I find her talking in not-so-hushed whispers with my wife, who’s giggling behind her hand.
“What’s that about?” Eoghan studies Victoria and his sister-in-law. “The Poles?”
I can’t tell him that one of her Christmas gifts was a dedicated room to pole dancing.
Though, I’m not entirely sure that isn’t a gift to myself…
She certainly rewarded me with a new routine this morning. One she’d choreographed for, “The man who has everything.”
“Did he attend the wedding?” Eoghan growls.
“No! For fuck’s sake,” I snipe. “Nobody was there apart from her best friend and mine, dammit.”
“Brennan! Are you being mean to Maxim?” Camille asks sweetly as she sidles up to her husband.
“Of course I am,” he scoffs.
She smiles at me. “Good.”
“Why are you blaming me for the small wedding? It’s like you don’t know your sister at all,” I deride.
“Victoria would have wanted us there if you hadn’t convinced her otherwise.”
Family.
God, Thanksgiving with mine and now Christmas with Victoria’s.
Fuck my life.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can I go and eat now? Is the Irish Inquisition over?”
“It’s never over,” Camille snipes in Russian.
Deciding to put an end to this conversation, I slide into the place marked with my name. Then groan when I realize I’m seated beside Inessa on one side and Camille on the other.
“You didn’t think you’d get away from us that easily, did you?” Camille hisses.
Inessa frowns at me as she sits down. “We need to talk to you.”
“What about? Your husbands have already warned me off.”
Victoria, sliding into the chair opposite me, wonders, “Hey! Why am I not next to Maxim?”
Brennan flicks out his napkin and lays it on his lap. “Because you can be separated from him for a meal.”
“Did you change my seating plan around again?” Aoife nags.
“I did no such thing!”
Aoife glowers at Eoghan. “You.”
Victoria, ignoring this side conversation, rants, “You’re both sitting next to your spouses. Shay, switch with Maxim.”
Releasing the long-suffering sigh of a man who just wants to eat his Christmas meal in peace, Seamus stands and moves around the table.
“Maximwantsto sit next to us.” Camille digs her nails into my shirt-covered forearm. “Don’t you, Maxim?”
“I’d prefer to sit next to my beautiful wife,” I answer, making a swift retreat before his uncles can sway Seamus’s mind about switching.
