“Who?”

“Marie. The girl who designed and made my wedding dress. I think he’s taking Tommy out for chatting her up as we speak.”

“Huh. That will last long enough for Kier to get her knickers off,” he scoffed.

“I’ll bet he said the same thing about you once,” I pointed out.

“Fair point, Mrs. O’Connell, and I would pay good money to see the little fucker whipped.”

“You have such a way with words,” I teased.

“Baby, I don’t believe that my way with words was why you married me. I seem to recall I had other skills with my mouth that sealed the deal.”

His cheek brushed gently against mine as he whispered softly into my ear, instantly making me damp and weak-kneed. I pressed myself closer against him as we danced; the crackle of electricity potent between us. Suddenly, I caught sight of Mac striding purposefully toward us.

“Hey, Em,” he greeted sternly as he reached us, then turned to address O’Connell.

“You’d best come outside, Con. We’ve got trouble.”

“You stay with Danny, love. We’ll be right back.”

“I’m coming with you,” I informed him determinedly. I could see his jaw ticking as he became impatient to meet the trouble head on.

“I don’t want you getting hurt,” he admitted.

“And I don’t want you throwing away your whole career because some arsehole is causing trouble,” I retorted.

He grabbed his messy spikes and pulled at them absently as he mulled over what to do for the best.

“Fuck it,” he said, grabbing my hand as he hauled me protectively to his side.

“You stay behind me, and you don’t move,” he warned.

I nodded in agreement, as we went to see who could be trying to ruin our wedding day. We were halfway down the hallway, when I didn’t have to guess anymore. I knew.

“Get your filthy hands off me. Do you have any idea who my son is? He’ll break your neck if he finds out you restrained his own mother!” Sylvia screamed to anyone listening.

Tank stood at the entrance to the hallway. He never really talked much as he trained, but the boys called him Tank because, well, he was built like a tank. He stood in front of the door with his arms crossed, an immoveable obstacle between us and the doorway. For all of Tank’s size and strength, I’d never actually seen him throw a punch in anger. His intimidating presence seemed to deter conflict, and although he enjoyed training, I didn’t think he had the temperament to be a fighter.

“Oh, thank God, Con,” Sylvia cried dramatically, placing her hand over her heart as though she feared for her own safety.

“He hit me. All I wanted was to see my own son on his wedding day, and he told me to fuck off and hit me.”

Tank looked at O’Connell and raised an eyebrow in amusement. I could cheerfully see him telling Sylvia where to go, but we all knew he would never raise his hand to her. Con rolled his eyes at Sylvia’s antics and sighed wearily.

“What do you want, Ma?” he asked.

“That’s no way to talk to your mother, son,” warned the guy standing next to her.

It was only then I noticed that Sylvia had company. He was a big guy, though nowhere near as big as O’Connell. His dark hair was greased back, and his too tight trousers made his beer belly hang over the top. He had probably been quite fit and good looking once, but those years had long since passed. From his tired eyes and saggy blotched skin, I would bet good money that he was an alcoholic like Sylvia.

“I’m not your son,” snarled O’Connell, looking at his mother. “Now tell me what the fuck you’re doing here, so we can go back to enjoying our wedding.”

“Baby, please. You’re my only son. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding with Emily. I didn’t realise how serious it was between you, and I just didn’t want you hurt. I’ve already missed your wedding. Haven’t I been punished enough? Please, Con, I just want to be part of your celebration with you.”

She pleaded so convincingly that it was hard not to see her as the repentant mother. But I had seen the real Sylvia behind the facade.

“What, so you thought you’d bring this fucktard to my wedding!” O’Connell shouted.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re calling a fucktard, arsehole?” the man screamed.

“Richard, it's fine. Please let me handle this,” cautioned Sylvia, standing as a buffer between Richard and her son.

O’Connell looked murderous, but to give him credit, he was keeping his temper under control.

“Con, Richard means well, I promise. Baby boy, it’s Christmas Eve. We always spend Christmas Eve together, don’t we?” she said, holding Con’s face in her hands like he really was a little boy.

For a moment, I saw the flicker of longing that explained why he always forgave her behaviour in the past. He wasn’t just a fighter; he was also a boy craving his mother’s love. As O’Connell looked between Sylvia and Richard, the longing faded to resolve and back to anger. In the past, it was moments like this when his temper would get the best of him, and if Richard carried on baiting O’Connell, he’d be lucky to leave without repercussion. O’Connell looked back for me and when he saw me, reached out his hand and entwined my fingers with his. As always, my touch calmed him.

“Go home, Ma. Or go to a bar. Or go to Richard’s house. I really don’t care. You’ve burned your bridges with me for good this time. Continually fucking up and going back on your word is one thing. I can even forgive a lifetime of you being a shite mother. But you knowingly tried to take away the one person I love more than anything else in the world, and I’ll never forgive that. Em, Danny, Kier, and the boys are my family now, and I take care of what’s mine. Now turn around and fuck off, so that my wife and I can go back to enjoying our wedding.”

He directed this last remark at Richard, whose face was so red, I knew something was about to kick off. Sylvia was stunned that O’Connell had stood up to her, and I guessed this was the first time her little theatrics hadn’t worked. When she realised O’Connell was serious, she stared at me maliciously and it was clear that I was apparently to blame for her lot in life.

“What the fuck, Sylvia. You said this was gonna be an easy mark!” shouted Richard.

I could feel the fingers of O’Connell’s hand flexing and relaxing gently, as he prepared to fight.