Page 173 of The Temptation

He clears his throat and nods his head.

“Take it, do what you want with it, but know his heart was in the right place when he gave it to you. You mean a lot to him, Father Flannery. Probably more than you’ll ever realise.”

When I see his eyes glisten, I step forward and give him a brief hug.

“Thank you for being the one good thing he had in his life back then.”

When I draw back, he smiles softly.

“I’m grateful he ended up with someone like you, Lucia. You’ve given that man so much.”

“I just picked up where you left off.”

“Lu-Lu,” a little voice screams, and when I glance in the direction it came from, I see Lil’ Peach in her frilly pink dress and sparkly shoes, running towards me with a massive smile on her sweet face.

“Go grab a drink,” I say to Father Flannery. “We’ll be seating the guests soon.”

When he turns to leave, I crouch down, open my arms wide, and Lil’ Peach runs straight into them.

I adore this sweet girl. We’ve become quite close in the last year. When Mrs B, Dominic’s neighbour, had a bad fall, broke her hip, and ended up moving into an assisted care facility, I offered to look after her while he was working.

It was only supposed to be temporary, just until he found a proper nanny. But so far, no one’s met his standards, or stuck around long enough to try. Either they’re not qualified enough, or they take one look at his resting death glare and run for the hills.

He’s not an unattractive man. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s good-looking—annoyingly so—but that permanent scowl and overall grouchy persona can be a little intense. At least for those who don’t know him as well as I do.

I only have to think back to the first time we met. I was convinced he was going to gobble me up and use my bones as a toothpick.

“Where’s Uncle Dominic?” I ask, my gaze sweeping over the hundred-plus guests milling around nearby—witheither champagne flutes, bottles of imported beer, or tumblers containing aged whiskey in hand—as laughter rises in bursts above the soft hum of conversation.

She sticks her arm out and points off to the right.

I glance in that direction and don’t see anyone. “Where?”

She punches her stubby finger forward. “There.”

I shift her onto my hip and head in that direction.

As I approach the side of the marquee, hushed voices, edged with tension, drift through the canvas.

“I won’t ask you again,” Dominic growls. “Who the fuck did that to you?”

“Like I said, I fell.”

“Bullshit, Emily. It’s not the first time I’ve seen a bruise on you. Is it that cocksucker who picks you up from work on the motorbike? Because I’ll snap him like a fucking pretzel if it is.”

“I’ve got to go ... I’m working, Dom.”

I know I probably should stay out of this one, but of course I’m not going to.

When I step around the corner, I find a pretty young blonde dressed in a white blouse and black skirt, with a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres balanced in one hand, while Dominic has a firm grip on the other.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as both their heads snap towards me.

Dominic looks murderous—though honestly, that’s basically his resting face—and that’s when I see it, the bruise, faint but visible, under her eye.

He releases his grip on her hand, and I signal to her with a tip of my head for her to go. She gives me a tight smile as she passes, rushing back towards our guests.

“What the hell was that?” I ask him.