The Bride (The Boss 3)

Mom crossed herself. “Jesus Christ.”

“Okay, so, what does he do?” Aunt Marie asked, her voice insistently calm, like we were in an emergency that needed immediate handling. Then, in split second of panic, she added, “For a living! I meant for a living, what does he do?”

“He owns two media companies. He’s the tenth richest man in Great Britain.”

My mom sat down heavily beside me. “Oh, sweetie, you’re not doing this for the money, are you?”

“Mother, no! God, I didn’t even know he was rich when I met him.” I shook my head. “Why can’t I just meet a guy and fall in love with him and not have any ulterior motive? You are being extremely weird about this.”

“Your mom is just concerned for you, Sophie,” Marie said gently.

“And pissed off that you didn’t tell me any of this before,” Mom added.

I took a sharp breath, my exasperation audible. “It’s not like I lied to you—”

“You didn’t lie to me, but you didn’t tell the truth!”

“What does it even matter?” I demanded. “It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.”

“So he’s a little older, so what?” Marie said, putting her hands on her hips. “Sophie, do you love him?”

“Absolutely.”

“And does he treat you good and love you back?”

I nodded decisively at my aunt. She turned to my mom. “Then why are you having a shit fit over this, Becky? You should just be happy that she found a guy who isn’t covered in tattoos with a bunch of junk in his face.”

Marie was talking about my first boyfriend, a nineteen-year-old I’d started dating when I was seventeen. He’d had the most awful amateur tattoos and he’d played bass in a garage band. He’d seemed so dangerous and like such a bad boy.

I’d since learned that the truly bad boys looked perfectly normal and respectable until you got them into a Parisian sex club.

Mom huffed. She knew she’d lost the argument. “Are you guys still staying out at the trailer?”

“I don’t know, are we still invited?” I snapped.

Mom’s expression softened. “Of course you are. Just…stop dropping these bombs on me, Sophie. I never know what’s going on with you anymore. You don’t have to be so secretive.”

“Well, apparently she does, if you’re going to freak out like this whenever she tells you something,” Marie observed.

“Can I go now and enjoy my lovely Christmas with my family, who I have not seen in a year?” I asked with a roll of my eyes.

Mom huffed and I pushed through the door and out into the dining room. Neil was still outside, thank god. I went to the kitchen and leaned over the sink to peer out the window. He paced between cars in the driveway, phone to his ear, his other arm wrapped around his chest. Occasionally, he stopped and bounced for warmth. He had a huge grin on his face as he talked to his daughter.

I knew it was difficult for him to be away from her at Christmas. The only other time it had happened, Emma had told me, had been when he’d gone to visit his ex-wife, Elizabeth, and her family the year before they’d gotten married.

Emma took this trip to be a very good sign for her father and me.

Still, I felt a little bad that Neil wasn’t spending the holiday with his daughter. I knew he missed her terribly. It assuaged my guilt slightly that she was celebrating with her fiancé and his family this year.

The rest of the visit was surprisingly stress-free. Neil was asked at least seven times what part of Ireland he was from, but he was very gracious about correcting people. As the day went on, he relaxed considerably, and I marveled again at how adaptable he was to such an unfamiliar situation. Neil had grown up with wealth and proper manners, but he didn’t look down on my loud, sometimes earthy family the way other people with his upbringing might have.

It was around four o’clock when Neil and I left, our arms weighted down with plates of leftovers, cookies, and my grandmother’s fudge. I must have hugged all of my relatives a thousand times apiece.

“Are you heading back to the trailer right now?” my mom called from the table as we walked past.

“No, I wanted to take Neil to see the lake while it was still light out.” I gestured to the door. “We’ll meet you back there. Is the key still in the same place?”

“Just don’t ‘get lost,’ or ‘run out of gas,’” Marie snarked, complete with finger quotes. The woman would not shut up about that first bad boyfrie