Page 68 of Irish Fury
He nodded but kept his arm tightly around his wife. “The conduct I’ve exhibited this evening, Jonathan, is regrettable and doesn’t reflect my usual character. The truth is, I feel likeMargaret grew up, and I missed it. It’s a father’s regret and probably not an unusual one.
“But back to my original inquiry, how did you hurt my daughter?”
Jonathan had stayed quiet while her parents hashed out their feelings, but the spotlight was back on him. He sat forward, squeezing her leg once more before folding his hands at his knees.
“I kissed Mags during the New Year’s countdown almost three years ago. I knew she liked me, and I liked her even though she was a few months shy of eighteen. I knew I’d screwed up by seeking her out, and like an idiot, I tried to make her believe that our kiss meant nothing and immediately left her side to kiss someone else.
“I regretted it immediately, but the damage was done. She’s barely tolerated me since, wrecked an ungodly number of my dates, and enjoyed using her sharp tongue to flay me. Well, up until I begged her to give me another chance.”
Her parents found his retelling amusing. “Traitors,” she muttered. That made them laugh harder.
Her mom sat straighter, adjusting her scarf. “Do you love each other? That’s really all your dad and I care about.”
Mags’s mouth went dry. Her lips stuck to her teeth, making her resemble a dog begging for treats. “That is an extremely private question,” Mags replied, a chiding tone in place.
“No more personal than my youngest daughter sleeping with a man she’s only been dating a few weeks and under my roof.” Her dad wasn’t angry, but his typical good-natured smile was absent.
Matching her father’s serious mien, Mags made sure to meet her parents’ eyes straight on. “Jon and I haven’t discussed our feelings to that extent.” She made the mistake of looking left. Jonathan was frowning.
“We haven’t discussed our feelings, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have them. I have them,” Jonathan declared.
It was Mags’ turn for widened eyes and a slackened jaw. Did he mean…was he admitting…?
Completely ignoring her parents, Jonathan twisted on the couch to face her. “Don’t you have feelings, Mags? For me.”
She’d been wanting this, to know exactly how he was feeling, but he hadn’t said anything specific yet. “I do.” There. Committed yet noncommittal.
If anything, his frown grew more pronounced in response to her answer while the moonlight accentuated the creases on his face, setting off both his white hair and the amber tones of his eyes. Her heart momentarily faltered before racing uncontrollably in her chest.
They could have been on a deserted island or a crowded London street—or in her childhood home sitting across from her parents—and it wouldn’t have mattered. They were locked in a battle of wills. The question was, did it matter who said I love you first?
Jonathan made the question moot. Without hesitation, he took both her hands and held them between their knees. “I should have told you before now, but I’ve been afraid. I love you, Mags.
Well. Well then. That simplified things. “I love you too…have loved you for years.”
Her parents stood and announced they were off to bed. She and Jonathan never took their eyes from one another.
“That’s good.”
“Very good,” she replied just as evenly.
The house was quiet in that fragile, late-night way that made every small sound feel amplified.
The lamp in the corner of the living room cast a low amber glow over the couch where Jonathan and Mags sat sideways,knee to knee. Upstairs, a floorboard creaked once, then settled. Her parents’ bedroom door had clicked shut several minutes ago.
Still, neither of them had moved.
Jonathan’s white hair caught the warm light, almost silver against the dim room. His amber eyes flicked toward the hallway, then back to her. “I can’t believe you love me, that you still love after all the bullshit,” he murmured.
Mags huffed a quiet laugh, her bright hazel eyes sparkling. “No one’s more surprised than me,” she teased.
“I want us to live together.” His voice dropped. “I don’t want to be apart, and I would rather not sleep at Eze’s.”
She shifted slightly until their thighs were touching. The contact felt louder than it should have. Heat slid through her stomach.
“You’re nervous,” she teased.
“I’m in your parents’ house,” he replied, gaze steady on hers. “That seems like an appropriate response, especially since I want them to like me.”
