Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series) (3 page)

He nodded to himself and drummed the steering wheel. “It’ll all be grand when we get back from Mauritius. We’ll get back into our comfortable routine. She’ll concentrate on her career, and I’ll concentrate on mine. We’ll put the stresses and strains of the last few months behind us. We’re perfect for each other. I can’t think of another couple that fights so seldom. And that’s the way I like it.”

The car crunched over the gravel courtyard, and he pulled up beside Muireann’s Mini.

He hopped out of the car, retrieved the peed-on flowers from the front seat, and grabbed the dog out of its makeshift home. Wiggly Poo was thrilled to escape the confines of the box. The puppy licked Gavin’s face and whined in excitement.

He was struggling to keep a grip on the wriggling dog when the front door was thrown open.

“Gavin,” boomed Bernard from the top step. “Delighted to see you.”

Bernard Byrne was a large man—in width as well as in height. He had a bushy walrus mustache to complement his bushy eyebrows, a florid complexion, and a bulbous nose. The crowning glory—literally and figuratively—was a jet-black toupee perched precariously on his scalp.

Gavin glowered at Bernard’s twitching mustache. “You have an extra dinner guest.”

“Giving you gray hairs already, is he?”

“I’m allergic to dogs,” Gavin said tersely.

“Muireann isn’t.” Bernard grinned, and stepped aside to allow him entry. “And she loves dogs. I don’t see why she should be deprived of a pet because you’re allergic. Sure, isn’t she delighted with the little fellow?”

“It’s not about me depriving Muireann of a pet. Dogs and cats trigger my asthma.”

Bernard shrugged. “I made sure to buy one that’s hypoallergenic.”

A muscle twitched in Gavin’s cheek. “So why am I sneezing?”

“Hay fever. Those flowers will be to blame.” Bernard clapped him on the back. “Gavin, be a man. Once you get used to him, you’ll be grand.”

Gavin clenched his jaw. “You bought the dog, Bernard. You can deal with him. Find him a new home before we get back from our honeymoon.”

“What’ll Muireann say? She’ll be devastated if she finds him gone.”

“I’ll talk to her. Make her see reason.”

“Ah, you’re a hard man.” Bernard allowed his mustache to droop for dramatic effect. “We won’t argue about it now. Can I offer you a drink? Some fortification before the big day?” The man’s grin was back in place.

Gavin glanced around the small entrance hall. “Where’s Muireann?”

“The ladies are still trying on their wedding finery.”

Wiggly Poo’s claws slid over Gavin’s shirt, leaving tracks in the material. “In that case, perhaps we can discuss the shopping center plans while we have that drink. I have a few suggestions to make about parking—”

Bernard cut him off with an imperious gesture. “Yeah, yeah. Leave that for when you get back from your honeymoon.”

A mobile phone began to buzz.

Bernard’s sausage fingers fumbled over his smart phone’s display. “Gant? Hang on a minute.” Bernard cocked an eyebrow at Gavin. “Go on into the library and pour yourself a drink. I won’t be long. And keep the dog under control. Deirdre will go mad if he breaks her ornaments.” With these encouraging words, Bernard turned his large back on Gavin and lumbered down the hall.

“Typical,” muttered Gavin. “Bloody typical. He lands me with an untrained puppy that wreaks havoc in my house, and then he expects me to keep it under control in his.”

Wiggly Poo treated his nose to a generous lick.

He scowled at him. “Keep that up and I’ll walk down the aisle with a rash on my face.”

A shriek of laughter from one of the rooms proved too much excitement for the puppy. He leaped out of Gavin’s arms, slid across the marble floor, and shot off in the direction of the noise.

“Come back, you blaggard!” Gavin chucked Deirdre’s roses on the floor and took off after the dog.

He pounded down the narrow hallway that led to the downstairs guest bedrooms. One door was slightly ajar. He caught sight of a curly canine arse disappearing behind it.

He barged into the room without knocking.

A chorus of feminine gasps greeted his appearance. Apart from the French designer, all the women were wearing satin dresses of various hues. Deirdre was in a lavender creation, complete with puffy sleeves. The bridesmaids—Olivia, Mona, and Brona—wore maroon dresses that reminded him of the costumes in the deadly dull Jane Austen adaptations his fiancée adored. Muireann’s wedding dress was a meringue concoction with skirts that took up half the room. It didn’t suit her, but he’d lie tomorrow and tell her it looked great.

The
pièce de résistance
was the woman poured into a greenish-yellow frock with a weird fishtail bottom. The bodice of the dress was so tight that half her breasts were squeezed into view. He drank in the woman’s face. Her mouth formed an O of horror at the sight of him.

