by Holly Hart
Declan grins and enters this old argument again by saying, “Ten.” He shakes his head as he tucks in his shirt beneath his waistband.
It’s a sore spot. Declan always likes to bring up the fact that he’s my older brother when, in truth, we’re twins: evenly matched in every way. Well almost every way; every way except Dec’s the head of the family now. Not that it means I wouldn’t punch him in the face. He’s just banking on the fact that I won’t punch him anywhere his soon-to-be wife (and everyone else) would be able to see on his wedding day: tricky bastard.
I hear a knock on the door.
“Yer lucky, Kieran: always were. Get that, will ye? I’ve got to remember how to tie this goddamn rope around my neck.”
“She doesn’t deserve you, Dec,” I grumble, shaking my head. “Maybe I should warn her now. Tell Casey to get out before she’s got all that Catholic guilt weighing her down, too. It’s bad enough that she’s got to wake up to your ugly mug on the other side of the pillow every morning –.”
“Kieran,” Dec mumbles through a face full of his silk tie. He’s rolling his eyes while holding the fat end of the tie between his lips as he fumbles with the knot. It’s quite the party trick. “The door, will ye?”
I shrug. The sound of my mumbled, grumbled complaints follows me to the door. It’s nice to be able to laugh and kid around like this. It reminds me to spend more time with my brothers. I can’t help but wonder if everything is going to change, now that Declan’s getting married.
“He’s just a jumped up, good-for-nothing –.” I mutter with a smile on my lips, just loud enough that I know Declan can hear.
I press my eye against the peephole, just in case. In this business, it serves you well to be prepared, in case men with guns are running for ye. I pull the door open with a broad grin on my face. I throw my arms wide. “Hey, little brother!”
Liam comes through the door first. He comes straight in for a hug. He’s my youngest brother, still at college. Mac – Ridley’s twin – follows behind, his suit jacket hanging off his shoulder.
“Jaysus, Kieran, ye look like crap. Have a big one last night, did ye?” Mac grins, slapping my shoulder in greeting.
I straighten up and make sure that my face is the picture of innocence. “Big one; nah. Would ye believe it, I just had one or two quiet pints at the Jester, so’s I did; took a pen and all. Couldn’t write my speech if I was sober as a judge, could I now?”
Mac raises his eyebrows.
I take a step back from Liam. “You’re looking good, kid. Are you still growing?”
Liam’s cheeks go red. He’s a grown man now: for all that I’m ribbing him like he’s still in his teens. “I’m 23, Kieran. That ship sailed some time ago, so it did.”
“Get your arses in here,” Declan growls. “And wish me luck.”
Liam and Mac walk past me looking for my brother. I’m just closing the door when I hear a voice.
“Sir – I’m sorry, sir?”
I pull the door back, and let it swing open. I stop it with one of my perfectly shined black Oxford dress shoes. “Speaking?”
A jacketed waiter is standing in the middle of the doorframe, behind a white service cart. His face still bears the scars of teenage acne. Heck, he’s not much older than a teen now, if he is at all. He looks nervous, as if it’s his first day.
“Room service,” The kid says in a high-pitched voice filled with tension. “Can I leave it here, or –,” he asks hopefully.
I cut him off mid-sentence. “Bring it in, bring it in,” I chuckle, slapping his shoulder for good measure. The waiter shrinks a little, but doesn’t say a word of complaint. He looks like a good kid – if a little uptight. I glance at him, half-closing one eye. A wicked thought strikes me.
The cart’s wheels squeak as the waiter follows me into Declan’s penthouse.
I clap my hands together. Every eye turns to face me. “Boys,” I grin. “It wouldn’t do to go down to the church without a wee drink now, would it? No man should face the Lord sober…”
Declan chuckles. “Ye’ll be the death of me, brother.” He waves his hand. “But you’re not wrong.”
“I rarely am,” I reply, turning back to the waiter. “Kid – what’s your name?”
