September that year, it’s the launch of our boutique hotel.
We’ve called it simply ‘Ours’ because Fianna and I have put a tiny piece of our heart and soul into every room.
“Ready?” I peer around the reception area that is aglow with warm fairy lights.
It’s hard to believe that this is the same building we moved into in January, the building where we slept on camp beds in the dining room, snuggled inside sleeping bags with a portable heater to keep us warm when we were not working. Fianna was able to bring all of our (sometimes) farfetched ideas to life, finding practical solutions to make them work.
The reception has floor-to-ceiling windows allowing the outside in, the interior walls strategically fitted with flush lighting that alters with the seasons. Tonight, the entire space is bathed in a warm orange glow, the tiny fairy lights flickering across the walls and scattering patterns across the floor like falling leaves. It’s magical, and magic is exactly what we wanted to bring to the hotel.
The bedrooms are themed. There’s a woodland room, an ocean room, a royal room complete with turrets, a velvet-draped four-poster, crowns, and silk robes, a Titanic room (Fianna’s first choice), and my particular favorite: the Christmas room. The bed is a sleigh, there are snow globes everywhere, and snow falls outside the window … even in summer.
Fianna widens her eyes at me and squeals. “The first guests arrive tomorrow. This is it, Mary. No turning back.”
For a woman who was born with the O’Hara confidence, she has hardly eaten today, and has wandered from room to room, testing lighting, smoothing comforters across beds, and straightening curtains that are already immaculate.
“Everyone is going to love it.” I squeeze her hand.
“What if Liam O’Doherty hates it? What if his review says that we’re a couple of women trying to play big-girl games?”
I laugh and shake my head. “You invited Liam O’Doherty as the only journalist here tonight for a reason. When he gives us a glowing review, we’ll be fully booked through to 2030.”
She smiles and her shoulders relax just a little. “This is what I love about you Mary, your unwavering optimism.”
“And my crazy ideas.” I wrinkle my nose, thinking of more qualities. “And my culinary skills.”
Fianna grimaces. “Your culinary skills are … unique, but please don’t ever apply for a job as a chef.”
The door opens, and Emmett comes in looking smart in a silver suit with a black rollneck sweater underneath. He kisses me on the lips and then lowers his head to kiss my swollen belly, a gesture that has become so natural I know I’m going to miss it when the twins arrive. “How are my babies?”
“I think they’re more excited than the rest of us, I swear they’re having their own party in there.”
“That’s my girls.” Emmett slides his arm around me and sticks his tongue in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You look beautiful.”
His breath is warm on my cheek, and the familiar tingle spreads between my legs. I will never not feel sexy in his presence, and there are still days when I pinch myself to be sure that I’m not dreaming.
I push him away from me playfully. “Not tonight. You don’t want me to go into labor halfway through the party.”
“We’ve still got another three weeks. How am I supposed to keep my hands off you for that long?”
“You only have to keep your hands off me tonight.” I move his hands away from my belly and deliberately place them by his sides.
“Ugh, guys, I’m standing right here.” Fianna’s voice interrupts us.
This is how it is when we’re together; it’s as if no one else exists in the world but us, and I can’t wait to include our babies in our bubble.
“It’s okay, Emmett is keeping his distance.” I flash him a mock warning glance and he raises his hands, palms facing outward, in surrender. “Nothing is going to spoil this evening.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Fianna inhales deeply. “I mean giving birth in one of the rooms would be publicity, but someone will have to clean that mess up.”
I laugh, and Emmett grimaces. “On that note,” he says, “I’ll go check on the food.”
For the first few months of the year, Emmett divided his time equally between Ireland and New York much to his mom’s joy. Sinead should’ve had a whole Brady Bunch of kids, but she had a medical condition that brought about early menopause shortly after Emmett was born, so he literally got her undivided love and attention his whole life. She’s going to be an amazing granny to our children.
Emmett moved back home to Ireland permanently when we discovered that I was pregnant. I was more shocked than he was—my cycle had never been regular, and it didn’t even occur to me that I might be carrying his baby when I was a couple of months late. Even with the nausea in the mornings that destroyed my love of a peaceful early-morning coffee while looking out on the waterfall.
We’re staying at the family home for now until our own home is built. Sinead cried when we told her that we’d be moving into our own place when it’s ready, until we pointed out that she’ll be able to see it from the conservatory window. She has already figured out that our children will be able to run across to granny’s house after school for homemade cookies and milk and is planning their first trip to Lapland for Christmas as soon as they’re old enough to appreciate it.
They are the family I always dreamed of, and I wake up every morning feeling like the luckiest woman alive.
