Chapter 46
forty-six
DAGR
Dagr was satisfied beyond measure. After weeks of mooning over her like a teenager, Bébhinn was his.
He hoped. They hadn’t discussed the future.
They’d been busy having more sex than he’d ever managed in one go.
He’d never felt such a burning need for another woman.
She’d probably run if she knew he was looking at her as his lifetime partner.
He at least needed to know if this relationship was, in fact, a relationship.
Bébhinn was young. She might be thinking he was a bit of a good time.
Dagr was sitting on her bed when she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in baggy blue jeans and a fitted white tee. The white Hermès tennis shoes made the whole look seem effortless but chic.
Her long black hair was pulled over one shoulder. He remembered how the sleek, straight strands felt when they dragged over his naked body. He had to adjust himself quickly, forcing his mind to the family lunch—a perfect boner killer.
“You’re looking awfully serious.” She stepped between his spread legs, bending to give him a peck on the cheek. “I hope you’re not worried about lunch. Everyone will love you, and I admit, I really want you to meet my mother.”
He hesitated for only a moment before deciding he just needed to come out with it. Beating about the bush had never been a part of his nature.
“What are we? I mean, what are we telling your family?” He felt her stiffen and, in return, felt his body tense.
She looked at him solemnly before answering. “I’ve known what I want us to be for a while. I need to know what you think.”
Fair enough. “I want something serious. Permanent. I’m not interested in dating or sleeping with other women or you sleeping with other men.”
“If you did, you wouldn’t be adding me to the rotation. I don’t sleep around. I don’t want to sleep around. You’re only the second man I’ve ever slept with, and I’m not interested in adding to my body count.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
“So, we’re dating?” He wanted clarification.
“Yes. Exclusively.”
“Exclusively,” he agreed. “Now that we’ve settled that—your family lunch?”
She groaned, burying her face in the crease of his neck. She kissed him beneath his shirt collar. “There are only so many hours in a day. It can’t last forever. Let’s go.”
“Enough hours to get the shit beat out of me.” That was what he wanted to say, but didn’t.
At thirty-nine, he never thought he’d find himself squirming at a girlfriend’s parents’ front door, but here he was, gripping Bébhinn’s hand in what must be an uncomfortably tight clasp.
“Ready?” Bébhinn asked.
“Of course.” Not at all.
Apparently, when she said her family owned a building of flats, they really did. The O’Faolain monolith was a four-story monstrosity of old-world glory—gray stone and a few steps from the men’s wives’ business, Triskelion Design. He couldn’t wait to see the inside.
Lunch today was on the fourth floor. Her mother’s floor. He could handle her brothers’ posturing, but Rowan… Her opinion meant everything to Bébhinn, which meant it was everything to him.
Bébhinn entered the door code and shoved the heavy door open, and he was greeted with three women who looked like his girlfriend standing fanned out before the entrance.
Beyond, leaning against an impressive pub-style bar were four white-haired men, arms crossed, their stares like loaded weapons aimed his way.
It was silent for no more than half a second, until…
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Why do you look like Patrick?”
And finally, the one introduction he needed to ace. “I’m Rowan, Bébhinn’s mother. Come in. Please.”
He might have squeezed Bébhinn’s hand harder than intended, but between his girlfriend’s doppelgangers surrounding him and his own, well, doppelgangers sneering at him, the coming lunch was proving to be a worse nightmare than he’d imagined.
When Rowan, ignoring the men flanking the bar, waved a hand in front of the large display of liquor, clearly asking his preference, he said, “Glenmorangie.”
“Year?” Rowan asked.
“18. If you have it.”
“I do. Good choice, it’s one of my favorites.”
Raven and River—he wasn’t sure who was who—went to their husbands and sons. “Dagr, this is my husband Bran, his brother Patrick, my son, Daniel, and Patrick and River’s son, Jonathan.”
So that was Raven. Then River, which he would have guessed eventually since Bébhinn said she had the sharpest tongue of the three sisters, faced the men, clearly annoyed.
“This is Dagr Griffiths, our Bébhinn’s boyfriend. Shake hands before I lose my shit.”
One of the sons mumbled loud enough for the group to hear. “Bébhinn’s old man friend, more like.”
Several things happened at once. Bébhinn’s head whipped toward her nephew-cousin, and she took a step forward as if she meant violence.
He gripped her hand tighter and pulled her back to his side.
Rowan sucked in breath, her eyes instantly glassy.
As a woman who had loved a man many years her senior, her nephew’s comment would have hit her harder.
The eldest brother, Bran, saw Rowan’s reaction and slammed down his own glass of whiskey, rounding on his son who briefly closed his eyes in…regret, maybe.
“Do not ever disparage age in this house, son. No two people loved each other more than your grandfather and your Aunt Rowan.”
