Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg, Book 1) (The Ballybeg Series)

LOVE AND SHENANIGANS

A BALLYBEG ROMANCE (BOOK 1)

ZARA KEANE

Vows in Vegas…

Three days before leaving Ireland on the adventure of a lifetime, Fiona Byrne returns to her small Irish hometown to attend the family wedding from hell. When she discovers the drunken vows she exchanged with the groom during a wild Las Vegas trip eight years previously mean they’re legally married, her future plans ricochet out of control. Can she untangle herself from the man who broke her heart so long ago? Does she even want to?

…True Love in Ballybeg

Gavin Maguire’s life is low on drama, high on stability, and free of pets. But Gavin hadn’t reckoned on Fiona blasting back into his life and crashing his wedding. In the space of twenty-four hours, he loses a fiancée and a job, and gains a wife and a labradoodle. Can he salvage his bland-but-stable life? More importantly, can he resist losing his heart to Fiona all over again?

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For C.A.L.L.

Ballybeg, County Cork, Ireland

GAVIN STEERED HIS BMW down the winding road leading to Clonmore Lodge, windows down, punk rock blaring. Through the gaps in the trees, he glimpsed the sea. He inhaled deeply, tasted the salty air on his tongue, and felt it sting his nose.

Ballybeg was the best place on earth. He’d loved this area from the first moment he’d seen it. Adored the wildness of the sea, the rolling green fields, and the seaweed-scented wind. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. While he liked to travel, the best part of every holiday was coming back home.

He rounded a last bend in the road and turned into the drive that led to a spacious three-level house. It was gorgeous; of that there was no doubt. Built in the mid-nineteenth century, it combined the quaint elegance of Old Ireland with modern comforts. It boasted five bedrooms, a sauna in the basement, and a small tennis court out the back. As his fiancée assured him daily, it would be the perfect home to raise kids.

And yet he’d trade it in for his cozy cottage any day. Yes, the cottage was too small for a family. Yes, it wasn’t as fancy as this house. And yes, it wasn’t in the most desirable area of Ballybeg. But the cottage was the first place he’d called home, and leaving it was a wrench.

He pulled his car to a halt outside the ivy-framed door. He was on the verge of opening his car door when his mobile phone flashed a message. A glance at the glowing display made his stomach cramp. He read the message several times. By the time he tossed the phone back on the passenger seat, the words were imprinted on his brain.

Hi, Gavin. Best wishes on your wedding day. Sorry we can’t make it. Too much to do on the farm. I know you’ll understand. All the best, Mum xx

He exhaled sharply. He was used to his mother’s offhandedness. Resigned to her disinterest in his life. So why did this latest rejection hurt so damn much? He was thirty-two years old, for feck’s sake. Too old to get maudlin over her lack of interest and old enough to have developed a thicker skin.

He grabbed his briefcase and architect’s tool bag, climbed out of the car, and slammed the door.

Inside the house, seventies pop music drifted down the hallway. He laughed softly. One thing he and his fiancée definitely did not have in common was their taste in music.

“Muireann,” he called. “I’m home.”

Over Abba’s crooning, he heard what sounded like a dog barking. He frowned. That couldn’t be right. He and Muireann had a strict “no pets” rule.

He dumped his bag and briefcase and headed toward the living room to investigate.

Muireann was sitting on the sofa, humming and cradling a curly-haired puppy in her arms. “Isn’t he adorable?” She beamed and the puppy slobbered all over her face. The same face Gavin was barely permitted to air-kiss these days in case he smudged her makeup. She’d always been particular about her appearance, but in the months leading up to the wedding, she’d become obsessed.

Gavin stared at the scene before him, slack-jawed. There was an overturned vase, claw marks on the leather sofa, and a suspicious yellow stain on the hearthrug.

“
Jaysus
. That dog peed on a one-thousand-euro rug.”

“Hmm?” Muireann glanced at the hand-tufted rug Gavin had specially commissioned for her engagement present. “He’s not quite house-trained, but we’ll soon have that sorted. Won’t we, Wiggly Poo?”

Gavin sank into an armchair and groped for the whiskey decanter. “Why is a dog urinating in our living room? Why is a dog
in
our living room in the first place?”

“Daddy gave him to us as an early wedding present.”

“What?” He clenched the decanter. “I’m allergic to dogs.”

“Yeah.” She nuzzled her nose into the canine’s curly fur. “But he’s an Australian labradoodle.”

“A labra-
what
?”

“It’s a cross between a Labrador and a poodle. They’re supposed to be hypoallergenic.”

“
Supposed
to be. That’s reassuring.”

Muireann’s pink lips compressed into a perfect pout. “You’re not suggesting we give him back?”

“We discussed marriage. We discussed babies. We never discussed labrawhatsits.”

“If you want rid of him,
you
talk to Daddy.”

“You can be damn sure I’ll talk to Bernard. I bowed to pressure over the house. No way am I allowing him to foist a pet on us.” Gavin sloshed a generous helping of Jameson into a tumbler and knocked it back in one. This wedding business was getting out of control. The sooner the ceremony was over and they were sunning themselves in Mauritius, the better.

“I realize you wanted us to live in your cottage, but you must see it’s not practical.”

