Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2)

by Sibylla Matilde

  My last thought was that she felt amazing, here in my bed. She was my wife, after all. So what would it hurt to just hold her?

  Just for a little while.

  I woke up alone. The house was quiet and cool in the spring morning air.

  For a second, looking around my room, it didn’t seem like that much changed. Things still looked like they had before I went to Ireland, before I got married. And that was a really weird thing to think about.

  I was married.

  Not that it was a real marriage. Fliss had stressed that a lot. Over and over, reassuring me that she had no desire to stay married once I had my green card. I wondered just how long it would take. Then I wondered if I would be able to let her go when the time came. We had only really been married a little over one week, and I had already gotten kind of used to having her around.

  There were things I picked up on, funny little mannerisms that she had. The way she brushed her teeth for an eternity, focusing on every single tooth for what seemed like forever. Or the way she would comb through her hair before bed, pulling the long strands over her shoulder as she stroked it with the soft brush. There were also faint little noises she would make while she was sleeping. The tiniest of sounds, murmurs and sighs, that had all but become a lullaby for me.

  There had been a couple nights back in Dublin where she was working on her paper, sitting at the little table in the hotel. Even though I had been exhausted, it was like I couldn’t settle, I couldn’t relax, until she was laying down beside me. We didn’t touch, so it wasn’t like I missed having her in my arms. I just needed her there beside me.

  Now, back in Montana, the quiet in our bedroom unnerved me, almost as though the extreme silence woke me up. I wondered where Fliss was, what she was doing. I reached out to grab a pair of sweats and headed downstairs to find my wife. As I opened the bedroom door, I smelled bacon.

  Considering the guys and I had lived together for about four years now, and not one of those days had the house smelled that good, odds were it was Fliss down there cooking.

  “Fliss, what are ya doing?” I asked as I got to the bottom of the stairs.

  She started, looking up at me with wide blue eyes, and then quickly went back to wiping down the kitchen counter. “Um, wife shit,” she murmured.

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  “I woke up really early and couldn’t go back to sleep. Just…” she shook her head and handed me a clean plate, motioning to the breakfast she’d made before she turned to load the dishwasher. “I needed to do something.”

  “Still an’ all, you’re not our cook… or our cleaning lady.”

  “I know. I just…” She glanced up at me, then placed another bowl in the dishwasher. “I like to cook. I don’t mind cleaning. Just doing what I can to keep you from getting deported.” A small, nervous huff of a laugh escaped her. “Need to play my part in this pleasant little fiction we have going on.”

  I didn’t say anything, just sat at the breakfast bar eating bacon and eggs as I watched her flit around the kitchen. I could almost able see the little wheels turning in her head. Dropping a detergent packet in the dishwasher, she pushed it shut with her hip and turned it on. As she grabbed a dishcloth and began to vigorously scrub at the stovetop, she began to verbally go through her mental list.

  “I need to get in touch with my landlord, get my apartment sorted. I’m guessing we’ll stay here so you can be close to the band and all, so I’ll let my apartment go. I’ll have to figure out something once all this is done, but I don’t think it would look very good for me to keep my place. And then I need to find a U-Haul or something to move all my stuff. I was thinking I can just get a storage shed or something for the time being.”

  “I’ve got my pickup,” I offered, “so no need for a U-Haul. And the fellas will be more than happy to help move your stuff over here. You don’t need to get a shed.”

  “I need to figure out what I have to do for my name too. I think I need to go to the Social Security office or something, but I’ll get out my computer and see what I can find.”

  “Your name?”

  “Well, yeah. We are trying to make a good impression on immigration right?”

  “Right…” I nodded. “Ya know, Sophie has just gone through the name change thing.”

  “Sophie? Brannon’s Sophie? I didn’t realize they were married?”

  “They’re not yet, not that I know of. She has taken his name, though. She was pretty eager to lose the name Buchanan.”

  “She’s a Buchanan? Like the super-rich Buchanans?”

