Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Cavin
I stare at her. The woman’s brilliant and reckless, and I think I might… I think I might love her.
I take her by both arms and look her straight in the eyes. “Say that again.”
“Tonight. Right now.” Her eyes are bright with something wild, something that matches the chaos in my own head. “Everything’s in place. I know our families filed paperwork already, as soon as the wedding was agreed on, right?”
I blink and nod. “Right.”
“Even the priest is here, Cavin. We could… we could do it.”
“Your family will lose their shite.” I’m studying her face, trying to work out if she’s serious.
Her smile is wicked, sharp as broken glass. “They’ll absolutely lose their minds. My mother especially. Even better.”
“But your sister’s not here.”
A shadow crosses her face, and she nods. “She wasn’t going to be able to make the original date either, Cavin. Let’s do this. No excuses.”
Christ, she’s serious. And the idea of it, walking out of here with her legally mine, with none of the pomp and circumstance, without having to worry about keeping her safe for the next few weeks under another person’s roof… it’s perfect.
It’s completely fucking crazy, and it’s perfect.
I grin, probably looking half mad. “Let’s do it.”
Bronwyn’s expression when we corner her by the bar is priceless—somewhere between shocked and delighted.
“You’re having me on,” she says, eyes darting between us.
“We’re dead serious,” Erin says. “I need a witness. You in?”
“Are you absolutely mental?” Bronwyn hisses, but she’s already grinning. “Of course I’m fucking in. This is the best craic I’ve seen in years.”
Erin’s cheeks flush at the word craic, but I only wink at her.
The three of us slip through the crowd like thieves. No one’s paying attention, as they’re all too busy drinking Da’s expensive whiskey and kissing his arse. We find Father Gregory in the back corner of the room, looking half asleep in a velvet chair, with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand.
“Father,” Erin says, sweet as honey. “We were thinking…”
The priest’s eyes sharpen. He looks between us, taking in Erin’s formal dress, my suit, and the determination on both our faces as we tell him the plan.
He sighs, long and heavy, but he’s already setting down his glass and pushing himself up. “Your fathers will have my head for this.”
“More like our mothers,” I say with a shrug. “But I’ll take the hit. Don’t worry about that.”
“You’re supposed to go through pre-Cana at the church,” he says, then he shakes his head. “To discuss things like finances, children, conflict resolution… That’s just a formality though. I know as well as you do that any wedding between a McCarthy and a Kavanagh is set in stone.”
Erin looks up at me, her eyes wide. Pride swells my chest. I can’t believe she’s willing to do something so outrageous, so crazy and wild.
“Finances?” I say to her. “You’ll have all your needs met and more.”
“Aye,” she says. “I come into the marriage with a hefty dowry, so no worries there as well. And children? Do you want them?”
“Of course I do,” I say with a nod.
“Same,” she says. “Eventually.”
“Aye. Conflict resolution… I suggest we discuss that in private.”
“Alright,” she says, her cheeks flushing, and I hope she remembers the way I solved the conflict of her whipping my coat at my face.
Conflict resolution could actually lead to children, if we do it right.
“There,” I say to Father Gregory. “We’ve done it, then. Sorted.”
He blinks.
“Sorted.”
“Aye. We have the paperwork, witnesses, and a priest. What more do we need?”
“Rings, son,” he says, his eyes wide. “Did you buy a ring for your betrothed?”
I swallow hard, the thick gold bands that were my grandparents’ sit in a black velvet case in my father’s study. “Aye. Bronwyn,” I gesture for her to come closer. “Do you remember the ring I showed you?”
“Aye,” she says, clapping her hands with glee. “I’ll be right back!”
She runs to fetch them.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Erin says, her voice thin and reedy, not her usual tone.
Something’s off. Her eyes are too wide, the pupils blown, and her breathing’s coming in short, quick bursts through her nose. She’s trying to hide it, of course she is, but I’ve been watching her long enough to know when she’s struggling.
Her fingers start tapping against her thigh, rapid and rhythmic, the movement barely visible. She catches herself after a few seconds and stops abruptly, tucking her hand under her leg like she’s been scolded for it before. Probably has been, knowing how people are.
“Erin.” I keep my voice low, steady.
She doesn’t answer. Her gaze darts around the room, and her jaw’s clenched tight. There’s a fine tremor running through her shoulders.
Fuck. She’s losing it.
I shift closer, angling my body to block her from the rest of the room. Give her some privacy from the nosy fuckers who’d stare. “Erin, look at me.”
Her eyes snap to mine, but they’re unfocused, glassy. Her breathing’s getting worse—faster, shallower. She’s not getting enough air.
“Too much,” she whispers, so quiet I almost miss it. “It’s too much. The—the lights are too bright, and that woman won’t stop talking, and everyone’s looking at us, and I can’t—I can’t—breathe—”
“Hey, hey.” I reach out slowly, telegraphing the movement so I don’t startle her. My hand hovers near hers. “Can I touch you?”
She nods frantically, and the second my palm covers hers, some of the panic in her face eases. Just a fraction, but it’s there.
“That’s it, lass. You’re alright.” I lace our fingers together, squeezing firm enough that she can feel the pressure. Grounding. “What else helps? Tell me what you need.”
“I—” Her breath hitches. “I don’t know. I can’t think. My head’s too loud.”
“Is it the noise? The people?”
“Everything. All of it.” Her free hand comes up to clutch at her chest, nails digging into the fabric of her dress. “I need—I need it to stop. Make it stop.”
Christ. I hate seeing her like this. Hate that I can’t just punch whatever’s hurting her.
I lean in close, pressing my forehead to hers, our noses nearly touching. “Breathe with me, Erin. Match me, yeah?”
