Mac was the one that gave me the phone. He says he found it downstairs, but… how do I know he’s telling me the truth?
Could it have been him?
His father isn’t in the room. Would he even have the wherewithal to take my phone and check through it?
Or was it someone else?
I glance back through my messages to my father, and don’t think anyone would suspect anything amiss. But it’s unsettling. So fucking unsettling.
“Everything alright?” Mac asks, coming to see me.
I want to see his reaction when I tell him that I suspect someone was looking at my phone. So I shake my head, and whisper, “It looks like someone was using my phone."
“Likely not,” he says. “I asked the staff, and they said that it was on the kitchen table, and no one touched it. And anyway, how could they have done when they don’t know your password?"
“Passwords are a mere formality for someone who's an expert hacker," I explain. By now, we've caught the attention of his sisters. Everyone's looking my way, and I don't want to make a bigger deal of this than necessary. If I look suspicious, doesn't that make me look guilty?
So I just shake my head. "Sorry. Years of having parents that are super suspicious, I guess. I should've known better than to leave my mobile lying around anyway." I stick it in my pocket, and go back to Fran, as Nan enters the room, wobbling along with her cane.
“Och, lassies, when I was a wee lass, I was a skinny malinky longlegs, as the saying goes! All legs, no tits and arse.”
“Nan!” Islan snorts, mimicking Nan’s thick brogue. “I dinnae ken why you think ah’d like to hear of me nan’s arse, now, do I?”
Nan grins at her and swings her cane, but Islan easily deflects the blow.
“I’m just sayin’ you lassies are gorgeous, summat easy on the eyes, aye?”
She sits heavily on a chair by the bed and rests her cane across her knees. “Cairstina, lassie, will ya fetch an old lady a cuppa?” She gestures to the tea service laid out on the table. Cairstina smiles and nods, then I watch as she pours a steaming cup of tea. She adds two little cubes of sugar and a splash of milk, then hands it to Nan.
“Just as I like it, thank you.”
I walk over to Fran and help her with her dress, and make sure that it fits her perfectly fine.
I’m proud of myself. She looks amazing, and it fits her like a glove.
"Anything else we need to do for the wedding?" Islan asks.
Fran shakes her head. “Just show up for moral support by this time. I decided I was going to upgrade to the white seats, by the way."
"Really, Fran," Paisley says. "Why do you care about the color of the chairs that people are just putting their arses on?"
Nan waves her hand at Paisley. “It’ll make yer arse look smaller.”
Paisley’s jaw drops. “Does my arse need to look smaller?”
She cranes her neck around to look behind her and Islan rolls her eyes again. “Your arse is fine, my God.”
Nan clucks her tongue and laughs as she sips her tea. She catches my eye and winks at me. Clearly, she loves to take the piss out of them.
The girls go on to discuss the details of the wedding, and Mac looks at all of them amusedly, before he finally takes his leave. “See you later tonight,” he leans in and whispers in my ear. “Do you think we could have a private fitting of your dress?”
It isn't fair how easily he makes me blush, right here in front of his family.
I nod. “I suppose we can make that happen. You do have a raincheck to cash.”
He kisses my cheek and leaves while the girls and I finish.
“Did anyone read the new book yet?” Paisley asks, her eyes shining. “We spoke too soon about no new releases. The book dropped just a few days ago.” She sighs happily. “I think it’s the most angsty one yet. Honest to goodness, the feels in this one…”
“I haven’t read any of them yet, but I plan on it soon,” I say.
“I read it,” Cairstina says, her eyes shining. “It was gorgeous.”
“My God, woman, that scene in the graveyard?”
“Graveyard?” I ask, intrigued.
Cairstina flushes bright red when Islan goes into sordid, descriptive detail. I watch Nan take a little flask out of her side pocket and tip it into her tea.
“My, my,” Fran says, lifting her eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe I do need to read these, hmm? But really, girls, aren’t they… super unrealistic?”
“How so?” Paisley asks, her head tipped to the side. Mac’s told me she’s an avid reader, and I wonder if Fran’s got Paisley’s hackles up.
“They’re about men in the mafia.” She snorts and looks around. “And you girls know that I don't live under a rock, and you know I’m one of the few that knows… things.”