  “She is…” I nodded, “or was, I should say.”

  “I would have never guessed. She was so sweet. I thought the Buchanans were all assholes.” She wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips. “That’s what my dad always said anyway.”

  I chuckled. “Sophie isn’t your ordinary Buchanan,” I smiled. “And she loves her fella. She’s been a Forrester for months.”

  “That’s sweet,” Fliss murmured a bit wistfully, rinsing out the dishcloth and folding it over the center divider of the sink.

  She almost seemed to lose herself in thought, her face soft in the warm light that began to peek over the mountains and filter through the window. The pink-gold glow radiated in the rich, deep color of her hair, contrasting with the pale ivory of her cheek. Then she shook her head slightly, clearing the vulnerability, and started back up with her to-do list as she began to sort through the clutter on the kitchen table, stacking papers and gathering dirty clothes that had collected there.

  “We need to get your green card application turned in and start going through all that, so we should Google questions and stuff. Study up on each other, you know?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” The reminder that this was temporary took my appetite down a touch, and I couldn’t help but frown.

  “I have to finish editing my thesis,” she continued, “get a job, too. Might be a little harder to do in Ophir, but I can commute to Butte if I have to.” She paused and looked at me nervously. “And I should probably take you to meet my dad.”

  Feckin’ hell.

  When Fliss had mentioned her dad a few times in the past, she’d made him sound like a big teddy bear. Lovable and huggable. I remembered Trent talking about her dad, as well, though, and that was before the guy had even become sheriff. The man had gone apeshit when Fliss had started dating Trent. My boy was flat terrified of him.

  And now he was my father-in-law and didn’t even know it.

  “What are you doing? My God, it smells like,” Cody said as he stumbled into the kitchen, stopping to sniff the air with an exaggerated twirl of his hand, “bacon.”

  “She’s doing wife shite,” I offered and Fliss gave me a tentative smile.

  “Speak English, you fucker,” Cody joked.

  “Sod off,” I replied.

  Felicity scooped some eggs onto a plate, added a few slices of bacon, and handed it to Cody.

  “Sweet, thanks!” Cody exclaimed.

  “What’s sweet?” Drew asked as he followed Cody in, scratching his stomach. Then he stopped short, too. “Damn, what the fuck smells so good?”

  “Breakfast?” Fliss said hopefully.

  “Like… bacon and eggs? Shit like that?” Fliss nodded, and his eyes went even wider. “Holy shit… I don’t think we’ve ever had breakfast here.”

  “Felicity is doing wife shit,” Cody grinned.

  “Wife shit? Seriously?”

  “Who’s doing wife shit? Cody?” Justin asked as he came in as well, similarly to Drew except scratching a little lower down. “Little bitch…”

  “No, you fucker,” Cody huffed, “Felicity is doing wife shit.”

  Justin raised an eyebrow at Fliss who was cracking more eggs into the frying pan quietly. “Hmm, really… You know, Felicity, sweetheart,” he smiled deviantly, “I’ve got some other wife shit you could do, too.”

  “Feck off, ya cheeky bastard,” I growled. “She’s my wife.” The possessiveness in my
voice sort of surprised me.

  Maybe more than sort of.

  Justin just laughed. “Yeah, but isn’t it kind of tradition to have a ‘nage with me before things get too serious?”

  “What, you get it on with Brannon and Sophie, and suddenly it’s tradition?” Cody balked.

  “You’re not fucking touching Maggie,” Drew quietly muttered.

  “Besides,” I cut in, “it’s already serious, ya eejit. She’s my wife. Did ya miss that part?”

  “Speak English, you fucker,” Justin laughed. “I can barely understand you when you get all pissy like that.”

  “Don’t I get some say in this?” Felicity asked quietly, and all four of us stared at her, looking rather agape.

  Jaysus, what if she did want to fool around with Justin? What the fuck was I going to do with that? I think I’d kill any fucker I had to watch her with again, even if he was my friend.

