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“Camille is Inessa’s sister,” I told them, just in case they were blind and couldn’t see the family resemblance. “Babe, this is Aidan, Conor, Declan, Finn, and you already know Eoghan, don’t you?” I said with a smirk before I pointed to my nephew who appeared to be flirting, albeit shyly, with Jericho Mills’ kid, and murmured, “That’s Declan’s son, Shay. Aela is Dec’s wife, and Aoife is Finn’s.”
“Pleasure to meet you all,” she said shyly, her cheeks pink enough to stir some very unwarranted emotions in me.
I’d watched her deal with my mother like a champ, but here she was, becoming all pink and shy... Fuck. She was turning me into a caveman. I wanted to haul her over my shoulder and take her home where she didn’t have to be shy again.
Those pink cheeks were mine.
To slowly morph from embarrassed timidity to dawning fire as I turned her onto the path of temptation.
Before I could get any ideas, Inessa moved over to Camille’s side, and slipped her hand into her big sister’s. I almost smiled at the sisterly comradery, before I informed the pack of vultures, “This is Camille. She’s my wife.”
“Your wife?” Conor questioned skeptically.
I nodded.
“This was fast,” he replied. “Too fast—”
“Shotgun wedding?” Declan demanded, earning himself a hissed, “Declan!” from Aela.
“Dec has a point,” Aidan confirmed. “Is it?”
“No,” I said with a laugh. “She ain’t pregnant.”
“Then what was the rush?” Finn asked, his hand tucked in Aoife’s while Jacob, their son, was hitched onto his side, peering at us like we were the most fascinating thing in the city.
We weren’t that impressive—the kid was still in awe of dogs and all things fluffy.
Aoife snorted. “Like you can ask anyone that?”
He grinned down at her before he pinned me in place with a look again.
“The rush was Da,” I told him with a shrug.
Eoghan, folding his arms over his chest, frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Because he wanted to forge another dynastic marriage, one worthy of Charles and Di?” was my droll retort as I slipped my arm around Camille’s waist. It didn’t escape me that she huddled into my side.
I had no idea why I liked that, but I did.
She turned to me, not her sister... after barely any time as my wife. It should have saddened me that she did that, but it didn’t. If anything, Ilikedit. I wanted her to turn to me—every fucking time.
Scowling, Conor narrowed his eyes at me. “You mean, that’s why he’s got a hard on today? Over this?”
“Yeah. Well, that and Vasov’s dead.” My brothers tensed up, which told me Da hadn’t let them know that salient fact. It was also a testament to how tightly the Bratva were keeping a lid on their Pakhan’s murder if my brothers hadn’t heard any whispers about that yet. Because we couldn’t talk business, I carried on, “We’ve been uninvited from Sunday lunch too.”
Accepting the change of topic, Aidan tipped his chin forward. “You mean, Camille hasn’t been made welcome?”
“No,” I told them, wondering what their reaction would be.
Conor pursed his lips. “Well, I didn’t feel like Ma’s roast dinner today anyway.”
My brows rose. “You love her food.”
“We all do,” he countered, “but Da can’t keep pulling this BS over us. We’re not six any fucking more.”
“Language,” Finn rumbled. “Little ears.”
“Jake can’t wipe his ass yet. I don’t think he knows what the word ‘fuck’ means,” Conor argued.
