Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“Oh, I’m so sorry. This is Beckett Blackwell, and he is my date this weekend. Beck, this is Mik, my ma and da, Maeve and Patrick, and of course, you’ve briefly met my brother, Connor.”
Beck’s already shaking everyone’s hands, and I’m taken aback again by how handsome he is in his simple blue button-down shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up his forearms. He trimmed his beard and must have gotten a haircut this past week.
He looks sexy, like he could milk a cow or walk a runway.
“More surprises,” Ma says as she smiles at my man. “And a happy one at that. Welcome, Beckett.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gallagher,” Beck says.
“Oh, we’re not formal here. Please, I’m Maeve.”
Beck nods, and I take his hand in mine. He gives it a squeeze as we find seats next to each other.
“Where’s Benji?” I ask Mik as we all get buckled in and ready for takeoff.
“He had to work this weekend,” Mik replies with a shrug. “But he sends love.”
“We’ll video call him so he doesn’t feel left out,” I reply.
“How’s the ankle?” Mik asks, his blue eyes narrowing. Nothing about him has changed. He’s still lean and fit and beautiful. So painfully beautiful.
“It’s as good as it’s going to get,” I reply simply and shrug. I know he wants to know what my answer will be about London and dancing Giselle, but I’m still unsure. It’s so good to see him, though.
Ma and Da are listening but unusually quiet as they hold hands and watch the rest of us. Connor reads something on his phone, as he usually does.
Miller and Sally are in the back of the plane, and Riley’s lying at my feet.
It’s a full plane.
“You’re not in shape,” Mik says in that honest way he has that no longer offends me.
Beckett’s hold on my hand tightens. It seems Mik does offend my man.
“I think you look beautiful, a stór,” Da says with a wink. “You look happy.”
“Thanks, Da. I am happy. And no”—I turn to Mik—“I’m not in professional dancing shape. I already told you that when you called and demanded that I do this performance with you.”
“What performance?” Connor asks, lifting his perceptive gaze at us.
“It’s one night,” Mik says, and outlines what he told me to my family. “It’s not in New York, it’s in London. For one performance. And yes, you’ll have to lose the fifteen pounds you gained, malishka. Not ten. Fifteen.”
“Keep talking to her like that and you and I are going to have a problem,” Beckett says, his voice harder than I’ve ever heard it, and I tighten my hand in his once more.
“He’s right,” I tell Beckett, as the two men have a stare down. “I’ll have to get into shape.”
“Oh, I hope the dress I brought with me fits,” Ma says with a concerned furrow of her brow. “I used your older measurements for it, not taking into consideration that you haven’t been dancing. I’m sure we can make it work. Maybe we can let it out at the hotel. Although it’s couture, so altering it would be a shame.”
“Well, I can’t lose the fifteen pounds by this evening,” I reply, immediately feeling bad for the snarky tone. “I’m sorry, I’m sure it’ll be just fine. I’m still in the same sizes.”
“Not your costume sizes,” Mik says, and Connor sighs heavily, rolling his eyes.
“With all due respect,” Beckett says to my mother as he leans forward in his seat, “what in the hell is wrong with all of you? Skyla’s absolutely stunning, just as she is.”
“Beck,” I say softly, rubbing my hand up and down his spine. “It’s all right.”
“No.” He shakes his head and looks over at me, his dark eyes full of indignation. “It’s not okay for anyone to comment on your or anyone’s size, Irish.”
“Irish?” Connor asks, but we all ignore him.
“I’m the one who has to lift her in the air,” Mik insists, his stubborn face in a scowl.
“Then I guess you’d better hit the gym because I have no trouble at all lifting her and carrying her wherever the hell she wants to go.”
Da’s eyebrows wing up. Ma presses her lips together, trying not to smile.
And Connor laughs.
“I’ve been saying this shite for years,” my brother says, running his hand down his face. “Finally, someone agrees with me.”
“I get that you have a job to do,” Beckett says to Mik as the two men glare at each other. Ma winks at me. I can tell she likes my man. “But it’s not her job, not anymore. I won’t have her hungry, or starving herself, or hating any inch of her gorgeous body because she feels loyal to you and obligated to perform with you one last time. You’ll speak to her with respect, or you won’t speak to her at all.”