  She set the lid down over the eggs, turned down the burner, and stepped over to me, slipping her arm around my waist. I had no bleedin’ clue what she was going to say. Nobody ever seemed to throw me off my game like Fliss.

  “The truth is, Justin,” she began, snugly fitting up against my side and leaning into me, “been there, done that. Wasn’t really my thing, so no thanks.”

  “Fuck, seriously?” Cody looked shocked. “You’ve… been there?”

  “And done that?” Drew gasped. “That?”

  “I tried something like it in Dublin,” she nodded, “something they called dogging.”

  “Dogging,” Justin breathed, intrigued. “What’s that?”

  “Having sex,” Fliss answered, “in remote parking lots, garages, parks. Generally with strangers.”

  “Fuck me,” Drew mumbled.

  “Denny, you dog,” Justin began to laugh. “And here I thought—”

  “Bog off,” I scowled at Justin. “It wasn’t with me, ya eejit.”

  “We hadn’t quite gotten together yet,” Fliss softly said as she pressed a little closer, running her finger down my arm. Her eyes left the shocked faces of the band to gaze upon mine. “But he watched,” she whispered. “He stayed… took care of me.”

  I felt a bead of sweat run down my spine. The temperature suddenly felt scorching hot. Humid. The air felt thick as I remembered Fliss’ beautiful lips. Watching the men touch her and taste her.

  And after… after she pulled away and we went back to her flat. The fight. Fucking her up against the wall.

  A long, low whistle sounded, and I looked over to the guys. Cody was flushed, and Drew stood stone still. Justin was grinning widely.

  “So,” he began, “are you sure you, um…” His voice trailed off as Fliss shook her head, her blue eyes still fixed on mine.

  “Sorry, Justin,” she said, a slight smile tilting her lips, “I’ve got everything I need right here.” Her arms tightened around me as she pressed her lips to my chest in a tender, loving kiss before she turned her attention back to making breakfast.

  Fuck, she was good. I almost believed her myself.

  Looking back, beginning the conversation with Fliss’ dad by saying “She’s not knocked up” was maybe not the most articulate way to make a good first impression.

  But I had kinda panicked a little, really… Okay, so I panicked a lot.

  The guy was feckin’ huge. Probably a good six feet four or five inches with shoulders like a bleedin’ WWE wrestler. And his expression was so intense. Stern. It went very well with his sheriff uniform which reminded me that he had lots of guns, access to jail cells, and dogs that could tear a man to pieces.

  His dark blue eyes were very similar in color to Fliss’ but glared at me with a cold, murderous glint as I stood there next to his only child. His daughter.

  I could see why he scared the feckin’ hell out of Trent back in the day. He scared the feckin’ hell out of me now.

  And my little outburst, like I was a primary school girl getting caught passing notes in class, caused him to raise an eyebrow and narrow his gaze just a little bit more.

  “What was that, son?”

  The way he said ‘son’ wasn’t warm and comforting like when my da said it. It was more like ‘I’ll kick your motherfucking arse because I’m bigger and stronger and older than you, so you better just watch your feckin’ step.’

  “Sorry, Dad,” Fliss began, a little nervous herself although she seemed to be breathing fine. Something I couldn’t really say about myself. “That’s just something that people seem to assume for some reason.”

  “And why is that, Felicity?” he asked cautiously.

  Fliss glanced over at me, then back to her dad. Holding up her left hand with the silver wedding ring on it, she wiggled her fingers.

  “Taa daa…” she said in a tentative voice, “we’re married.”

  His eyes came back to me immediately. Angry. I started eying him for spots I could strike quickly if he came at me. The fella was about three times my size, but I was a scrappy tosser who could fight dirty if need be, if my life depended on it. And the way he was looking at me now, it just might.

  The room was dead silent. I’m pretty sure Fliss and I had even stopped breathing. I wasn’t sure exactly what her dad was doing. His face went a little purple for a few minutes. The thought zipped through my brain that he was maybe having a stroke.