I take a slow, deliberate breath in through my nose—four counts—and let it out through my mouth. She tries to follow, but it’s choppy, uneven. Her whole body’s shaking now.
“You’re doing grand,” I murmur. “Again. In through your nose. That’s it.”
It takes a few tries, but gradually, her breathing starts to sync with mine. In. Hold. Out. Her grip on my hand is tight enough to hurt, but I don’t care.
“You’re safe,” I whisper. “I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to hurt you here.”
“Everyone’s staring,” she chokes out.
“Let them fucking stare. Focus on me. Just me.”
Her eyes flutter closed, lashes damp. “You. Just you.”
“That’s my girl.” I bring our joined hands up between us, pressing them against my chest so she can feel the steady thump of my heartbeat. “Feel that? I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”
She nods against my forehead, her breathing still unsteady but slower now, less frantic. The tremors start to ease.
“This,” she whispers after a long moment. “This helps. You touching me. Matching my breathing. Just like… just like that.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” I press a kiss to her temple, lingering. “For as long as you need, lass. I’m not letting go.”
“When you—when you touch me,” she whispers. “It stops the chatter in my head.”
I lace my fingers around the small of her back and hold her to me. “Like that?” I whisper.
“Aye,” she says, our foreheads touching again. “Just like that.”
“I’ve got them!” Bronwyn stands triumphantly with the black velvet box, Declan next to her, presenting us with the rings. But then she notices Erin's wide eyes, the way she's breathing a bit fast, and that I’m holding her. She takes a step back. “Right, yeah. Take your time.”
“I’m good now,” Erin says. “Thank you, Cavin.”
“Right, then,” Father Gregory says in a quiet voice. “Cavin, assemble your witnesses, and we’ll make the announcement.”
Witnesses are an easy matter. Bronwyn and Declan’s eyes shine with excitement as Declan holds the rings and Bronwyn quickly pulls together floral arrangements in front of the fireplace.
“What are you doing, lass?” Mam asks her. Bronwyn turns to me.
“We have an announcement to make.”
I watch Erin begin to tap again, her lips moving in a quiet rhythm as if whispering something to herself.
“Are we mad?” she whispers to me.
“Absolutely. Do we care?” I whisper back. I slide my hand across her lower back and tug her to me.
She looks up at me and smiles. “Not in the slightest. But promise me one thing.” I lean over and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“My god, you’re beautiful. And aye, love. Anything.”
She grimaces. “You’ll handle my mother this time?”
I release a low chuckle. “Sweet lass, I thought you’d never ask.”
And then we’re laughing, both of us, as if we’re in on a secret just meant for us. “Let’s do this, then. Please, Cavin, before I lose my mind.”
This was the best idea she’s ever had. Can’t imagine the poor lass fretting over the next few weeks, her mam breathing down her neck.
I gesture for one of the staff to come over, and order several bottles of champagne. I take an empty glass and a spoon, then click the metal on the glass while I clear my throat.
All eyes in the room come to us.
“We have an announcement to make,” I say, my voice loud and clear in the large expanse of the room.
The chatter dies down, and all heads turn.
My mother watches me thoughtfully, that calculating look in her eye like she already knows what’s coming.
My father cants his head, jaw tight. Seamus and Zoya share a look—curious, maybe a bit concerned.
Someone escorts Tara and Padraic Kavanagh into the room, and I watch as confusion flickers across their faces when they clock the setup.
All eyes are on me now—the weight of expectation, curiosity, judgment. I couldn’t give less of a fuck.
I reach for Erin’s hand and tuck it firmly into my side, anchoring her there. She’s tense, I can feel it, but she doesn’t pull away. Good girl.
“Erin and I have something to tell you all.” I pause, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make them uncomfortable. “As some of you know, we’re here to celebrate and announce our engagement.”
My mother’s eyes narrow slightly. She’s connecting the dots.
“What you don’t know,” I continue, my thumb brushing over Erin’s knuckles, “is that we’re not waiting until next month. Or next week.”
I feel Erin shift beside me, her fingers tightening around mine.
“We’re getting married today. Right now, actually. In about two minutes.”
The room erupts.
My mother’s mouth falls open—an actual rare sight. My father straightens, his eyebrows shooting up. Seamus barks out a laugh that sounds half disbelieving, half impressed. Tara Kavanagh gasps, her hand flying to her chest, and Padraic looks like he might have a stroke.
“Today?” Tara’s voice is shrill. “Cavin, what are you—you can’t just—there’s no time to—”
“It’s already done, Mrs. Kavanagh.” I cut her off smoothly. “Venue’s sorted. Priest’s sorted. Witnesses are here. The only thing left is for you lot to shut up, sit down, and watch me marry your daughter.”
I look down at Erin then, and the corner of my mouth lifts. “Unless you’ve changed your mind in the last ten minutes, lass?”
Her cheeks are flushed, but there’s a fire in her eyes now, that spark I love. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Grand.” I press a kiss to her temple, then look back at the stunned faces around us. “So. You can all either get on board, or you can fuck off. Either way, this is happening.”
My mother recovers first, naturally. She stands, smoothing down her dress, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Well then. I suppose we’d better not keep Father Gregory waiting.”
“Erin.” Tara walks over to us, beside herself. “You can’t—can’t just—”
“She can and will,” I tell her firmly.
“Are you deciding this for her?” Tara’s eyes flash at me. My god, the woman really does need putting in her place.
Erin snorts. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Her mother’s jaw drops open.
“Actually, it was my idea,” Erin says. “I didn’t want to wait. It makes me so nervous. I didn’t want to go through all of this again, all the pomp and circumstance.” She turns to me, and I hold both her hands in mine. “Shall we?”