His stomach performed a stunt worthy of an acrobat. He knew those breasts. He knew that face. He knew that mouth.

Fiona.

Bloody hell!
What was she doing at the wedding? What was she doing
in
the wedding?

Her intelligent green eyes pinned him in place. A slide show of memories flashed through his mind—some good, some bad, some X-rated.

“Gavin!” Muireann screeched, jolting him back to the present. “You’re not supposed to see my dress!”

He flushed to the roots. Had he been remembering sleeping with another woman while his bride-to-be stood in front of him?
Jaysus.
He needed to pull himself together.

Deirdre grabbed a swath of fabric from the speechless Claudette and threw it around her daughter. “Get out, Gavin. You’ll jinx the wedding!”

“Sorry for barging in. Wiggly Poo is in here somewhere.”

Muireann’s jaw dropped. “You brought him here? I told you to leave him at home.”

“Baby, I couldn’t leave him alone,” he said in mounting exasperation. “He was wrecking the place. He pulled down the curtains and attacked my stereo speakers.”

“Ah, Gavin. Why didn’t you stop him? He’s only a puppy.”

“Are you sure? I’d label him a hellhound.”

Fiona snorted with laughter. Muireann shot her cousin a look of pure venom.

No love lost between them.

In a split second, Wiggly Poo emerged from underneath an antique chair and charged at a basket near Deirdre’s feet.

“Watch out!” Gavin cried. “There he goes.”

“Stop him!” Deirdre screamed, veiled hat askew. “He’s attacking Mitzi and Bitzi.”

Fiona lurched forward on her high heels and half fell, half dive-bombed the dog basket.

The sound of ripping fabric tore a horrified gasp from the crowd. The material at the back of the dress split open, revealing two luscious, creamy buttocks. 

OHMYGAWD!
HER ARSE WAS ON DISPLAY.

Her fat, white arse.

Why did these things happen to her? One weekend without incident. That was all she’d asked for. Yet within an hour of arriving in Ballybeg, she was lying prostrate on top of a dog basket with the man she’d hoped to avoid staring at her cellulite.

Feck.

“
Mon dieu!
” Claudette clutched her necklace. “What have you done to my dress?”

“Fiona!” Muireann shrieked. “How could you?”

“Never mind the dress. She’s squashing Mitzi and Bitzi.” Deirdre darted forward and yanked the dog basket to safety. Fiona’s face landed on the Persian carpet with a thud.

“What’s wrong with you people?” a male voice demanded.
His
voice. “Help her up, for heaven’s sake.”

Muscular arms reached around her ribcage and hauled her to her feet.

“Here.” Olivia retrieved the shawl from the floor. “Get this around her.”

Gavin wrapped the shawl around Fiona’s waist, careful not to touch her bare flesh. When his fingers skimmed her satin-encased hips, she felt a jolt of something she didn’t care to define. Their eyes clashed for a millisecond. Too short to mean anything to him, too long not to mean something to her.

She exhaled sharply, her cheeks aflame. Why hadn’t he had the decency to develop a beer gut over the past decade? Or a receding hairline? Life was so unfair.

“Grr!” Wiggly Poo was growling at the Chihuahuas, now held aloft in Deirdre’s scrawny arms.

“My poor babies.” Deirdre fussed over the tiny dogs and fixed Gavin with a quelling gaze. “I blame you for this debacle. If you hadn’t let that mongrel loose, none of this would have happened.”

“Me?” Gavin’s tone exuded outraged incredulity. “I didn’t ask to be saddled with a dog.”

“Mitzi and Bitzi are sensitive around strange dogs, and that one is positively rabid.”

Gavin’s sky-blue eyes darkened. “Wiggly Poo probably mistook them for vermin. An easy mistake to make.”

“Well,” Deirdre said, aghast. “I never.”

Laughter bubbled up Fiona’s throat. “Wiggly Poo?” She gasped, struggling to keep her composure. “What sort of name is that?”

Deirdre glowered at her. “This is no laughing matter, Fiona. My pets were brutally attacked by that savage beast.”

“Bollocks.” Gavin scooped up the puppy. “He didn’t touch them.”

“He didn’t, Deirdre,” Fiona said. “I got to him before he had a chance to do anything more than bark.”

Deirdre’s thin lips parted, baring teeth whitened to a radioactive glow.

“Mummy.” Muireann laid a hand on Deirdre’s arm. “Wiggly Poo’s young. He needs time to adjust.”