  “So…” he finally said with a quiet, dangerous calm, “married, huh?”

  “Yep,” Fliss slowly replied, sounding a little strangled. “Surprise.”

  Her da pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefingers, his lips moving slightly as though he was counting to ten. Fliss reached over and grasped my hand, offering me a half-hearted smile. While we waited for some indication of our life expectancy.

  He dropped his hand and took a deep breath before opening his eyes. “So,” he finally rumbled, “why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  I felt with every fiber of my being he should be out interrogating terrorists. I wanted to spill the whole truth to him. To fall to my knees and beg forgiveness for fucking his daughter up against a wall. For licking champagne out of her pussy before taking her for a savage ride.

  Fortunately, Fliss spoke first.

  “I love him,” she simply said.

  Hearing that shook me for a second. I had to remind myself that this was part of the ruse, even though it felt kind of amazing to hear those words. It wasn’t real.

  “What was the rush?” He totally wasn’t buying it.

  “It was just…” she looked down to where she held my hand, placing her other hand over the top and smiling up at me, “the moment was perfect. We flew to Edinburgh, and just… did it.”

  She was blissfully omitting that we actually flew to Edinburgh twice and planned it well over a month before we ‘just did it.’

  “Really…” her father said, more to himself than either of us. “Just like that.”

  “Mmm hmm,” Fliss replied.

  He trained his gaze back on me, and my throat went dry.

  “And what do you do, son?”

  “He’s a musician,” Fliss answered for me, “and an artist.”

  “A musician,” her father repeated.

  “Uh huh,” she smiled. “Very good, too.”

  Her dad’s eyes narrowed to the point they were almost crossed, and I leaned over to Fliss.

  “I don’t think that’s helping, Fliss,” I croaked.

  “Fliss?” her da asked.

  “That’s what he calls me. He has for years.”

  He looked back and forth between the two of us. “You’ve known each other for years?”

  Fliss nodded. “I met him when I was still in high school.”

  “Jaysus,” I quickly added, “but nothing happened then.”

  “Right,” Fliss confirmed, “we’ve only been friends for years. It wasn’t until we met up in Dublin that things just fell into place.”

  “If you’re from Dublin, then how did you meet my daughter years ago?”
>
  “I came over from Ireland to go to Montana Tech, sir,” I said carefully, trying to talk slow and posh, to not sound quite so common.

  “When did you graduate?”

  “Well, I, um…”

  “Dad,” Fliss scowled at him.

  “What?” he replied. “Felicity, you were in high school when you met. I’m gathering Danny here—”

  “Denny, sir,” I murmured, but he didn’t miss a beat and kept going.

  “—was in college at the time?”

  Fliss nodded.

  “I’m just trying to figure out the age difference here.”

  “It’s only about four years, Dad.”

  That didn’t seem to soothe the tension that emanated from the man.

  “And how are you planning to take care of my daughter?” he asked me.

  Fliss bristled. “Dad, this isn’t like a hundred years ago where he has to be out taking care of the little wife back home. I’m almost done with my thesis for my Masters, and I’ve got two job interviews lined up for next week.”

  “And, truth be told, sir, I actually make pretty decent money with what I do.”

  “Music and art?”

  “Right,” I replied. “The band has a twice weekly gig at the Copperline out near Ophir, and I have a pretty good little metal sculpture shop going in our garage. I get commissioned fairly often to do pieces for people’s gardens and things. They pay me kind of a ridiculous amount of money for it, actually.”

  He didn’t look very impressed.

  But, in the end, what could he really do? Fliss was an adult, into her mid-twenties. She could make her own decisions. And we were married, legally bound. Until death do us part.

  “We will have to go fishing one of these days, Danny,” he offered with a look that suggested he probably wanted to just kill me and get it over with.

  “It’s Denny, Dad,” Fliss said.

  But Sheriff Williams didn’t really seem to give two fucks what my name was.