Gavin sighed. “Yeah, I do. That’s the reason I agreed to move in with you rather than vice versa.”

“We’ve been spoiled by our years of living in separate homes.” She patted his hand. “It’ll take time to adjust. For both of us.”

The dog barked, drawing his attention back to his unwanted guest. “Who came up with the daft name?”

“Mummy. Wiggly Poo wouldn’t be my first choice, but I didn’t want to offend her. Besides, it rather suits him.”

Gavin eyed the animal with suspicion. It resembled a walking bath mat. The dog panted and batted canine eyelashes at him.

“Do you want to hold him?” Muireann raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

He edged back in his seat. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug.

Gavin gestured at the dog with his whiskey glass. “Who’s minding the mutt while we’re in Mauritius?”

“Aunt Bridie.”

“What about her bad hip?”

Muireann sniffed. “After all Daddy’s done for her over the years, it’s the least she can do.”

“Why can’t your parents dog-sit?”

“It would be too much for Mummy’s Chihuahuas. Wiggly Poo’s a little wild.”

Gavin’s gaze dropped to the stained rug. “You don’t say.”

“Mummy called boarding kennels, and none had a free place at such short notice.”

“I’m not happy about having a dog thrust upon me. By the time we get back from our honeymoon, I want him gone.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Can we discuss this later? It’s the day before our wedding. I don’t want any unpleasantness between us.”

“Okay, but I’m not backing down. You got your way over the house, the wedding, and the honeymoon. No bloody way am I agreeing to keep a pet.”

“Yes, dear.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. He smelled her face powder and her signature scent. “Whatever we end up doing with the dog, Wiggly Poo needs a walk this evening. Will you take him out while I’m with my designer?”

“What? Me?” She had to be bloody joking.

Muireann treated the curly-haired destroyer of rugs to one last pet and dumped him in Gavin’s lap. “I told you this morning. I have an appointment with my bridesmaids to practice the choreography for the wedding. My designer is bringing all the dresses to my parents’ house.”

“The choreography? Won’t you all just walk down the aisle?”

“It needs to be timed.” She slipped her powder compact into her handbag. “I want everything to be perfect.”

Wiggly Poo buried his snout in Gavin’s crotch, making him squirm. “Jaysus, Muireann. You can’t be serious about us keeping the dog. My asthma’s already kicking in.”

Actually, it wasn’t, much to his chagrin. He clutched his throat for dramatic effect and forced a feeble cough. What was the point of having an allergy if it didn’t act up when you wanted it to?

“Nonsense. You’ll be fine once you get used to him.” She snatched up her handbag and overnight case from the coffee table and carried them into the hall. “Don’t be late for dinner,” she called. “Mummy and Daddy are expecting you at six.”

Gavin struggled to his feet and followed his bride-to-be. The dog dug its claws into his tailored shirt. “What am I supposed to do with him while we’re out for dinner?”

“Oh, leave him here,” she said airily. “He’ll be fine.”

“He might be fine, but will the house?”

Muireann checked her lipstick in the hall mirror and smoothed her straight blond hair. “It’s natural for Wiggly Poo to want to explore his new terrain.”

“His new terrain is our house. Our heavily mortgaged house, complete with expensive furnishings.”

“Gavin, don’t make a fuss. My interior-design business is picking up. And once Daddy promotes you, we’ll easily afford the mortgage. Besides”—she gestured at their luxurious surroundings—“we’re getting the house for a steal. Daddy gave us a great price.”

“He gave us a good deal on a very expensive house. And you’re trying to distract me from talking about the dog.”

Her eyes widened in faux innocence.

“What are we doing with the dog tonight?” He watched her slip on her jacket and pick up her bags. “You’re staying at your parents’ house and say you can’t bring him with you, and I’m staying at my old house with Jonas. We can’t leave him here alone.”

“Can’t you take him to yours? Jonas’s kid can play with him. Kids love dogs.”

“Luca’s staying with his grandparents. It’s only me and Jonas at the cottage.”

Muireann glanced at the slim gold watch her father had given her for her last birthday. “I’m going to be late. You’ll figure something out. Bye, Wiggly Poo.”

With these not very reassuring words—and yet another air-kiss—Gavin’s future bride made her perfume-scented exit.

IF AN EVIL FAIRY conjured Fiona’s personal hell, it would be this wedding.

“Isn’t your dress gorgeous?” The evil fairy of the moment—Fiona’s cousin, Muireann—displayed dazzling white teeth set in a saccharine smile. “Since you’re my maid of honor, I wanted you to wear something special.”

Fiona tongued her lip ring and squinted at the satin monstrosity hanging in her cousin’s walk-in wardrobe. No, she wasn’t hallucinating. Muireann wanted her to wear snot green.

“You’re in the chartreuse.” Muireann’s smirk widened. She took down the hanger and held the dress against Fiona. “Maroon is so draining on brunettes, don’t you think?”

Fiona grimaced. Who the feck chose chartreuse and maroon for their wedding colors? And what in the bejaysus was that thing at the end of the dress? “Is that a fin?” She poked at the stiff fabric. With a bit of luck, it was detachable. She’d “lose” it somewhere between here and the church.