, I won’t mind then.
Jen: You’d better not. I’ll get Luc to make sure that cunt isn’t invited. I never did like Lena.
Aoife: Thanks, babe. <3
Jen: I’m still mad that it took you so long to tell me what she did.
Aoife: I’m sorry for turning into a turtle.
Jen: Gah, just remember I’m always there for you next time, yeah?
Aoife: I won’t forget. :* Anyway, I don’t want to cause any problems between the Irish and the Italians.
Jen: Like Luc would allow that.
Aoife: He isn’t God, Jen.
Jen: He is in bed.
Aoife: *snorts*
Fifty
Finn
The knock at the door had me grimacing because I could hear it in my skull.
“Aoife?” I called out.
No answer.
Damn, did that mean I had to open the door myself?
I was pretty sure I’d prefer to climb Everest stark naked than do that.
Huffing, I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. Seeing the ornate mural above me, I groaned, remembering where I was.
“Aoife loves it here,” I muttered to myself. “Aoife loves it here.”
If I said it enough, I’d stop whining like a little bitch about this hotel room.
Everywhere I turned, there were ornate vases and lamps and things that were destined to cost me a fortune when I tipped them over.
Grunting when the knock came again, I flopped onto my knees as I tumbled off the sofa.
“Aoife?”
When there was no answer, my hungover brain finally remembered that she was in LA with Savannah, Jen, Aela, Inessa, Camille, and Jake for Savannah’s bachelorette party.
That was why I felt like shit.
While the women were in LA, we’d gone to goddamn Reno.
Brennan and I had organized Junior’s bachelor party. If he felt as shit as I did, then I knew he’d be thankful the wedding was in a month’s time and not tomorrow.
“Reno, never, ever, ever again,” I mumbled under my breath as the knock sounded at the door.
More insistently this time.
Instead of ‘tap tap,’ it was like an oversized hummingbird was pounding it.
“I don’t want the place cleaned!” I called out.
“Finn! It’s Priestley!”
Priestley?
Who the fuck was Priestley?
It took me far too long to figure out who it was, then I heard the gusty sob of a baby.
Fuck.
Callum O’Reilly’s bride.
Rubbing a hand over my head, I stomped over to the door and pulled it open. “Priestley,” I greeted gruffly.
She looked like hell.
I hadn’t seen her since her wedding day, granted, and brides were supposed to look their best then, but she was about forty pounds lighter, and seeing as the kid was only young—
I squinted at the bundle in her arms. “He’s small, ain’t he?”
“Niall was premature,” she rasped, and her eyes were huge in her face. “The stress… Callum…”
As I stared at her, pity filled me. Her husband had nearly killed my wife, but she was innocent in all this.
Niall too.
I shoved the door back and said, “Come in.”
She peered around the entrance then whispered, “I-I just needed… I just needed to talk. I don’t need to come in.”
“Yeah, you do. You look like you’re going to drop.” I beckoned her forward. “Sit down before you fall down, Priestley.”
Niall cried harder and, grimacing, I murmured, “Is he okay?”
“He’s hungry,” she whispered forlornly.
“Don’t you want to feed him?”
She pressed a hand to her forehead and started weeping.
Right there in the doorway.
I shepherded her forward, hustling her toward the sofa and carefully taking Niall because she looked like she was about to drop him.
That she didn’t notice I picked him up told me a lot about her state of mind. In a similar situation, Aoife would have battled me for Jake.
“Do you have a bottle?” I asked grimly. “I’m an expert at feeding babies now.”
She sniffled and reached into the soft diaper bag she’d brought with her. When she shoved the bottle at me, I took it then slumped down in the armchair beside the sofa.
Niall’s face made a prune look smooth, but I smiled down at him, laughing when his big blue eyes peered up at me in shock.
“I know, little man, I stink.”
Of stuff he shouldn’t really be smelling: cigars, whiskey, beer, vodka, tequila. My clothes were probably flammable now.
“You’re good with kids,” Priestley commented, wiping her hand over her cheeks as she looked at me.
“Had plenty of practice,” I replied as I started feeding Niall. “What’s going on, Priestley? Why are you here?”
“C-Conor won’t see me.”
“You visited him?”
She nodded. “I did. Well, I tried to. I wanted… Callum wanted him to be Niall’s godfather, but… he wouldn’t let me up.”
“How do you know he was in?”
An exasperated growl escaped her. “Why will no one answer me? Why will no one help? Why is everyone stonewalling me? Callum worked for Conor. He worked for one of the O’Donnellys.
“When a man goes missing, there’s an investigation. When someone from an O’Donnelly’s crew goes missing, the entire city is overhauled!
“Knowing Callum and Conor were tight was one of the only things that used to help me sleep at night. There was security there. But Conor isn’t doing anything to find him. What kind of friend is he?
“Callum’s father is friends with Aidan Sr. himself as well! But I haven’t heard a word from Callum in months!” She leaped to her feet and snatched Niall from my arms. “He has a son. A wife. A family. Why aren’t you telling me where he is? You have to know!”
I stared up at her and rasped, “You should be talking to Mark about this. I’m sure he’s been running his own investigation into—”
“Without authority from Aidan Sr., you know any attempt to find him is stonewalled.” She gulped and started rocking Niall when he began crying. “I want answers, Finn. It’s driving me crazy, thinking of him out there—” Her mouth quivered. “If he’s even alive.”
Somberly, I studied her, wishing for a fucking vat of whiskey to make this easier. This had nothing to do with hair of the dog, either.