97. CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
“Merry Christmas Eve!” Kieran cheers his entire family wearing a Santa hat.
Inside his grand living room, a fireplace roars on one end and a twelve-foot tree decorated with colorful lights, red and silver bows, and green Celtic-inspired glass ornaments stands majestically on the other end of the room.
Eoghan comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my chest. Pressing a kiss to my ear, he says, “This is how we grew up. We always had a big celebration on Christmas Eve. Kieran restored the tradition.”
“Do the people at Rockefeller Center know someone stole their tree?” I joke, pointing to the pine-scented monstrosity with my candy cane gel manicure.
Eoghan brought me to see the famed eighty-foot tree one night, followed by a private tour of 30 Rock, and the observation deck. Where he dropped to one knee and proposed.
With a diamond so big, I need to do bicep curls every morning to strengthen my arm enough to lift my hand.
Of course, I said yes. He could have asked me with a candy ring pop, and I would have said yes.
Underneath the soaring wild spruce are tons and tons of presents. Darragh’s daughter, Sophie, a sweet little blonde runs around handing them out.
It’s the life, the big, tight-knit family, I always wanted and never had.
In the past two weeks, I’ve been driven around and formally introduced to all the wives. Women who will call me sister and every time I think about it, I want to cry.
On the sofa, Riordan sits with his wife, Priscilla, passing their newborn daughter back and forth. She’s an adorable cueball wearing a pink bow on her head, which is, yeah, a little pointy.
Near the tree, Darragh swings his son around, while his wife, Ana, plays got your nose. Her sister, Katya, Lachlan’s wife, who’s very pregnant, hands gifts to Sophie each time she returns.
“That’ll be us next year,” Eoghan whispers in my ear. “I hope.”
I squeeze his hand. The pregnancy test I took two weeks ago was inconclusive. The insert said it was too early in my cycle.
Everyone has been loving and warm, asking questions about my mom who we’re seeing tomorrow when Eoghan and I fly to Vegas early tomorrow.
Balor approaches me wearing dark horn-rimmed glasses. He’s taller than I thought, six-one and lean with thick, fringed-up hair the color of mink and green eyes. Every inch of skin bulges with veiny muscle.
“When you’re further settled, Jillian, let’s talk,” he says, looking right at me with a voice deeper than I remembered. “It’s time I patent several of my technical inventions. I’ve been sitting on dozens for years.”
I shudder, hearing inventions thinking it’s got to be more of those weaponized drones. “I… I can help you with that.”
Smiling, he says, “You were a patent attorney before you joined the Las Vegas D.A., right?”
My heart does small flips mostly because that means he vetted me.
Eoghan and I have not talked about what kind of job I’d have here in Astoria, if any. It’s only been two weeks, and I’ve been flying back and forth to Vegas.
On a private jet with a bodyguard. Dressed in expensive designer clothes.
Like a celebrity, which isn’t as exciting as I thought and mostly embarrassing because it’s not who I really am.
But Balor gives my heart hope I can do something useful for the family.
“I was a patent attorney,” I say, straightening my back. “A great one.”
“I need someone to file my patents. And take trips to Washington. Schmooze with the patent office. You know the ins and out of public service. You know the players.” Balor smiles at me.
It’s so unexpected. The brother I thought I had the least in common with because I have two left hands and a hole in my brain when it comes to computers, will apparently be the one I’ll be working closely with.
I didn’t want to work in Eoghan’s office. That’s his domain—but this, this I know how to do. And it’s something I want to do.
“I’m in. I’m excited.”
“Good.” He nods, looking down into his glass. “Kieran wants us to have a solid legit arm of the business. This is it.”
“Thank you for trusting me.”
“We all trust Jillian,” Eoghan says, hugging me.
“We’ll talk more when I get back from Australia.” Balor sips his drink.
“Australia?”
His hooded green eyes find me, then drift over my shoulder to Eoghan, who I bet is death-staring his younger brother to open up to me.
“A tech symposium,” Balor answers.
My fingers tingle. “Does it have anything to do with that massive cyber outage last week?”
“Aye,” he says, his voice sharp as a blade.
For three days before Christmas, a global technical blackout, as it’d been called, shut down credit cards, airports, and major companies were slammed with ransomware viruses.
It inconvenienced me, sure, shopping for gifts, but Eoghan always keeps an ungodly amount of cash on him.
Now Balor is attending a global conference to address it? Impressive.
“Good luck,” I say to him, absorbing his smile before he gives Eoghan a nod and walks away.
The nod to Eoghan is something I noticed he often does, and it leaves me wondering if it has anything to do with that night in Boston many years ago. A continued, thanks, bro.
Turning to Eoghan, I say, “Now you come with me.” I drag my fiancé to the bathroom, unable to contain my excitement.
“Fuck, yeah. A quickie?” He fumbles for his belt.
How could I not have assumed he’d expect sex?
“Okay, but I have something for you first.”
“A blow job?”
“Sure. But this is first.” From inside my blazer, I take out a box. “Here. Open it.”
Eoghan eyes it suspiciously. It’s plain white with a thin red ribbon. He undoes the loose bow and pops the top.
His eyes flutter and his jaw quivers. “Sparkles. Really?”
I reach inside the box and take out the positive pregnancy test. “Two pink lines. You know those country songs you listen to, they say two pink lines…”
Turns out my man’s a country music fan. Now I’m hooked and in my cowboy romance era.
Eoghan hugs me so tight, he might pop the baby out of me right there. “I love you, Jillian. So fucking much.”
“I love you, Eoghan O’Rourke.” We kiss for a few minutes and hold hands. Then I unzip his pants and lower to my knees because I owe this man a blow job. “Will our baby call you Daddy or Da?”
He thinks about that and considering the tension with his father, he says, “Daddy works for me.” His head tips back when I take him into my mouth.
“Daddy sure works for me.”