Page 96 of Irish Fury
She and Mirren were so thankful that the Smiths had installed a clean-agent gas fire-suppressing system. None of the gallery’s art was damaged.
Mag’s friend Jina and her artist girlfriend, Anna, stopped by to make sure she was okay. Mags had almost cried when Anna told her that none of her art had been damaged and the gallery would be open for business again as soon as they removed the old back walkway.
That was incredible news all on its own, but the other amazing thing to come from the fire was pure magic. Mags had had a huge write-up in the local paper, and the story of theescaped mental patient trying to kill a “beloved” local artist had made Mags something of a local celebrity.
Jonathan was right when he encouraged her to immediately rebuy all her stock and set up shop without further delay, while she was still a hot topic with plenty of people clamoring to own one of her pieces.
She’d reminded Jonathan that she didn’t have the capital at the moment to “buy everything,” to which he gave her a chiding look and said, “Good thing your fiancé has plenty then.”
“Fake fiancé,” she reminded.
“It isn’t fake to me. I called you my fiancé in public, and you didn’t deny it. The Irish take bundling seriously, babe. Anyway, I gave the insurance list you provided the gallery to my father’s assistant. She’s been purchasing everything on the list, plus anything else Mom, Raven, and Rowan could think of.
“Remodeling is going well. The entire upstairs floor in your old townhouse will be used for overflow storage, along with a drafting table and a workstation, with the sun providing natural lighting for drawing new designs.
“The living room will handle a second workstation and comfortable seating for clients and guests, and one of the bedrooms is being turned into a changing room with another set up with your sample drawings as you make them and color choices—though I know you like to have final say about that.”
That had been yesterday, and Mags’ head still felt like it might explode, and not from the severe concussion and fractured rib she’d taken from the explosion.
When she’d spluttered and stuttered and tried to express some semblance of outrage at him being too high-handed when it came to her business, he simply said, “I needed something to take my mind off almost losing you, Mags. I’ve listened to every word you’ve ever said about your needlework. I think I’m getting it right.”
And just like that, her prickliness fizzled, replaced by an awe-inspiring level of delight in how much he loved her.
If Jonathan had been hurt, she would run roughshod over temperance as well, so here they were now, her back resting against Jonathan’s chest as their friends hung out, all of them, like it used to be before marriages and children and work.
“Jon’s been impossible since that influencer named him Sexiest Hero Alive. I mean, Christ, who runs around shirtless during an emergency?” Daniel asked, rolling his eyes and elbowing Dagr, who choked on his laughter.
“Fuck off, Dan,” Jonathan growled. “I wasn’t thinking about my appearance, I can assure you.”
“Did the O’Faolain heir hold the burning building up with his pecs of steel?” Gray mimed reading a newspaper.
“Oh,” Bébhinn started, giggles overtaking her before snorting, “Sorry, sorry, but my favorite was the article where they used the picture of Ulf, Bran, Patrick, Dagr, Daniel, and Jonathan. ‘Frozenfor Adults. Yum.’ I literally died.”
Dagr shook his head and absently rubbed his hand over his wife’s pregnant belly, chuckling. “Dad wanted to sue the journalist, but your moms voted against him.”
“The Byrne sisters for the win,” Mags laughed.
Blair smirked at Jonathan and signed another tabloid goody. “‘I wonder if he used his V-lines to direct the firefighter’s water.’”
“Christ, you redheaded little imp. No one said that,” Jonathan choked, his cheeks finally pinkening.
“They did,” Bébhinn said.
“Oh, they did,” Gray followed.
“It’s true, babe. You’re a sex symbol now. Deal with it.” Mags grinned and tapped her elbow to his side. She giggled when he nipped the lobe of her ear. “I’m a famous artist now, and though it can be overwhelming, I’m coping,” she laughed.
“Did any of the articles about Mags mention that we’re engaged?” Jonathan asked the group.
All their friends gasped and looked at each other, wondering if they were the last ones to know, but everyone was equally in the dark.
“He’s teasing. He told the nurse that so that he would be able to see me after the accident.”
“And you went along with it,” Jonathan reminded smugly.
“You’re as good as married. Historical practices and all that,” Ciar shrugged, like there was nothing to be done.
“Oh, shut it, everyone. We are not engaged.” She shook her head at their teasing, but then she noticed the room fell quiet and everyone’s eyes went wide at whatever was happening at her back.
