Page 2 of Irish Betrayal

For now, I’m going to be the best student Trinity’s STEM program has ever seen. They’ll have to invite me next year, and the next, and the next after that.

Peter told me that he likes my smile. He also said he would learn BSL.

For me.

two

Present

Dublin, Ireland

BLAIR

“Oklahoma! But that’s so far away,” Bébhinn whined. “And what about poor Wren? He’ll want his Auntie Blair at his birth!”

Blair surprised her friends with the news that she’d accepted Oklahoma State University’s offer and would be moving to the United States a few days after Christmas.

“I’ve heard it all now,” Blair signed, rolling her eyes before lightly bumping her friend’s side. “I’m not staring at your vagina, no matter what’s coming out of it, weirdo. You were never this dramatic before growing a baby. Speaking of…Wren?”

Bébhinn sighed, leaning back against the living room couch where Mags was still reclined, sighing over her new finger bling. Jonathan asked Mags to marry him an hour ago. The friend group had met at Jonathan and Daniel’s house, soon to be Jonathan and Mags’, to catch up and check on Mags’ recovery after a lunatic had set a bomb in her art studio.

It was a miracle that Mags was still whole and healthy and sitting amongst them. Blair was immensely thankful that she had a few more months before she left for Oklahoma.

The guys went on a food run, giving the girls time to lounge in a huddle like they used to, before school, work, and men. They were all oohing and aahing over Jonathan’s proposal, baby pictures, and of course, Bébhinn’s little sprout.

Bébhinn placed her hand over her microscopic bump. “Yeah. Dagr and I loved the name as soon as we saw it. Wren Wolf Griffiths. Wolf for our dads,” she added. “Dad was always known as a wolf in business, my brother’s too, and Ulf in Norse means wolf. It seemed meant to be.”

“It’s perfect,” Gray said.

“It is,” Mags agreed. “It’s still hard to fathom that Gray is a mom, and you’re about to be, Bébhinn. You guys are leaving Blair and me in your Good Housekeeping dust.”

“Don’t add your name to that list, Mags. You’re living with Jonathan and engaged, and I’m⁠—”

“Moving to Oklahoma,” Bébhinn finished. “About to embark on a grand adventure and become a famous plant pathologist.”

“Yeah, I’d say none of us are doing too shabby,” Gray said, crossing her long legs at the ankle where her feet rested on the ottoman.

“You know,” Mags mused, “I always thought you and Daniel were having some secret affair and that eventually, you’d admit to us that you’d been bouncing up and down on his you-know-what whenever our backs were turned.”

Blair felt her stomach tighten but forced a nonchalance that was only slightly out of reach. “Of course, your filthy mind would go there, Mags.”

Her friends all hooted. The assholes. “You know very well that I’m about as far from Daniel’s type as a monkey is from a tiger’s.”

“Please,” Mags scoffed. “I’m sure everyone thought I wasn’t Jonathan’s type, but it turns out, I’m his only type. The love of his life, the wet to his dreams…the best.”

No one but Mags could make bragging sound raunchy and poetic. When the laughter died down, three sets of eyes zeroed in on Blair’s face, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Gray glanced Bébhinn’s way, transmitting some thought telepathically, because Bébhinn grimaced but sat up, squaring her shoulders.

“It’s funny you say you aren’t Daniel’s type because several months ago the two of us,” she paused and pointed to Mags, “would have sworn we saw you and Dan in the back garden.”

“And when they called to tell me, they said it didn’t look like you two were pruning bushes,” Gray added.

“Unless you asked Daniel to help shear your pubes,” Mags said with barely suppressed glee. “Come on, Blair. We’re your best friends.”

Blair prayed the floor would somehow become an outer space black hole or wormhole or any kind of hole and suck her out of existence, but unfortunately, her mortified silence was a green light for the horror to continue.

“It was the night you crashed one of Jonathan’s dates to tell him about Ciar having a baby and whether or not we should tell Gray. You said the bitch—his date, not Gray,” Bébhinn clarified, “was horrible but knew how to order a good dinner.”