“Thank you,” I say. “Cormac, could you give a girl some notice, first? I’m still in my pajamas, Maeve. Haven’t even showered yet, so my apologies.”
She waves a hand at me. “Pfft, go on with ya. Nothing I haven’t seen before, and you’re pretty as a picture just rolling out of bed as y’are.”
I want to like this woman. I do like this woman. It’s just that I don’t know what my place is here, who I am. Who she is. If I should even like being part of this clan of people who seem nice, but then do things like capture reporters and… and all sorts of things, I guess.
“Sit up, love, and we’ll get you sorted.” She sits on the edge of the bed and looks at me with her kind eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Bit nauseous.”
Cormac snorts. “She’s been riddled with nausea, she’s utterly exhausted, and she—”
“Cormac! You’re exaggerating. For goodness sakes, you act as if I’m an invalid.”
He grunts to himself, but his phone rings, so he steps into the living room to take it.
Maeve leans in. “It’s always the way with the McCarthy men,” she says with a knowing smile. “Overprotective.” She rolls her eyes and lifts the lid on my food tray. “He’ll have you lying in bed and waited on hand and foot before you hurt yourself.”
I frown as I take a slice of toast with butter and marmalade. My, but it looks good. “We’ll see about that,” I mutter.
She smiles and pours me a cup of tea. “Good girl. We will. But you’re no pushover, Aileen. You give that son of mine a run for his money, and it’s about time someone did.”
Alright, then. Yes, I like her.
I eat the toast and follow it with the tea. “God, this is good,” I say. The bread is thick and fresh, lightly toasted, slathered with creamy, rich butter. The marmalade is sweet with a pleasant tang, studded with liberal flecks of candied peel.
“Aye,” she says with a smile. “Our chefs make it on site. Some of the best you’ll find in all of Ireland.”
The scalding tea washes down the toast, and between the food, tea, and medicine, I’m almost feeling myself.
“Goodness, I’m feeling better.”
“Excellent,” Maeve says. “I’m going to get you some ginger biscuits, an old remedy, and I’ll be sure they’re here if you need them. And if you need anything at all, you’ll call me?” I can tell by the earnest look in her eyes that she hopes I do.
“Of course,” I say with a smile.
“Get good rest,” she says. “Eat small meals frequently, and we’ll keep them nice and bland, but let’s be sure it’s something you want, okay?”
“Aye.”
“Our staff makes some of the best ginger biscuits. Just nibble them with tea. If you feel like it, mind.”
I nod. It’s like she’s been waiting for just this moment to mother me, like she’s come into her own as matriarch of this family. I’m not complaining. I don’t know if I’ve ever had anything like this.
“Wear good, loose clothing, none of those tight jeans and elastic bands around your waist,” she continues. “It’ll help not put pressure on your tummy. We’ll get you some nice leggings and things.” Cormac steps into the room.
I suddenly remember something. I sit up straight in bed. “Cormac! I drank wine last night. My God! I could give the baby brain damage!”
He blinks, looking as stricken as I feel, but Maeve just rolls her eyes and clucks her tongue.
“Easy, you two. It’s early on yet, and many have a bit of drink before they find out they’re expecting. It’ll be fine.”
“How do you know?” I ask. “How do you know?”
“We’ll call Sebastian back,” Cormac says.
Maeve gets to her feet and pats my hand, and I don’t miss the smile she tries to hide when she turns to go. “You do that, son,” she says. “I’ll go to the kitchen and be sure they make her a batch of the biscuits.” She walks to the door. “I’ll be back!”
Sebastian does indeed return, and he echoes Maeve’s sentiments. There’s nothing to worry about. He assures us the baby will be fine and leaves. I’m a little relieved.
“How’s your tummy?” Cormac asks, sitting on the edge of the bed, his brows knit with concern.
I can’t help but smile.
“What?” he asks.
“It’s just funny, a big, burly, tough guy like you asking about my tummy. Do you say owie or boo-boo if I’m injured?”
He growls, but his eyes twinkle at me. “Wonder if yer ass is injured,” he mutters teasingly.
“Now, Mr. McCarthy, we’ll have none of that. I’m pregnant.”
“Nice try,” he says, his lips tipping upward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have my way with you.”
“You most certainly cannot!”
“Is that right,” he asks, climbing onto the bed beside me. In ten seconds flat, he’s got me pinned to the bed, his massive body pressed to mine.