Rowan snorted in amusement.
Addressing the crowd, Hugh announced, “I knew you’d want that. You mentioned it once during Raven’s wedding. In the hope you’d say yes, I called my attorney and had him start looking into the paperwork for an expedited wedding license. We can get married as soon as you want and take our honeymoon next year once our baby is born. What do you think?”
“I think this is why I said yes.” She stepped close, her body flush with his, and placed her palms against his broad chest. She melted even more when she felt the heavy thud of his heart. This man…herman had crushed his inhibitions and claimed her in front of everyone. Even if today was the only day for grand, public gestures, it was enough. Way more than enough. It was a story she would tell their child one day.
“Kiss me like you mean it, Mr. O’Faolain.” His dark eyes shone brightly as he grasped her waist, pulling her into his body before claiming her mouth—thoroughly and irrevocably, like he’d already claimed her heart.
When he finally set her back on her feet, she was breathless. They smiled at each other, soft and secret. Let me have a moment alone. At his nod of understanding, and before she stepped away, she whispered, “You were always mine, and I’ll always be yours.”
“Until the end of forever,” he whispered back.
Hugh released her waist as Rowan stepped away and went to take her sisters’ hands. She noticed the men left the room, followed by Nan who blew her granddaughters a kiss as she passed.
Together, they formed a circle holding hands. Unbreakable. Never-ending.
“I love you,” Rowan said, looking at the two most important women in her life.
“I love you,” Raven echoed.
“I love you,” River answered.
“We did it. We found our forever,” Rowan grinned through her tears.
“We did.”
“Hell yeah, we did.”
Hand in hand in hand. Always.
EPILOGUE
MURPHY’S PUB, DUBLIN—KENNEDY-DANIELS WEDDING
Diana Gaines
Normally, I avoid this type of event. Weddings are all well and good, but a wedding in an Irish pub…well, let’s just say it wouldn’t have made my top eight thousand things I might enjoy list. My best friend, Matilda O’Faolain, is admittedly not as uptight as I am. She was excited about the event, so here I am.
Tilly cheered as the new bride gave an impromptu dance on her new husband’s lap. I cringed. They did look gloriously in love, and I am deep down,waydeep down, a sentimental woman. I may have been a widow for almost twenty years, but I’m not dead. At seventy-two, I am still a fine-looking woman. My sleek silver bob is perfectly quaffed, shiny, and thick. My figure is, well, I’d never been some voluptuous Jessica Rabbit, but Iaman average five foot six and trim.
I had been infertile—I wasn’t infertile now, just old. When my late husband had brought up adoption, I’d eviscerated the suggestion. My set-down might have caused him internal bleeding. Adoption meant I’d failed. Diana Townshend Gaines didn’t fail at anything. My marriage had certainly not been agreat love story like my best friend’s, but Tilly and Jon were exceptions to the rule.
I used to envy my dear friend, but Jonathan’s passing had almost taken Matilda to the grave with her husband. When George had passed, it had been an inconvenience at best.
George and I were the rule. We were a match created between our two powerful families. We’d gotten on well enough. It had never been passion forward but rather duty, nothing more, nothing less.
I regretted my ignorant stance on adoption, but not until years later. Too many years later. A husband dead, no interest in replacing him, and at the time, I was fifty-five. An age that seemed too ancient to consider creating a family. Now, at seventy-two, I could admit that I’d stood on the wrong side of that argument. It happened rarely, but it did happen.
No matter. I had lived a full life and adored my brother Owen’s children and my great-niece, Samantha. I also had my best friend Matilda, her son, and his children and their families. When Bran and Patrick had their own sons, I’d felt like a grandma too. One could have regrets. Wallowing in regrets, however, was a disgusting waste of time. Ignorant people wasted their time.
I have always been the antithesis of ignorance.
I moved to stand next to Tilly and my brother, who seemed to be glued to my best friend’s side of late. I’d be pissed if Owen didn’t look so damn happy.
Bran handed his son, Daniel, off to his wife, Raven. He and his brother had begun to hurl insults at each other while Hugh watched, shaking his head.
I was about to nudge Tilly’s side and question her grandsons’ low behavior, but someone crowded my free side, the warmth of their arm irritating. I attempted to ignore the unwanted interloper. No eye contact assured no verbal communication.However, the Neanderthal, with no social intuition, cleared their distinctly male throat.
With an inner sigh, I glanced right and was surprised to see Bébhinn’s husband, Devlen. Tilly adored the Irish woman and her new husband had seemed pleasant, but this behavior was about to earn the Irishman a set down.