The waiter clears his throat. I don’t think he could look any more nervous if he tried. His eyes keep darting back and forth, from brother to brother. I don’t blame him. To a casual observer, we look like quintuplets. Hell, sometimes even I mix Mac and Rid up. “Michael, sir,” he squeaks. “Michael Red–..”
“Whoa!” I say, loud, with mock outrage, holding my hands palm up in front of me. “You don’t want to tell me that, now. ‘Less ye want me te have to kill you…”
The look of sheer terror on the kid’s face tells me he knows exactly which hotel suite he entered. Michael here knows who the Byrne brothers are, and he wants to get out of here the second he can. I slap him on the back, almost bowling him over in the process.
“Go easy on the kid, will ye,” one of my brothers laughs.
“I’m kidding, Michael. Pour us out, will ye – and one for yourself.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” he squeaks, “but it is the hotel’s policy, I’m not allowed to –.”
I glance at the kid, one eyebrow raised in challenge. I can sense my brothers’ amused glances boring a hole in the back of my head. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint me now, would you, boy?”
Michael quails in front of me. I’m not planning on doing the slightest bit of harm to the kid. I just like watching him freak out. That probably says something bad about me. Hell, I don’t care. Michael shakes his head vigorously. “No sir,” he mutters, “thing is I’m only twenty years –.”
“Old enough.” I say firmly, in a tone which brooks no dissent.
Michael’s hands tremble as he pulls a black bottle with green and gold accents from the depths of his cart.
Ridley whistles. “Jaysus, Kieran. Jameson’s Vintage? Have you been saving?”
“Only the best for Declan, you know that,” I grin as Michael clinks six small tumblers against each other. “And besides, whose tab do you think I put it under…”
For the first time, I see Michael’s lips jerk up into a half-smile. I decide to cut the kid a break, and not point it out.
“Yer a real piece of work, you know that Kieran?” Declan fires back, but it’s underlined with humor.
I shrug. “Hey – it’s all family money, isn’t it?”
Michael pours the last glass, and sets the bottle down.
“What are we waiting for?” I grin, handing one to each of my brothers in turn. “It’s fifty bucks a shot. We wouldn’t want to let any evaporate, now, would we?”
Our shot glasses clink in the middle. I let out a deep sigh. “Hold up. Michael,” I grunt, jerking my head at the kid, “get your ass in here.”
Liam chuckles. I guess, as the youngest, he probably feels for the kid. Hell, I don’t know what Michael is so nervous about. I guess he’s heard stories about us down in the kitchens, but whatever he heard was wrong. The Byrne family has always looked out for Boston first, and we always will. We don’t mess with people unless they mess with us first.
Besides, sharing a drink with Declan Byrne on his wedding day? That’s a story he’ll be dining out on for years. Hell, I should be charging the kid for the opportunity.
The waiter scuttles over. He looks like he’s about to hyperventilate. I squeeze his free shoulder as he holds his trembling shot glass up into the pack. “Ye’r a good lad, kid. Once you get that down you, ye’ll feel better.”
He nods.
I raise my glass up, meeting my eldest brother’s eyes properly for the first time. “I mess around a lot, but I’ve seen how much this girl means to you, Dec. I was there from the start. I know that she’s the real deal. I don’t know a lot about love –.”
Each one of my brothers laughs. Even Michael joins in, albeit nervously.
“– But I do know that if it’s anything lik
e what ye’ve found, then it must be worth having. Even if I’m not ready quite yet…” I pause, and grin. “To Declan and Casey: may ye live long and happy lives together.”
“To Declan and Casey,” every one of my brothers says, except Declan himself, who just says his fiancée’s name: cute.
Dec glances at the waiter. “Let the kid go now, Kieran. Ye’ve had your fun…”
I grin. “So I have.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders, and walk him towards the door, tucking a couple of twenty dollar bills into his breast pocket. The door clicks behind him.
Declan shakes his head. “You near gave the poor lad a heart attack,” he says, smiling. He’s finally finished pulling his tie tight, and even though I don’t want to admit it, my brother looks damn good. Not quite as handsome as I look in a suit, but close enough.
