Chapter 56
fifty-six
THE RECEPTION OF MR. & MRS. DAGR GRIFFITHS AND MR. & MRS. CIAR MURPHY
MAGS
It was a gorgeous, sunny day at Three Wolves Distillery, but even the property's rolling green hills, lush lawns, and sumptuous flowers paled in comparison to watching one of her best friends get married.
Mags could still feel one or two stray tears trying to fall.
She took a moment to gather her composure, leaning against her friend and cousin, Blair, while surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes.
The priest had done a lovely job. The ceremony was short and sweet at Bébhinn and Dagr’s request. All the guests present sighed in relief. Having a dreadfully long Catholic wedding shortened into a compact study of love and commitment—many prayers were granted.
Blair nudged Mags’ side and signed, “Bébhinn has to be the most beautiful bride, and look at Gray, strutting around with two children in her arms, looking like a supermodel instead of a woman who was only pregnant weeks ago.”
Mags sighed, watching Bébhinn and Gray grinning and laughing easily with family and friends. Dagr and Ciar rarely took their gazes from their wives.
“I know we’re young, but do you ever feel like we’re being left behind?” Blair asked, leaning more heavily against Mags’ side.
This, coming from one of the smartest humans in the world, had Mags shaking her head in exasperation. “Stop being dumb. Our time will come when it’s supposed to and clearly when you and I are both in the middle of making ourselves famous, now isn’t the time.”
Chuckling, they straightened. Best friend duties wouldn’t wait for pity parties, even short ones.
Curling her arm through Blair’s, she made sure her friend was looking at her so Mags didn’t have to sign.
An unfortunate side effect of so many of their friends and family knowing BSL was that it was way too easy for them to be nosy.
“Let’s go find some hot guys to hang off of and rile our dads up. Well, your dad, anyway, mine is way too chill, thank God.” She would rather be dragged over hot coals before admitting that her dad wasn’t who she hoped to piss off.
Blair grinned. Her inner naughty sprite didn’t come out to play often, but when it did, Mags was all for making the most of it.
“I noticed Dagr invited a few of his friends from London—a few very hot friends from London,” she added and winked.
“Let the games begin,” Mags chuckled.
Mags was careful not to allow her smile to slip. She’d been given devastating news the night before, and pretending like her world wasn’t imploding was paramount to survival at this point.
Mags and Blair laughed and danced, ate, and consumed Three Wolves in all its versatile glory.
They each found handsome arm candy. The men in their families reacted in their usual overprotective ways. Blair seemed to be in the same “zero shits” state of mind that was Mags’ mantra because they enjoyed the hell out of the attention while ignoring the frowners.
There had been a moment, a brief moment, where the man whose attention she hoped to catch had looked furious. It might have been a trick of the light, hopeful disillusionment, but there did seem to be a moment when her group strolled close to his.
Mags had been laughing at a joke by the man whose arm she was holding—she would have sworn rage crossed his otherwise unflappable face.
Good. She hoped he choked on his feelings because God knew that she’d done nothing but swallow hurt for years.
Shaking her head, Mags reminded herself that she had more vital wounds to compress. Playtime was over, and at twenty years old, it was time to put aside childish hopes and whimsy.
Goodbye, Jonathan.