Saoirse’s POV

  Sunday dinners at the Byrnes’ house had been a tradition since I was little. It was the one day of the week when everyone gathered, talked, laughed, and, in my case, loudly gossiped with Fiona about my love life—often at Cian’s expense.

  "So then," I said, dramatically leaning closer to Fiona, "Liam grabs my hand in the middle of the café, looks me dead in the eyes, and says, ‘Saoirse, I could get lost in your emerald eyes forever.’"

  Fiona, halfway through a bite of roast chicken, groaned. "Oh, that is so cheesy."

  "I know!" I gasped, laughing. "But in the moment, it actually made me blush."

  "You’re hopeless," she teased, shaking her head. "But at least the boy is putting in the effort. That’s rare these days."

  Cian, sitting across from me, let out a low sigh. "Do you two have to be so loud?"

  "Yes," we both answered at the same time.

  His father, Eamon, chuckled beside him, while my grandmother, Kathleen, simply smiled, clearly entertained.

  "Anyway," Fiona continued, setting down her fork, "I’m just saying, Liam at least sounds sweet, unlike some people’s choice in women." Her eyes flicked toward Cian with a knowing look.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  I smirked. "Oh, yes. Speaking of some people—how’s Aoife, Cian?"

  Cian’s expression darkened instantly. "She’s fine."

  Fiona scoffed. "She’s exhausting."

  "She’s pretentious," I added, twirling my fork in my mashed potatoes.

  "And always overdressed," Fiona continued. "Who wears designer heels to a school football match?"

  "Someone desperate to be the center of attention," I said, shaking my head.

  Cian groaned, rubbing his temple. "Are you two seriously doing this again?"

  Fiona shrugged. "It’s tradition at this point."

  "You just don’t like her because she’s dating me," Cian argued, sitting back in his chair.

  "Not true," I countered, pointing my fork at him. "I don’t like her because she’s a spoiled, high-maintenance, self-obsessed nightmare."

  "Exactly," Fiona agreed. "She’s so demanding. She treats you like an accessory, Cian. A trophy boyfriend."

  Eamon, who had been watching the exchange with amusement, finally chimed in. "Well, son, they do have a point. That girl loves being in the spotlight."

  Kathleen, my grandmother, smiled softly but stayed quiet, letting the conversation unfold. She had always encouraged me to form my own opinions, but I knew she wasn’t particularly fond of Aoife either.

  Cian sighed again, clearly outnumbered. "She’s not that bad."

  Fiona and I exchanged a look.

  "Sure," I said, drawing out the word.

  "Absolutely," Fiona added, barely containing her laughter.

  Cian groaned again, reaching for his glass of water as if it could drown out our conversation. "I hate this family dinner."

  Fiona grinned. "No, you don’t. You’d miss us if we didn’t roast your terrible taste in women."

  I snickered, and even Cian had to fight back a smirk.

  The night continued with more teasing, more laughter, and more stories about Liam that made Cian shake his head in exasperation. It was chaotic, loud, and a little ridiculous—exactly how family dinners should be.