I grab the bottle of Jameson’s, and pour two more – smaller – tumblers. I hand one to my eldest brother. The other three have wisely decided to give us a little space. Mac and Rid know better than anyone else that sometimes you’ve got to give twins some space of their own.
“We had a good run, didn’t we?” I grin, and clink mine against his. “What was it, twenty-six years: twenty-seven?”
“Close enough,” Dec smiles pensively, rolling the amber liquid around the tumbler.
“Now it’s all changing,” I say, tipping a little of the fiery whiskey down my throat. “I guess it couldn’t last forever,” I cough.
“We’ll have to find you a woman,” Declan says, draining his glass like it’s nothing. I know the fiery alcohol is burning him up inside, but he keeps his face straight except for a teasing grin. “Before you know it, it’ll be me giving a speech at yer wedding.”
I empty my glass. “Yeah: right. Don’t get me wrong, Dec. Casey’s a beautiful woman. Smart, too. But she’s one in a million. How many broads like that you think are left walking around out there? Besides – I’m not ready to settle down yet,” I grin, setting the glass down on the cart. “I’m having enough fun as it is. Being single suits me to me bones, Dec.”
My brother nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Huh.” His empty glass joins mine. He grabs my shoulder and squeezes it. “Listen, Kieran,” Dec says, chewing his lip. “Things are heating up out there – on the streets. You can feel it, can’t you?”
I nod. I know what he’s talking about. Hell, most of it’s down to the way his relationship with Casey began. Like any good Byrne, his fling started in fire.
“It’s dicey,” I agree. “But nothing I can’t handle. Why are you –?”
“I invited the Morellos to the reception,” Declan says, smoothing the white patch of hair that all five of us brothers share behind his ear. And we need to talk –.”
I pat Declan on the side. “Whatever it is, brother, it doesn’t matter. Today is yer wedding day: that’s all tha’ counts. Business can wait.”
There’s a look to Declan’s eyes I’ve never seen before. But hell if I know what it is. I guess it might just be that he’s nervous about getting married, although that doesn’t seem like the Declan I know. It feels like he’s skirting around a topic, but whatever it is, I figure that it’ll make itself clear in time.
I whistle loudly, rounding up the rest of my brothers.
“Come on,” I roar, “let’s go get this boy married!”
Chapter Two
Kieran
I look out across the sea of heads and faces. The whole of the Ritz-Carlton’s ballroom is full of Declan’s guests – people I’ve known since I was just a boy, our business partners, and dozens of others besides. I can’t believe it, but Declan is actually married. Part of me didn’t really believe it was going to happen. I guess, all these years, I’ve been the most important person in his life – and he mine – and now that’s all over.
I don’t begrudge Casey; not one little bit. There’s a time in any man’s life when his mother rules all, then his brother, and it’s only natural that the next in line should be his wife. I just didn’t know it was going to happen so soon…
It almost makes me think that I should start looking for a woman of my own. I bite down on the smile that tickles my lips. Yeah right. Like that’s going to happen.
It’s time.
My chair tugs against the carpeted ballroom floor as I get to my feet. Declan’s to my right, and I give him a hidden nudge in the ribs as I stand. I’m doing this for him, and he better damn well know that.
I pluck a half-full wineglass from the table top, and a silver knife. I tap one against the other, and a peal rings out across the ballroom. Two hundred voices fall silent. One more tap, and I’m greeted by a rapturous silence.
I clear my throat. Public speaking isn’t something I’ve done very often, but neither does it scare me. Why should it? Besides, a wedding has to be one of the easiest places to give a speech. Everyone in the audience, after all, wants you to succeed.
I look out across the room, half-blinded by lights.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say, glancing down at Casey, who is staring at Declan with so much damn love in her eyes it’s hard to believe. If she only knew half of the things my brother and I got up to as kids… “I’ve got just a couple of notices. Could the gentleman with the red Camaro with California plates please head out to reception, and we’ll be closing the bar in –.”
If possible, the ballroom falls even more silent. You could hear a feather swishing through the air. It’s almost as though these two hundred voices have been silenced, ripped out with horror. Rule number one at an Irish wedding – never close the bar.
