Page 22 of Brutal Vows

“Listen, you tosser, it wouldn’t do you any harm to show me a little more respect. Technically, I’m your boss now.”

He cackles. “Oh ho! That’s a mighty high horse ye got there, lad! Do ye want a wee crown to go along with yer lofty new position, my liege lord?”

I picture myself in a Shakespearean period outfit with pouffy sleeves and a belted tunic, a bejeweled crown on my head as I haughtily survey the peasants toiling over my land, and can’t help but smile.

“Aye. Give me a bloody crown, would you? Even better, I’ll borrow the diamond tiara Sloane wore when she married Declan.”

“Why not go the full monty and borrow her red dress, too?”

“I do look smashing in red.”

“Always knew ye were a little light in the loafers, mate,” he says, still laughing.

“And what does it say about you that you’re my best friend?”

“That I’m the second-biggest eejit in all the land, obviously.”

“For once, we agree. Now shut the fuck up, you gas bag. I want to catch a few winks before we get back on the plane.”

Try as I might, however, I can’t sleep.

All the way to the airport, memories of furious greenish-gray mermaid eyes keep me awake and churning.

“So you went ahead with it.”

“Aye.”

Declan grunts. I can’t tell what it means. I know he thinks I’m as daft as Kieran does to agree to an arranged marriage with a complete stranger, but I also know he’s pleased as punch with the deal itself.

Which means everything to me. Not only is Declan O’Donnell the head of the Irish Mob, he’s one of the finest men I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for him. My loyalty to him is unshakable.

It’s a small price to pay to marry a lass I don’t love to prove it.

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’s she like?”

I think about it for a moment. “Bright.”

Declan makes a face. “Light bulbs are bright. What’s the lass bloodylike,Spider?”

We’re sitting in his home office in Boston, drinking scotch. It’s late, past midnight, but Declan doesn’t ever seem to sleep much. When I texted him from Logan that we’d landed, he instructed me to come to his house after supper so we could talk.

Now here we are, talking, but I can’t come up with much to describe my future wife.

I barely know the lass, for fuck’s sake.

“What difference does it make?”

He snorts. “Only the difference between misery and happiness.”

“Not everyone can have what you have with Sloane.” I add drily, “Or would want it.”

His blue eyes twinkle at the mention of his wife. “Are you saying my dear bride is a handful?”

“Handful doesn’t even start to scratch the surface. Your woman’s a bloody force of nature. Had us all eating out of the palm of her hand within a day after you kidnapped her.”