A 4×4 pulls up outside the hotel and Sinead and Patrick climb out, closely followed by Fianna’s parents, Erin and Sean. Clare and Ciaran pull up behind them on the driveway—they arranged babysitters for this evening, afraid that the twins would break something or spill juice on the carpets before the first guests even check in.
Sinead hurries over to me, kisses my cheek, and holds me at arm’s length, eyes narrowed. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” I smile. “No twinges, no pains. I feel … amazing.”
“I can vouch for that.” Fianna joins us. “I had to force her to sit down earlier. I found her on her hands and knees fitting mousehole decals to the baseboards in the Christmas room.”
“I couldn’t resist them when I found them in that new shop in Laragh yesterday. They’re so cute.” I realize that Sinead is still watching me closely. “Don’t worry, I haven’t been overdoing it.”
“You were in the nursery until late last night.”
“I found some decals for the babies’ room too.” I hesitate. “I know they’ll sleep in our room for a while, but I just wanted to get it finished.”
“Your belly has dropped.” Sinead looks around for Clare and Erin who come straight over. “Do you think she has dropped?”
They both eye my belly critically while a blush creeps steadily across my face.
“Aye.” Clare places a hand on my belly.
“She’s been nesting too,” Sinead adds.
“Don’t worry, Mary.” Erin smiles. “We’ll keep an eye on you. We’ve all had babies, so we know what we’re doing.”
Patrick walks around the women and places an arm around my waist. “Come with me, Mary. My granddaughters will come out when they’re ready.”
We wander through to the dining room where the table is covered with canapés and silver champagne buckets. Patrick hands me over to Emmett, the O’Hara men protecting the future generation.
“Everything okay?” Emmett’s eyes instinctively drop to my swollen belly too.
“I’m fine. No need to fuss.”
Just then, I get a twinge that starts somewhere deep and low inside me and grows, my belly becoming hard as rock. It keeps growing, blocking out my surroundings and forcing me to breathe deeply while I grip the back of a seat.
“Mary?” Emmett’s clear blue eyes are filled with concern.
I blink the room back into focus. “It’s fine. Braxton Hicks contraction.”
He pulls out a seat and eases me into it. Suddenly, the realization that I have to get these babies out sneaks up on me, and my eyes fill with tears.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” He kneels in front of me the way he did the day he proposed in the same room although it isn’t recognizable now.
“Hormones.” I sniff loudly.
He smiles. “I’ll get you some water.”
“I’d prefer champagne.”
He leans closer and kisses me on the lips. “A small one. I don’t want my girls getting drunk in there.”
I hear the soft pop of a cork, and Emmett returns with a half-filled crystal champagne flute. Before I’ve taken my first sip, the party guests start arriving, filling the hotel lobby with conversation and laughter.
“That’s us.” Emmett helps me onto my feet. “We’re on.”
The evening passes in a blur of conversation and excited murmurs of appreciation as we give friends, family, and neighbors a guided tour of the rooms.
Fianna looks as if she is floating around the rooms, Connor by her side, her face glowing as she opens door after door, and tries to view the rooms from a visitor’s perspective. They are breathtakingly beautiful. I know I’m biased, but this is the kind of hotel I would choose to stay in if I was visiting Ireland, and I’m so proud of what we’ve achieved in just nine months. We’ve set up a board in the dining room with before-and-after photographs, and the guests’ reactions make my heart swell with joy.
I don’t have any more practice contractions, and I forget all about it as the party grows louder, music filling the reception area from discreet speakers set up behind the front desk.
“Happy?” Emmett has joined me outside the hotel where I’m trying to cool down in the gentle evening breeze.
I smile at him. I don’t need to say the words out loud. Emmett knows what I’m thinking before I do a lot of the time.
He kisses me on the lips as something inside me seems to give and my water breaks, splashing his shiny black shoes, and creating a puddle outside the hotel entrance.
“Emmett…” I grip his hand tightly, panic crashing through me and making it hard to breathe.
He peers down at the damp ground, his brow furrowed. Then realization rearranges his features into a wide smile. “Hey, it’s okay, Mary. I’m here.”
“I’m…” I don’t want to say the words out loud.
I don’t want to admit that I’ve kept myself busy for nine months so that I didn’t have to think about this moment. Because I’m scared. I’m not scared of giving birth. I’m scared that I won’t be the mom our daughters deserve, that I’ll let them down at some point, and they’ll have to grow a tough shell behind which to hide themselves away from the world. The way I had to.
As if reading my mind, Emmett takes my hands in his and lowers his head so that our eyes are level. “You are going to be the best mom ever, Mary. Our daughters are going to be loved more than any other children have ever been loved in the history of time because they have you, and me.”
I nod, sniffing back tears. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mary. Come on, let’s get ready to meet our daughters.”