Daniel looked at his aunt first. “I’m sorry, Row. I shouldn’t have said that. I never once thought it of you and Grandpa.” Then he turned to Bébhinn. “I’m sorry, Bébhinn. I was being a dick. Apologies, Griffiths.”
He felt the tension ease out of her fingers where they still held hands. She only nodded in acknowledgement of his words. It wasn’t necessarily forgiveness.
Christ, the shock of being in a roomful of men who had his exact shade of hair was still a mind fuck. Jonathan, the younger white-haired nephew-cousin, spoke up then.
“In Daniel’s defense, we’ve known you’ve been keeping something from us for weeks. It hasn’t sat well with either of us. We’ve always been closer than that, Bébhinn.”
Bébhinn shifted by his side, clearly feeling guilty. She was very close to her whole family. He let go of her hand and wrapped a supportive arm around her back. She looked up at him and graced him with a soft smile.
“Sorry, Jon. Daniel.” She nodded to them both, acknowledging that she’d hurt their feelings, though unintentionally.
Patrick stepped up then and stuck his hand out. “Can we start this awkward fucking meet and greet over? I’m Patrick O’Faolain.”
Dagr took the offered hand immediately. “Dagr Griffiths. Thank you for having me.”
Bran stepped forward then, hand offered. “That was our wives and stepmother’s doing. Don’t get too comfortable.” His smirk softened his words, and Dagr shook his hand.
Jonathan shook his hand but had no words of encouragement or discouragement. Daniel was the last to shake his hand.
“Where did you sleep last night?" Daniel asked, dropping Dagr’s hand and stepping back to stand by his cousin.
“What the hell, Daniel. Screw off. You don’t want to start a war with me, boyo. I have too much on you, and it begins and ends with—”
Daniel quickly cut her off by holding his palms up in surrender. “Peace.” The look he gave Dagr didn’t have a bit of amity couched in the five-letter word.
Dagr was pleased to see Daniel walk to Rowan, where she hovered just outside the group. “I love you, Aunt Row. Please tell me you truly forgive me. I would never—”
“I know,” Rowan patted her nephew’s back. “You will show the same respect to my daughter and her boyfriend.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Daniel agreed. Hesitantly.
Lunch had not been so much a pleasure as it had been a practice of endurance. Not to say that there weren’t some good moments. The sisters were hysterical even when they didn’t mean to be. He did notice that even though Rowan participated she held some of herself back.
Perhaps the highlight of the meal was when River asked Dagr if he liked sourdough bread.
“I do. My mother used to make it for me and Dad.”
“Raven makes it for us. She has her own starter.”
“River,” Bran growled.
That got Dagr’s attention. Bran’s face was turning a brilliant shade of crimson. River was definitely trying to start some shit.
“I do.” Raven smiled tenderly at her husband. “Bran is the one who started it for me before we were married as a present. Besides having our son, it’s always been my favorite gift.”
Dagr couldn’t help himself. “Bran sounds like he must be incredibly romantic.”
“Yes. Always,” Raven sighed as River and Rowan chuckled behind their napkins.
For his part, Bran glared daggers across the table. It had been challenging for Dagr to keep his smile contained. Bébhinn didn’t bother hiding hers.
Now that lunch was over, they were back downstairs, everyone saying their goodbyes, when River asked, “Does your father have white hair?”
“Christ, babe,” Patrick grumbled. “Leave it already. We aren’t flipping related.”
Dagr agreed with Patrick, but he answered anyway. “He does. We look very similar.”
“And his parents?” Now, Raven was playing inspector.
Bébhinn looked at him with wide eyes and a barely contained smirk. She knew what he was about to admit would only encourage her aunts.
“No. They adopted Dad when he was an infant.” Gasps and an “Oh my,” and an “I knew it” from River followed that announcement.
“Come on, guys,” Bébhinn chided. “Surely you don’t believe that I went on a hike and met the son of Bran and Pat’s long-lost brother!”
Rowan shocked everyone when she added her voice to the conversation. “Well,” she hesitated as everyone stopped speaking and turned to her, “I watched all the men during lunch, and they do have certain…similar mannerisms.”
In an embarrassing display of synchronicity, the five men crossed their arms over their chests and scowled at the giggling women, who thought the men’s discomfort was hilarious. All men and women crossed their arms. It was just that their timing was terrible.
Phones were out, and pictures were snapped before Dagr could blink.
Then, before he could leave the tow-headed huddle, Bébhinn said she wanted a family picture.
She set her phone on the bar and put a timer on it.
When Rowan tried to opt out, her daughter wrapped an arm around Rowan’s waist and one around Dagr’s.
When she grinned up at him, clearly enjoying the moaning and groaning coming from the men, he couldn’t help but kiss her upturned lips.