The Awakening (The Dragon Heart Legacy #1) - Nora Roberts Page 0,21
we were polite, so that’s something. Since I knew that wouldn’t happen with my brother, I didn’t go by to see him. I talked to my sister—she was swamped at work, but we had a good talk.”
“You can always count on Keisha.” She squeezed him as they walked. “We’re the family misfits, Marco, just like always. I’m feeling okay about that. You always have, but I’m getting there, and even kind of liking it. And tomorrow, when we get on the plane, nobody knows us. We can be whoever we want to be.”
“What’s your choice?”
“I work for MI6, so I can’t talk about it.”
“That’s a good one. I’m a young, billionaire philanthropist song-writing sensation who’s having a secret affair with a certain hot music and movie star.”
“Who would that be?”
“Can’t say, because secret. But his name rhymes with Moodacris.”
“As an agent for MI6, I can decipher your clever code. He is hot.”
They turned toward the club, and Marco paused at the sign in the glitter frame posted next to the door. “Did Sally say anything about a private party?”
“No. Huh. Well, tips are always excellent with the privates.”
They went inside. A club full of people let out a cheer.
Breen thought it looked like St. Patrick’s Day—one of the many holidays Sally revered—had exploded.
Shamrocks, rainbows, winged faeries, leprechauns—not a single Irish cliché missed.
She heard Marco say, “Holy shit,” and let out what was definitely a giggle.
Derrick Lacross, Sally’s smoking-hot longtime love, headed toward them with a glass of champagne in each hand. He wore a green leather vest over his very impressive pecs and a tiny, adorably ridiculous little leprechaun hat cocked over his surfer-streaky blond mane.
“You didn’t think we’d let you leave without a send-off, did you?”
He handed them both champagne, grabbed another from a tray, then turned to the club full of people.
When he raised his glass and everyone shouted, “Sláinte!” Breen let out a giggle of her own.
“This is amazing,” Breen managed. “This is just amazing.”
“We haven’t even started. Drink up, my children.”
Irish music blasted out of the speakers as Sally, his short, spiky hair dyed green for the occasion, glided over. Glided suited, as he wore a long, sparkling white dress and fluttering green wings.
“As if I’d ask you to work the night before you leave.” He rolled his eyes before he gave them both cheek kisses. “You”—he handed Marco a high-crowned black hat with a shiny green band—“go eat, drink, and be merry. And you”—he took Breen’s hand—“come with me.”
“Sally.” Marco moved in for a hard hug. “You’re the best. Man, you and Derrick are the best.”
“No question of that. Your sister had a meeting, but she’ll be here in about an hour.”
“Really? That’s—that’s just great.”
“Now you run along with Derrick. Breen’s not quite ready for party time.”
Keeping a grip on Breen’s hand, Sally wove through the crowd. “She’ll be back, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy, enjoy.” He waved his free hand as if parting the sea. And some clever soul put a flute of champagne in it.
“Sally, this is the best surprise ever, and so sweet of you. So sweet.”
“Oh, you know me, any excuse for a party.” He led her backstage, into the communal dressing room. “But you and Marco are special to me, to Derrick.
“Now.” He walked to one of the costume racks. “We’re going to get your party on.”
He pulled out a dress—short, as green as his hair. The deep vee in the back dipped to the waist.
“It’s beautiful, but—”
“It’s yours. Derrick, who obviously has exquisite taste in all things, picked it out for you.”
“You bought me a dress.”
“A party dress, which, despite your windfall, you haven’t bought for yourself. And shoes, which I—also with exquisite taste—selected.”
He held out a pair in glittering gold with open toes and ankle straps.
“Those heels are really high.”
“You can handle them. You can handle anything. Now strip down, girl. The party’s started without us.”
Since the music, the voices, the laughter all pulsed against the walls of the dressing room, she couldn’t argue.
Breen took off her shoes, her T-shirt, shimmied out of her pants.
“Lose the bra, sweetie. It only makes me sad.”
Breen stood in her plain white bra, her practical white cotton panties. “No bra?”
“The dress has self-support, but your girls are young and perky anyway—and that sad bra deserves a decent burial. Flaunt your girls while you’ve got them.”
“Okay. One more first for me.”
She took it off, wiggled into the dress. She lifted her arm so Sally could deal with the side zip. “It fits.”