Lucky This Isn't Real: MacBride Brothers Series St. Patrick's Day Fake Fiance Romance by Jamie Knight (digital e reader .TXT) 📕

thanks to my partner Duncan getting severe food poisoning from contaminated butcher meat at our shop— which was what the emergency call had been about— I had to fly out tonight after the reception.

I would have liked to stay longer so that I could pursue this crazy desire I felt for Darcy. But my business was my livelihood and had to come first.

Darcy had smelled great last night— a heady combination of lavender and strawberries. I’d tried not to look down her dress, the cut of the neckline not helping, not to mention the sheer, ethereal beauty of her breasts. The dress made them look like a work of a sculptor.

I could only imagine what they would look like in real life. But that was something I intended to find out.

Alarms began to blare all around me. It was like the opening scene in Back to the Future, not in the way of alarm clocks, but there were alerts, nonetheless. A digital cacophony was assaulting my ears every few seconds just to make absolutely sure I was up on time.

I had really wanted to make sure I wouldn’t be late. It wasn’t as though I was the best man. In fact, there wasn’t one, so that Gavin hadn’t had to choose between his many brothers. The ceremony would likely be able to go ahead minus one groomsman.

Still, I’d been raised to keep my promises and fulfill my commitments, even if I did sometimes mess things up in the process. And I was escorting the maid of honor now, which was an important role to fulfill.

If there was one thing that I’d learned from life, it was that the attempt was what mattered. The effort. Not because it was easy all the time or even all that effective but because it was the right thing to do.

The black suit with the bottle-green tie and handkerchief hung on a hook on the back of the bedroom door. Maggie had gone overboard with the whole fifty shades of green theme, but it was her day, and Gavin had gone along with everything she’d asked for— no matter how clichéd or odd.

That was how obviously in love with her he was.

With my Bluetooth headphones in place and my hair still a bit damp from the shower, I put the three-piece suit on, which, despite making me look like an overgrown leprechaun, fit well and was comfortable.

In my attempts to not be late, I not only got to the church on time, but I was also half an hour early. The fates could be very tricky and seemed to have a particular fondness for messing with me. I didn’t know if I should be scared or flattered that they took notice.

I knew that my other brothers, including Gavin, would be surprised to see me there so early. They’d given up trying to get me out of bed at home. Not even the smell of Aunt Tricia’s full Irish breakfast could rouse me until I was good and ready.

“Well, here’s a shock,” Gavin said, coming to greet me at the door.

“To no one more than me,” I confessed. “I’m not sure I like it.”

“Buck up, bro, it could be a sign of better things to come.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the constantly disappointed optimist,” I joked.

“No, that would be Eoin.”

I wasn’t sure if Gavin had meant it as a joke, but if he had, it wasn’t really funny. Our wee brother, who had only just turned twenty, had yet to be truly stomped by life. We weren’t looking forward to that happening, even though we all knew it had to come eventually, and the longer it took, the more it was going to hurt.

But things were going well for him. He was in his second year at Queens University, studying Media and Broadcast Production and was working in the background of local TV shows.

He dreamed of becoming a successful screenwriter. And he was talented enough to make it happen.

“Do you know what you’re doing during the ceremony?” Gavin asked.

“Indeed,” I said, remembering the help that sexy Darcy had provided me.

I looked all around for her, but she was probably somewhere with Maggie, helping organize the bridal party and making sure the wedding dress was perfect.

When we first met yesterday, it took a while before I’d realized I’d never even asked her name. I’d figured it out from the wedding party spreadsheet Maggie had sent.

Ms. Darcy Matthews, on the other hand, had known who I was more or less from the beginning. It was a one-in-six guess, but she had still clocked me as a MacBride, which wasn’t as easy as it might sound. Four of us were dark with blue eyes, and the other youngest two were ginger with brown eyes.

There were no affairs between our parents that we knew of or suspected. Our differences in appearances were all down to our genetics.

Ireland was more genetically diverse than most people thought. Our mother, Cora, had been a typical Irish woman: a fiery, freckled redhead who could make a man look twice with a smile.

Our father, Brenden MacBride, was one of the so-called ‘Black Irish.’ It was a term used to describe Irish people with dark hair and dark eyes thought to be decedents of the Spanish Armada of the mid-1500s.

Our dad’s family had a long and disgraceful history on the island, none of which got written about in history books, except as a cautionary tale. According to family legend, mum’s family offered our dad a princely sum to get rid of him, a sort of reverse dowry.

As a young man, Brendan MacBride may have been a lot of things, but a sell-out wasn’t one of them. He could be a bastard— and soon became a drunk and druggie— but he never intentionally lied, believing