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Chapter Seventeen
"Bod an Donais," I hiss. "Ye cannae order us to—"
"Rory Niall MacTaggart, don't you curse at me," my mother says in the stern tone I know well. "You decided to sweep the lass off her feet and bulldoze her through a marriage ceremony in a magistrate's office, in another country. This wedding is for Emery as much as for me and Penny and our families."
I moan, like the pathetic numpty I am. How did I not anticipate this? "Mother…"
Ma arches one brow, quite like the way I often do. "Lachlan and Aidan gave us weddings."
My shoulders slump. "I gave ye three ceremonies. How many do ye need?"
"One for every marriage. Lachlan didnae complain about another wedding."
"He's only had two."
Emery whispers to me out of the corner of her mouth, "Let her have this."
Bloody hell. But she's right, and I know it. I shut my eyes and hang my head for a moment, then pull myself up to face the inevitable. "You can have your wedding. In three weeks."
"It's your wedding, Rory," my mother says. "And you will pay for it, won't you."
Though the statement is phrased as a question, I know she means it as a command. Her tone confirms it.
I grimace a wee bit. "I will pay."
Aye, in every way imaginable.
"Then you can have three weeks," Ma says. She winks at Emery.
Does my wife need to look so happy about the prospect? It will be a ridiculous spectacle, even more so than this garden party nonsense.
Ma grasps my face and plants a firm kiss on my cheek. "Good lad."
I aim a resigned look at my wife.
She winces, her lips tight.
My mother kisses my wife's cheek. "This is for you, Emery. We willnae do anything you don't want."
No one cares what I want. That's a husband's lot, isn't it? To let the women in my life cram a sodding wedding down my throat and expect me to enjoy it.
My parents leave us, though only so they can tell everyone about the "fairy-tale wedding" that will happen in three weeks. Da glances back at me and shrugs, as if he's silently telling me there's nothing a man can do in a situation like this.
Emery smiles and bumps my shoulder. "I like your parents."
I grunt. "You want a posh wedding."
"No, but this will make our mothers feel better. Don't you want your mom to be happy?"
I grunt again. "Arguing with women about weddings is a futile endeavor."
"Did you have big weddings the first three times?"
"Not extravaganzas. Tasteful ceremonies."
"I'm sure our mothers won't go hog wild with this one."
She doesn't know my mother. It had taken an enormous amount of negotiation to stop my brothers' weddings from becoming outlandish events.
