The Pact (Winslow Brothers 2)

“Oh my God,” she says through a giggle, her lips still permanently attached to mine. “Is that why you started talking so much? I had a moment where I thought you’d been abducted by pod people.”

“Says the woman who kept shooting fucking finger guns at the immigration agent.”

“I didn’t know what to do with my hands!” She giggles some more, and it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Fuck, baby, once you started smiling like you were trying to get your mouth to reach your damn hairline, I knew I had to do whatever I could to get you out of there.”

“And boy oh boy, am I glad you did.” Daisy snorts and hops up to wrap her legs around my waist. She places erratic kisses all over my face, and I don’t hesitate to squeeze her luscious ass with my big hands.

“Now that you saved me from being deported by Fantastic Fran, what’s next, husband?” she whispers against my mouth.

“First, home, so I can fuck you senseless. Then, we get ready for Jude and Sophie’s wedding.”

Daisy giggles, but then, she leans back and stares deep into my eyes. “And then what do we do?’

“We spend the rest of our lives together.”

Her responding smile lights up my whole fucking world.

“There will be a night, though. One wild, unexpected night in a seemingly predictable life where you, my sweet boy, will make a pact with a stranger from which there will be great consequence.”

There’s only one thing Cleo failed to mention that night in her dark, velvet-draped room—that Daisy would be the kind of consequence I would pray will never change.

Ten hours later…

Daisy

I take a bite of delicious wedding cake and look across the room, where I spot Flynn standing in a corner off to the side of the dance floor, chatting with his brother Remy.

I don’t yet know all the details of what happened between them last night after the rehearsal dinner, but from what I understand from Flynn’s limited explanation, Remy broke open our huge Pandora’s box of lies and dragged Flynn through a tense questioning.

My shoulders sag. And to think, while he was going through all that, I was finding out about the little bambino in my belly. To say the past twenty-four hours have been a bit of a roller-coaster ride would be quite the understatement. But I can’t deny I’d ride that crazy roller coaster a million times over if it meant I’d end up in the same place—married to Flynn, with a precious baby on the way.

As I place another bite of cake into my mouth, an approving moan falls from my lips, but that’s quickly overcome by what sounds like a text message notification.

Quickly, I locate my purse beneath my chair at the head table and realize both Damien and Gwen have been trying to reach me since my dead battery abruptly ended our FaceTime chat.

The whole screen looks a little like a psycho-killer movie massacre, but the last two texts in the group chat are…downright dire.

Damien: Okay, that’s it. I’m getting on the phone right now and calling everyone I know until it leads me to Liam Neeson’s number, and when I get him on the phone, I’m going to pay him as much money as it takes to fly to New York, feel if the wind is blowing from the east, and find your cute little stranger-marrying ass.

Gwen: Michael, my boyfriend from ten years ago, has “connections.” I’m waiting for a text back, but we did enough freaky stuff that I KNOW I can blackmail him into using them if I have to. Maybe he, and this Liam, can team up.

Holy hell. I’m an asshole.

Me: You guys, I am so, so, so sorry. My phone died last night, and it’s a very long, crazy story, but all you need to know is that I’m good. Fantastic, even. I love you both so much, and I swear, I’m doing really, really good.

I hit send and add one more message to the chat.

Me: Oh and, Damien, I need to permanently stay on the East Coast.

Damien: You’re good? YOU’RE GOOD?!! Listen, missy, I’m going to spank you so hard the next time I see you, and I’ve already visualized the whole scene happening on the West Coast. So, you’d better give me a damned good reason if I’m going to mentally rearrange my vision to accommodate smelly New York.

Me: I’m in love with my husband and he’s in love with me, and yeah, I’d kind of like to keep living with him.

Damien: Well…hot damn! I guess you’re off the hook, then. Because that’s a pretty good reason.

Damien: Happy for you, Daisy. Even if you’re a little biotch and made me cry!

Gwen: Time to settle in, darling.

Me: Settle in? For what?

Gwen: Happiness.

“Come dance with me.” Warm hands wrap around my waist, and I glance back to see Flynn standing behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder.