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She clasps her hands together, fretting, "Ya think ya can slow down?"
I keep my foot steady on the accelerator, claiming, "One thing ya should learn about me, lass, is to always trust me."
She huffs. "Trust ya? Ya think I'll ever trust ya after what you've done?"
I take a turn faster than I should, and the car skids near the ditch.
"Jesus!" she blurts out.
I regain control of the vehicle, stating, "Ya think I'm the problem? Your da's the one making bets he can't keep. Bets he has no business making with people he has no business making them with."
She seethes, "You prey on the weak."
I scoff. "It's not my fault he's weak. We all have choices, just like you did. So he did it to himself."
She shakes her head. "You're a monster."
I grin. "I'm a monster you're going to spend the rest of your life with. Better get used to it."
She turns away from me, staring out the window, spinning the band on her finger. I glance down at the one on mine.
The rings are nothing much. The gold's worn and tarnished. There's an engraving on each. Mo grá, meaning my love, and mo chroí, which means my heart. They can't be worth much. But they'll serve their purpose.
I refocus on the road, slowing down a bit as the rain picks up again. For the rest of the long drive, we don't speak. We cross into Belfast, and I go directly to the church, pulling into the parking lot.
Maeve's lips quiver. "What are we doing here?"
"We're getting married, lass. Did you miss the last few hours of your life?"
She smirks. "Ya can't just get married. Ya have to have three months' notice for the registrar."
I chuckle softly. "Apparently, you don't know how things work."
"And how is that?"
"Princess, I own this town."
Her glare reappears.
"You're not in O'Leary territory anymore. You're in the depths of O'Connor hell. It's best if ya learn who makes the rules and who doesn't."
I pull under the awning and get out of the car. I move to the other side, yank open her door, and hold my hand out. "Let's go."
She ignores my hand and brushes past me, stopping in front of the wooden door.
I bang on it several times until Father Michael finally turns on a light and opens the door. Confusion fills his expression. His eyes drift between Maeve and me. He asks, "What are ya doing here, Tynan? And who's this?"
"Ya think we can come in since it's pouring?" I question.
"Aye. Sorry." He steps back, opening the door wider.
I push Maeve through and follow.
Father Michael shuts the door, then turns toward me. "Want to tell me what's going on?"
I tug Maeve into me. "Aye. We're getting married."
Father Michael arches his eyebrows. "Oh?"
