“I like him, Meadowlark,” Ethel says.

“You should have married him then.”

“Too late now,” she declares as Lachlan opens her door. With a delighted cackle, she takes his waiting hand and steps out of the car.

I start to follow her, trying to steel my nerves for what’s ahead, when Lachlan’s hand reaches into the back seat. I take it, feeling an unexpected reassurance from sharing warmth with the only other person who could possibly feel what I’m feeling right now. When I’m out of the car and standing next to him, he doesn’t let go like I thought he would.

“You okay?” he asks.

I feel like I’m coating myself in layers of papier-mâché when I smile. “Yeah, of course.”

But Lachlan isn’t buying it. “You sure?”

“I’m nervous,” I blurt, and I don’t know why.

My internal reprimand is immediate. He shouldn’t see any weakness in me. Lachlan Kane does not like me. He’s only going through this whole insane escapade to save his ass.

I lock my spine and pull my shoulders back. “I’m nervous for you. If they suggest taking you for a tour of an industrial facility in Portsmouth, you should politely decline. And then run.”

Worry flares in Lachlan’s expression before he smothers it beneath a smirk. “All right, you feckin’ catastrophe. Let me show you how it’s done.”

I snort. “If they don’t throw you in the batch oven, I’ll do it myself.”

With a final glare at each other that doesn’t really sting, we follow my aunt to the front door, our hands still clasped together.

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IN NOMINE PATRI

Lark

My aunt rings the doorbell and we wait. She can’t help but bash her cane against the door a few times when it takes longer than it should for someone to fetch us. When the door swings open, Ethel is already grinning, ready enough for the both of us to set off a few bombs at what is normally an uneventful weekly brunch. She gives Ava a kiss on both cheeks, then stands aside in the foyer to watch the first drops of chaos hit the hot pan that is my sister’s volatile temper.

“Meadowlark,” Ava says, suspicion laced in her voice as she gives me a weak hug.

“Good to see you,” I say. “I thought you’d be heading back home soon?”

“Another week. Edward is too busy with work right now to miss me anyway.” She lets me go and scrutinizes my face with the razor-sharp precision only a sister can. She looks at Lachlan then back at me. But I’m no rookie. Show no fear to the devil—in nomine Patri, and all that. I keep my shit on lockdown. “So,” Ava says as she slowly pivots to face Lachlan. “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Of course.” I grin and rest a hand on Lachlan’s rock-hard bicep. I barely resist the urge to poke it and see if there’s any give. “Lachlan, this is my sister, Ava. Ava, this is my … Lachlan,” I say, chickening out at the last minute.

“Husband, dear,” my aunt pipes up.

Ava lets out a deafening shriek that echoes up the vaulted ceiling of the foyer.

“Husband …? Husband. Husband. What the fuck?” Ava grabs my hand and shrieks again as she turns toward my aunt, her mouth agape. “The fuck?”

Ethel is having the time of her life watching my normally cool and composed sister spiral. And in true Ethel style, she loves nothing more than to hasten the descent. “I believe the proper response is ‘congratulations on your elopement,’ dear.”

“What is happening? You’re married? When? I don’t understand.”

“What’s all the commotion?” my mom asks as she enters the foyer, the uneven cadence of her steps announcing her presence before her voice does. “Oh, hello, Lark darling, I—”

My mom’s voice cuts short the instant she sees Lachlan, but Ava is there to fill the void. “She’s married, Mom. Lark. Is. Married,” Ava says as she grabs my wrist and thrusts my hand toward my mother. Mom immediately recognizes the ring and shoots Ethel a shocked glare.

Ethel grins.

“Fucking hell,” I whisper to Lachlan when my mother, Ava, and Ethel start talking over one another. “We haven’t even made it into the house yet.”

Lachlan snickers and glances down his shoulder at me. “Watch and learn, Blunder Barbie.”

He winks at me. Fucking winks. And then he steps into the fray holding out the black bag with the gift he brought. “Perhaps we should crack this open and I can explain,” he says as he reaches into the cloud of tissue paper and pulls out a bottle of 2018 Château Pétrus. “Or there’s a bottle of Springbank whiskey if that’s your preference. Figured we all might want to share something a bit stronger, given the circumstances.”

The arguing stops momentarily as all three women eye him.

“I promise this story is not quite as wild as it seems.”

No one says anything for a beat and I begin to think we’re going to have to slink back out the door and give up on this plan. But then Ava whips the bottle of whiskey from the bag with a glare and leads the way toward the back of the house.

My mom lingers for a moment with a long, grave look in my direction then locks her silver-blue eyes on Lachlan. “I’m looking forward to hearing this ‘not wild’ version of events. Please, do come in,” she says before she follows my sister, my aunt trailing after her.

Lachlan extends a hand for me to take. I cross my arms and he shrugs as if to say suit yourself.

“Were you making your accent thicker to appeal to my mother and sister with your nonexistent Irish charm?” I hiss.

Lachlan’s smile is nothing short of devious. “Ye wound me with yer accusations, me darlin’ wife.”

“You just did it again.”

Lachlan twinkles his tattooed fingers in my direction, and I heave a dramatic sigh before taking his hand again. “Told you I would be fine.”

“Shut up. It’s been like, five minutes. Plenty of time for you to fuck it up.”

The sound of heated conversation greets us as we head toward the kitchen, where my mom and sister try to simultaneously explain to my stepdad that yes, I am indeed married and yes, his name is actually Lachlan Kane. Thankfully, my sister just looks confused when my parents shoot each other knowing glances. If Ava knew about their concerns regarding Lachlan, I’m pretty sure he’d be dead already. She’s always had over-protective sibling energy and I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s spent her adult life looking for an excuse to activate her Montague murder genes.

I put everything into radiating what I know they need to see. Happiness. Contentment. Adoration for the man whose hand I hold a little too tightly. I introduce Lachlan to my stepdad and stay Velcroed to his side until I’m sure my new husband won’t be murdered on the marble island. The barrage of questions starts, of course, and they don’t let up as we bring the food over to the dining table and take our seats. Some moments of the inquisition are more painful than others. When did this happen? Where? Why weren’t we invited?

“Because I told them not to invite you,” my aunt declares, silencing the bombardment. “You all have enough going on lately with the businesses. With me. So when Lark told me she’d met someone and wanted to marry him before I pass away, I asked her to do it this way. She wanted something intimate, and I wanted to be there. And now it’s done.”

As if to rub it in, Ethel coughs, at first a gentle rumble that I’m not entirely sure she’s not conjuring into existence, but one that quickly turns into a lengthy fit. My mom rubs my aunt’s shoulder while my sister fetches a box of tissues, and when it finally subsides, the first thing my aunt says is, “Do you know how these two met? It’ll be a great story for the grandkids. He tossed her in the trunk of a car.”