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Ambrose caught his eye and patted the couch next to him, and Liam slid into place. “Wow. When you said your family plays for sheep stations you weren’t kidding,” Ambrose murmured.
Liam gave a rueful smile. “Just be glad they didn’t get the Trivial Pursuit out. Grandad has a near-photographic memory and gloats like a bastard when he wins.”
“That sounds terrifying but I also kind of want to see it.” Ambrose pulled a face that was part-confusion, part-admiration and one hundred percent adorable. Liam resisted the urge to kiss the tip of his scrunched-up nose and settled for smoothing a stray lock of hair behind his ear.
“It’s something,” Liam agreed. “Grandad has strong feelings about board games.”
“And tractors,” Ambrose said with a grin. “I like your grandad. Mind you, I never had one of my own, so the bar is set very low for grandparent appreciation.”
It was a sharp reminder of what Ambrose had told him about his fucked-up family situation, and Liam felt bad then, for all the times he’d resented his own family for their interference—no, interest—in his life. “Grandad’s pretty great,” he agreed.
“All your family are,” Ambrose said, eyes sparkling. “I might even like them better than I like you.”
Liam shoved his shoulder. “Dick.”
“Maybe later,” Ambrose said with a wink, and Liam laughed, a lightness washing over him when he remembered that Ambrose wasn’t necessarily kidding, now. They might have something together. Or at the very least, they had the hint of a possibility of something, which was still enough to make Liam smile hard enough that his face hurt.
“I’m hungry,” Ambrose announced looking at Fi expectantly, and Liam was brought back to earth with a bump when he remembered that Ambrose was meant to be obnoxious. Except he couldn’t quite remember why that was, again.
“I’ll get it, Mum,” he said, and pushed himself to his feet, but before he could take more than two steps, Ambrose spoke again.
“Don’t worry about it, babe,” Ambrose said. “I’ve just remembered, we still have some of that body chocolate from the honeymoon basket. We could go upstairs, and I could lick it off your?—”
“You know what we need?” Fi interrupted loudly. “A nice platter. I’ll go and see what’s in the fridge. Riley, you can come and help.”
She swept out of the room with Riley in tow, presumably before Ambrose could corrupt her any further.
Chapter Seventeen
Ambrose
Monopoly sure had been something, Ambrose reflected when the dust had settled. It was a bastard of a game to begin with, and Marcus had added some extra bastard to the mix, but once the game had ended and the Connellys had started to reminisce about other times they’d played, the tension in the room had dissipated and everyone had chilled out again, though Marcus still looked peeved that he hadn’t won. The game itself might have been a bust, but Ambrose enjoyed hanging out with Liam and his family and watching the way they all interacted. When he was a kid, he’d always wanted to be part of a big family. He liked that the Connellys had jokes that everyone already knew, and all it took for someone to start an embarrassing story were a couple of well-chosen words, because everyone knew the story and had heard it a thousand times before. And he liked that when Liam saw him watching avidly, he’d shared the joke or the story with Ambrose in an undertone, so that he was included too.
Like the one about the time when Riley got the Monopoly house stuck up her nose. She’d been twelve. Or how Neve had once spent hours one Christmas Eve when she was six drawing fake Monopoly money with crayons, and everyone had played along with it and pretended they couldn’t tell because she’d been so proud of her deviousness. One of the notes had still been in the bottom of the box, and Bridget had shown it to Ambrose—Neve was no forger. But the cutest story had to be about when Liam had been learning to play, and he couldn’t say ‘Community Chest’ so he’d called it ‘Community Kiss.’ Liam’s ears had turned pink when Fi told that story, and Ambrose had reached over and held his hand, his chest swelling with warmth.
In the end, despite Marcus—ugh—it had been a fun way to spend some time.
He flopped back onto the couch, feeling loose and boneless and relaxed. But not so relaxed that he didn’t shift his arse and make room for Liam beside him. He moved back so that he could lean against Liam. He got a fluttery feeling in his stomach when Liam put his arm around him, which was weird, because usually PDAs didn’t bother him at all. The difference, he suspected, was because this one was real, and the glances that the Connellys gave them meant something. He hoped there might have been less reservation in those glances if they’d known the real him.
Jesus. If he and Liam made a real go of this, Ambrose had a not-insignificant redemption arc coming up in his future, didn’t he? He’d cross that bridge when he came to it, he guessed. For now he just wanted to enjoy the sensation of Liam’s arm around him, and lean against him some more.
Fi brought another charcuterie board into the living room and set it down on the coffee table. The Connellys and their charcuterie boards. Maybe they thought that a person would die if they weren’t always within easy reach of a triangle of Camembert. But Ambrose approved. So did Balian, who toddled up and carefully examined the olives. Then he looked hopefully at Bridget for permission before lifting one to his mouth, obviously still cautious after what had happened with the Monopoly house earlier.
“Oop,” Orhan said, and plucked the olive from Balian’s chubby little fingers. He broke it in half, then in half again, and gave the mangled pieces back to him. “You’re still figuring out that chewing thing, right, Bal?”
Balian didn’t seem to be having any trouble as he shoved the olive pieces into his mouth but he nodded anyway.
“Kids,” Orhan said, and sat down on the couch with Bridget. “You spend ages planning for them and getting everything ready, then when they get here it’s like your entire life suddenly revolves around stopping the little lemmings from killing themselves.”
Bridget laughed and tangled her fingers in his.
“Oh, the girls were the same,” Fi said. “Not Liam though. He was so well behaved.”
Will came around with a bottle of ginger beer, filling glasses. Ambrose was relieved there was a non-alcoholic choice on offer. He was warm and comfortable enough that he was pretty sure half a glass of wine would send him straight to sleep.
Riley snorted and rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mum, we know he’s your favourite!”
Fi clutched her bosom. “That is not true at all, Riley Meredith Connelly, and you know it!”