“People – I’m kidding. The bar is open and you better believe it’s free all night…”
A smattering of laughter rings out across the room. There it is. Relieved laughter is still laughter, in my book.
I look back down at Declan’s new wife. “I’m told that it’s one of me responsibilities as best man to say a few words, so here I am. I’ve known Declan longer than any man alive, save me late da’, God rest his soul,” I raise a glass to the sky, and Declan follows. Casey strokes his arm.
“So’s ye better believe I know I’ll get a beating if I don’t do as I’m told…”
There’s more laughter.
“Least, I know Dec would try. Apparently it’s bad form to beat up yer own brother on his wedding night…”
“You keep your filthy hands off him, you animal!” Casey exclaims, sitting back in her chair with a grin on her face. She has changed out of her wedding dress into a sleeker, but still white affair. It says a lot about how damn unbelievable she looks that Declan can barely tear his eyes away from her. I still can’t believe that my brother managed to bag a girl that classy.
I raise my glass to her. “Now there’s a lady I’m afraid of!”
“You better be…” Casey mutters in a stage whisper, rousing another round of laughter from the crowd.
I pause, and let the tension build. It’s an old trick da’ taught all us boys as kids. Make the crowd wait, he said, and they’ll eat up whatever you give them. He wasn’t wrong. He never was.
“We got into a lot of scrapes as kids, my brother and I,” I finally say. “Ma,” I grin, glancing down at a gray-haired woman in a smart black dress, sitting a couple of seats down, “you best cover your ears for this one…”
Declan glances up at me theatrically, beating a couple of laughs from the crowd.
“But hey, it was Dec’s fault anyway. He was oldest, so when he said jump, I just asked how high…” I grin.
“Like hell ye did,” Declan growls, relaxing back into his chair and swinging an arm around Casey, pulling her into him. “It was probably your damn idea. Ye always were good at shifting the blame.”
I shrug, grinning at the crowd. I look from chair to chair, picking a person on every table to make eye contact with: another thing that da’ taught us. An old lady here, a family friend there, on every table I’m greeted by a tipsy smile…
…except one.
My eyes seem
drawn to her: a lady in a mid-gray silk dress, plunging at her neck, barely covering her breasts. It’s not stealing the show. It’s not nearly the most revealing dress in this ballroom, maybe not even on the table she’s seated on. But it’s the only dress that’s literally stopped me in my tracks.
I’ve seen her before. But never looking like this.
It’s Sofia Morello.
Goddamn. My mouth goes dry. Mickey Morello’s sister looks fierce as hell. She’s not quite smiling. The corners of her lips are upturned, hiked upwards as though she’s considering it, but holding back. Sofia’s eyebrows are arched. It feels like she’s questioning me. I know I’m wrong, I know that she’s only staring at me because I’m giving a goddamn speech, but I can’t help thinking that Sofia only has eyes for me.
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.”
I reach down towards the table, searching for a tumbler of water. I’m going to need it. I swallow a mouthful, and turn my eyes away from Mickey’s sister. I know that if I keep staring at her, then my tongue will stick like it’s been cemented in place.
My body begs me to turn back to face her. I feel it twisting of its own accord, trying to force me into something I know I can’t bear. I’ve never seen a woman like that before – so calm and confident in herself. It didn’t feel like Sofia was a mere guest at the wedding, it felt like she owned it. Her gaze felt like a thunderbolt ripping through my body.
“We must have been about ten years old,” I say. My voice sounds a bit weaker than usual at first, choked up, still affected by Sofia’s gaze, but I soon pick up steam. Declan glances up at me and groans. He knows the story I’m going to tell.
“Maybe eleven, but who’s counting? So’s, here is how it went. Declan had a bright idea. Most good stories start with that line –.”
Of course, there’s laughter.
“– And this one ain’t no different. Declan always did have an eye for the ladies,” I say, grinning at Casey, who’s hanging onto Dec’s arm like she’s afraid he might up and disappear, “and he wanted to get a real good eyeful, if you know what I mean…”
