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Aidan turned to Declan just as the sound of something crashing came from Senior’s office. “More of a problem than that?”
Another crash echoed down the hall. It warred with The Clash’s ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go,’ from the soundtrack of the movie Victoria and Shay were watching.
“Think that was the Chippendale?” Brennan asked wistfully. “I wanted that cabinet when the fucker finally died. It’d look perfect in my office.”
“Yeah, more of a problem than that,” Declan said with a grimace.
Aidan hobbled away from the office door and limped into the nearest den. As he slumped on one of the chairs, he muttered, “Come on, then. Hit me with it.”
I was the last to head into the room, and as I did, I saw Aidan sitting in Senior’s armchair.
The move was probably accidental because it was the closest to the door, and I could see that his knee was paining him, but it seemed more like fate.
We congregated around him, each of us taking our place close to his seat all while our father lost his shit in the other room.
It felt…right.
Like stepping away from the past and walking into the future.
I shook off the thought as Declan mumbled, “I didn’t mention anything because I didn’t want anyone to know, even went as far as to hire private guards for the event, but Aela was recently invited to the White House.”
Arching a brow at that, I asked, “Why?”
Brennan sat up. “Your wife, a woman known to associate with a mobster, was invited to the White House?”
“Well, it wasn’t official until we got married, was it?” Declan retorted. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if that whole administration was as crooked as Da.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked, even though I knew truer words had never left his lips.
“Aela was commissioned by the First Lady to make the Davidson official china set.” He crossed his feet at the ankle as he told us, “I feel like a real dumbass for not registering it sooner, but she wants the wordsÉire le chéile go deoinscribed into the dishes.”
For a second, none of us said anything, then as I processed that we no longer needed Michael’s word for it, Brennan growled, “You mean to tell me that the First Lady is a fuckingcheile?”
