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Deidre gathers us both in her arms. “As I said, there will be a flock of ginger babies.”
“Off to Irish school,” says Jack.
“Too right,” calls Doolin from his seat.
A huge bang draws everyone’s attention. Alan Rafier thrusts a finger at the pile of scripts. “Best to you both, but let’s get down to it.”
Jack kisses me soundly before taking his place next to Niks. She brushes a kiss across his cheek, and I don’t even care. Then she looks straight at me, clasps her hands together as if in prayer and bows. It’s a little weird, but I’ll take it.
Danna taps me on the back and points to the empty chair next to Bobby. Scripts are passed around, opened, and folded back as I take my place at the table. The room is quiet, but the tune in my head is electrifying. I want to pull Jack up onto the table and dance. Out loud is the way all love and happiness deserve to be. I will never accept anything less.
Donal Cam’s husky voice floats through the air as Jack reads the lines I’ve written for him. “Time and love are the strongest forces a human heart must endure. Through the mists of daybreak and across the ages, I will always find you, my partner in passion, spirit, and laughter. Gillian, my forever love.”
When he lifts his eyes to mine, the single tear sliding down Jack’s cheek matches my own.
ChapterTwenty-Six
The tumult on Meg’s face as Jack as I take our places in the plum-colored chairs opposite her desk makes me wish I’d brought a Donal Cam sword to this meeting. Since the reveal of our engagement last week, she hasn’t spoken to either one of us. Thank goodness Bobby’s offer of joiningThe Chieftain’s Sonwriting staff makes me as close to bullet proof as I’m likely to get.
Next to me, Jack sits battle-ready on the edge of his seat. Meg’s double pedestal desk is the only barrier between the lion and lioness ready to spring at one another’s throats. That makes me the lion tamer. I hope I walk away with minimal toothmarks.
Meg folds her hands. “Bobby wants to paint Jack as the dutiful fiancé.”
Her comment is so in sync with what we want that I nearly slap the desk and call out, “Done!” It will be a relief to have her as an ally again.
Jack slips my left hand, the one wearing an engagement ring, through the crook of his elbow, bringing it to rest on his forearm. The opal surrounded by diamond chips twinkles in the beam of an overhead light.
When Meg narrows her eyes at my ring, the body next to me transforms into a pillar of stone. I press my knee against Jack’s in an attempt to keep him grounded.
The queen of publicity flattens her palms on the table, targeting us with a glare that could summon hailstones from a summer sky. “I said no to that plan.”
A vein on Jack’s temple pulses. Before he blows, she holds up a finger. “We’re greenlighting Gillian to developThe Chieftain’s Sonpodcast with Maureen.”
“Great. I’d love to.” Maybe this isn’t going to be a bloodletting after all.
“And I owe you both an apology for the way I acted that night at Howth. I panicked and left your feelings out of the equation. That was wrong.”
Jack shifts beside me and darts a quick glance at Meg before draping an arm across the back of my chair. “A nice offer for Gilly and an apology…” He drops his chin, studying Meg’s face. “Why is my gut saying you’re buttering us up for news we’re not going to like?”
She meets his stare head-on. “Let me paint the scenario I’ve got planned.”
Oh God, one of Meg’s scenarios.I nearly crush Jack’s fingers.
He grasps the edge of the desk and leans forward. “I think it’s best if we’re the ones doing the painting.”
I slide a finger along the edge of the desk. “Before you lift that paintbrush, you should know I’ve moved in with Jack.”
Meg’s chin gives a startled bob.
“In his cottage here on The Clan property and in Sneem.” Moving in may be an exaggeration since I’m still basically living out of a suitcase. I do have toothbrushes at both places.
Meg drops her head, staring at the top of the desk for a long brittle moment. Slowly, she raises her eyes to us. “The Clan cottage isn’t a problem, but Sneem is a disaster waiting to happen.” She jabs a pen at her personalized note pad, leaving a smudge of blue ink. “You’ve already been seen there together. There’s probably press camped out waiting to catch Jack and the mystery girl.”
I flash on the grief we’ve caused Imelda because her delivery boy blabbed about us on cheese-and-onion-pie night. The thought of turning peaceful Sneem into a hornet’s nest of paparazzi is a legit concern.
Jack shakes his head. “Are you operating on the notion this is a negotiation?”
Meg taps her fingernail on the desktop. “It’s a strategy meeting, Jack. We’ve got to approach this to benefit the show and appease True Time.”
