Devin and I were in agreement that we didn’t want a long engagement or big wedding. In fact, we’d nearly run off to Las Vegas. However, neither of our parents liked that idea and we figured we owed them a ceremony.
So less than two months later, on Beltane or May Day, we were married on the terrace of the Roarke. Andrew was the ring bearer and Bri was my maid of honor. Our parents were thrilled, except, of course, Mrs. Roarke, but at least she didn’t give me death stares anymore. Once the DNA test came back indicating that yes, Devin was Andrew’s father, she retracted her thorns, which wasn’t to say she welcomed me into the family, but she wasn’t as obviously rude to me.
“She treats everyone like pond scum,” Bri told me one night while she and I had gone out leaving Devin and Andrew to have a father-son night. “In fact, you might consider it a good thing. She treats you as badly as she treats me. You’re family.”
We spent our wedding night naked in the suite of the hotel where five years Devin first initiated me into the pleasure of the body, and the next day, we gathered Andrew from my parents’ house, and got on a plane to Ireland.
“You’re full Irish,” Devin had explained to Andrew. “You should see the homeland.”
We brought Bri along, as she was now learning much about the business and the clubs to help Devin out. It gave him more time with us, and something to keep her out of trouble, or so Devin said. It also gave us a sitter the few times we wanted some alone time.
Now it was the first of August, or in Celtic, Lá Lúnasa. Devin and I had taken Andrew to the zoo at Central Park and had a picnic afterward. That afternoon, we dropped Andrew off with Bri at the Roarke house.
“I’m going to beat grandfather in chess,” Andrew said as he walked up the marble steps.
“You can try,” Mr. Roarke said as he appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Then we’re going swimming, right?” Bri said, standing with her arm through her father’s.
“Yay!”
Mrs. Roarke was off at one of her women’s meetings, but Andrew was spending the night, which meant she’d be there while he was. It always put me on edge, but my own parents were off on a cruise and I’d planned a special night for me and Devin. So I had to trust that Bri would keep any negativity from Mrs. Roarke away from Andrew.
After leaving Andrew, Devin and I got into the car and Doug drove us to our destination.
“You’re hardcore Irish to be celebrating Lá Lúnasa,” Devin said. “I’m not sure how many Irish American’s celebrate that.”
“I like celebrating things with you.” I rubbed my hand down his leg.
His eyes glinted. “Is this a Celtic pagan ritual we’ll be doing?”
“Something like that.”
He turned in his seat, pushing me back. “Can we start now?”
“No. I think we’re here.”
Doug pulled in front of the hotel that Devin had first taken me to on St. Patrick’s Day, and then again, on our wedding night.
He grinned when he saw the building. “I should buy this place.”
“Indeed. It’s not a far leap for the Roarke business to expand into hotels.”
“You’re right.”
Up in the room, a candlelight dinner was already waiting.
“Is this how you celebrate Lá Lúnasa?” he asked as he helped me into my chair.
“It’s how we do it.” I pulled off the dome. “Irish stew—”
“With mutton?”
“Of course. And potato bread. For dipping.”
He grinned. “What’s for dessert?”
“Me.”