“Until he’s tamed, that creature is not welcome in this house.”

Fiona convulsed, losing the battle against laughter.

Deirdre rounded on her. “You’re in no position to laugh, young lady. You’ve destroyed a very expensive dress.”

“Yes.” Muireann smirked. “I invited you to be my maid of honor in good faith, and now… this.” She gestured in the direction of Fiona’s arse.

Fiona’s cheeks grew even hotter, anger mingling with embarrassment. “The dress is too small. I’m sorry it tore, but I wasn’t going to get down the aisle in this frock. Nor in these shoes.” She kicked off the offending footwear and sighed with relief as her stockinged feet sank into the plush carpet.

Deirdre pursed her mouth. “Did you lie about your measurements?”

Fiona gave her aunt the stink eye. “Of course not. Do you think I wanted to humiliate myself by busting out of the dress?”

“In that case, you must have put on weight.”

Muireann tittered. “With the amount you eat, it’s hardly surprising.”

“Steady on,” Gavin said. “Fiona’s not fat.”

Muireann and Deirdre cast him withering looks.

“Get out, Gavin,” Deirdre said. “And take that dog with you. You’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”

Gavin met her glare for glare. “If you want to cast blame, Deirdre, look no further than your husband. He bought the dog.”

Deirdre opened her mouth as if to protest. Gavin cut her off. “What am I supposed to do with Wiggly Poo while we have dinner? I can hardly lock him in the car.”

Muireann regarded the wriggling puppy doubtfully. “Can’t you ask Jonas to look after him? Just for this evening? We can sort out what to do with him later.”

“I can ask. If he has any sense, he’ll say no.” Gavin sighed. “Right. I’ll leave you ladies to change.”

Fiona caught his eye, and her heart skipped a beat. She mouthed thanks, and he gave a curt nod. He hoisted the puppy onto his shoulder and left the room.

All eyes focused on Fiona.

“I knew you were too fat for that dress.” Muireann’s spray-tanned face creased into a smirk.

The suspicion that had been forming in Fiona’s mind crystallized. “You did this deliberately. You gave Claudette the wrong measurements, and you made damn sure to schedule the fittings for when you knew I wouldn’t be able to attend.”

“I most certainly did not.” Muireann’s smirk faded, but there was a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I’d hardly want to wreck my own wedding.”

“Don’t be absurd, Fiona.” Deirdre waved a hand in impatience. “Muireann would never play such a nasty trick.”

“No?” She placed her hands on her hips. “I sent her my exact measurements, and I haven’t put on weight in the meantime. The moment I saw the dress, I doubted it would fit. If Muireann received my e-mail, I assume she passed on the information to Claudette.”

“
Naturellement
,” Claudette said in her musical Parisian accent. “And I followed them exactly. If you are the size you say, the dress will fit.”

“If the dress reflected the measurements I sent Muireann, it should fit, yes.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Muireann’s blue eyes widened in faux horror.

Fiona tilted her chin. “Yes, I am.”

“Girls,” Deirdre snapped. “Enough. Whatever happened cannot be undone. I don’t suppose there’s time to make a replacement dress?”

“Not in the chartreuse.” Claudette gave a Gallic shrug “The material was a special order for Madame.”

Quelle surprise
. Most people had better taste.

“Mummy, we can’t let Fiona wear one of her Goth getups to the wedding. She’s supposed to be my maid of honor.”

“Here’s an idea.” Fiona’s voice rose a notch. “Why don’t I resign as maid of honor? I’ll spare you the indignity of having me and my unsuitable wardrobe following you down the aisle.”

“You can’t quit,” Deirdre said. “There’ll be an uneven number of bridesmaids.”

“Far be it from us to screw with symmetry.” Olivia stepped forward to stand beside Fiona. “If Fee’s no longer in the wedding party, then neither am I.”

“Are you quitting on me?” Muireann’s nose quivered. “Your husband won’t like that.”

“Feck Aidan.” Olivia’s jaw jutted belligerently. “And feck you. You set Fiona up.”

“Girls, please,” Deirdre said weakly. “I can feel a migraine coming on.” She pronounced it
mee-graine
.

Fiona caught Olivia’s eye and smiled. She’d rather be just about anyplace on earth than here, but having a friend by her side made everything better. Well, that and having a getaway car at the ready. “If we’re done here, I’m going to change back into my highly unsuitable clothes.” She fingered the torn garment. “I don’t suppose you want the remnants of my dress?”

The twins tittered. Claudette stood mute. Muireann smirked. Aunt Deirdre quivered with outraged disapproval.