“Ya do see how ridiculous this is, don’t you? I have no bag, no identification, because it’s right there in front of you. The arsehole showed you his passport.”

“His name’s Stephen, actually,” Kostas said, and Duncan’s jaw clenched.

“I don’t bloody care what his name is. Don’t you find it the least bit odd he’s not even arguing? That he’s asking for legal aide?” Duncan stood and reached across the table toward Stephen’s shirt collar. “It’s my bloody wedding, for fuck’s sake!”

Kostas was strong for the lanky git he was, wrenching Duncan’s hand from the other guy’s shirt.

“Please, Mr. McAllister. I don’t want to write you up for assault as well.”

Duncan slammed his hands down on the table, taking small pleasure in watching Stephen and Kostas flinch. Then he sat again.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, wincing as he touched his bruised cheek. He’d had everything planned perfectly, right down to his arriving with enough time to still have the entire day with both his and Elaina’s families. And he had the perfect wedding gift for Elaina, one that would show her how much he loved her. He wasn’t the best with words, but when he wanted to show her what she meant to him, he was a right genius, if he did say so himself. Asking for Elaina’s hand in marriage more than a year before he proposed? Check. Learning enough Greek to properly ask her father for permission? Check again. Researching as much as he could about the ceremony of a Greek wedding to ensure the gift he presented to his wife spoke volumes as to how important she was to him—check. Almost. Because the item that said more than Duncan could articulate was not in his possession at the moment. It was being detained along with himself and the man who’d stolen it.

The door flew open, and Duncan had to do a double take to believe what he was seeing.

Kostas startled at the flurry of movement as Griffin and Noah strode into the room. The arse still sat with his arms calmly crossed over his chest. Hopefully, that was about to change.

“Good morning, everyone,” Griffin said, a charming-as-shit grin plastered across his face. Noah just nodded at the three men in the room—the strong, silent partner. Duncan filled with hope. “I’m Griffin Reed, and this is my associate, Mr. Keating.”

Duncan watched as Noah stifled a laugh, but Kostas didn’t seem to catch it. He was eating this shite up. He shook Griffin’s hand and then Noah’s.

“I’m afraid you’ve inappropriately detained my client, Mr. McAllister.”

Duncan’s eyes widened, and Griffin gave him a little shrug. He was making this up as he went along, and it fucking seemed to be working.

“Mr. Reed, there was an altercation, and your…uh…client attacked this man and tried to steal—”

“Attacked?” Duncan kicked his chair out from behind him, and he was up again. “I should be phoning Scotland Yard—or whatever you call your police service here!”

“Hellenic Police,” Kostas informed him, but Duncan just growled. That seemed to be his preferred form of speech today.

“Right. Enough already. I’m taking my bag, and I’m walking out that door, ya daft knob. Ya don’t even ken what you’re doin’.”

Kostas held Duncan’s bag in his hands and backed against the door, pushing it shut as he did.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let anyone leave until we’ve figured out who this belongs to.”

“Did you tell him what was in it?” Noah asked.

“Nice one,” Griffin said.

“Thanks, man,” Noah remarked.

“I could name everything in the bag,” Duncan said. “But the lock is busted. I swear it was our wedding date.”

“Jesus, Duncan,” Griffin said. “Did you try another date?”

Duncan turned to the wall behind him and punched it once. Then twice. He went for a third, but Noah caught his hand.

“I tried the date in reverse order,” Duncan said. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the back of his head, the two pills he’d swallowed doing nothing to ease the pain or clear his thoughts. He had to regain control, so he leaned against the wall, waiting for his breathing to slow, and tried to remember.

Shite. “I’m the daft knob,” he mumbled. “I changed my mind. Last night when I bought the lock, my first thought was our wedding date, but then I got superstitious, aye. Using the wedding date before the wedding happened. That could be bad luck.” He shook his head. Looked like bad luck came for him anyway. “So I switched it.” He let out a long breath. “It’s Elaina’s birthday. Her bloody birthday, but my head is a mess, mates. I can’t think straight.”

Griffin took a step closer. “Hey, Duncan. Everything’s going to be okay,” he said.

“No,” Duncan said louder, his voice firm. “It’s not. Fuck, I never should have let go of the bag in the first place, but I was doing exactly what Elaina thinks I’m probably doing right now. I was freaking out.”

Griffin put a palm on Duncan’s shoulder, but nothing would soothe him.

“It just—it all hit me when I stepped off that plane and realized Scotland wasn’t home anymore. And I—I couldn’t catch my breath. I thought it was the jumper I was wearing, so I let go of the bag and took the fucking thing off.”

All eyes were on Duncan, even the arse’s. He could see the worry in his stare because Duncan was about to exonerate himself, but first he had to admit to someone why this had happened in the first place.

“I freaked out, mates. I fucking freaked out, and then this guy knocked me out cold, and since then everything is swimming in here.” Duncan pointed to his head. “So I couldn’t even think straight enough to remember the combination, tell A Levels over here that in the bag is a scarf trimmed in the McAllister red and green tartan, and then open the damn thing and show it to him. I could have been out of here more than an hour ago if I was bloody fucking conscious. Because the only thing that matters now is getting to Elaina.”

Duncan removed the lock with the correct combination, and Kostas opened the bag and pulled out the scarf, nodding in recognition.

“You had this made for your wife? For the red scarf ritual?” he asked.

Duncan nodded. Of course he did. He was fine with having a traditional Greek wedding. It was important to Elaina, so that made it important to him. But aside from wearing his tartan on his kilt, he wanted to connect Elaina’s Greek tradition with his own.

“I’m sorry, Mr. McAllister,” he said. “You’re free to go.” He handed Duncan the tartan scarf, his phone, and the bag. Then he glanced at the other man at the table, the real assailant. “But I’m going to have to ask you to fill out a report and decide if you want to move forward with legal proceedings…”

Griffin motioned for the door, and Kostas stepped aside.

“You can email him the report. You’ve taken up enough of his time. Mr. McAllister has a wedding to get to.”

Kostas nodded. “Of course, sir. Thermá synchari̱tí̱ria. Congratulations. And my apologies…”

Duncan didn’t wait to hear the rest. He pushed through the door as Griffin and Noah followed. He had a wedding to get to—and lots of explaining to do.

Chapter Eleven

Griffin

Griffin sipped his champagne, which was tough because he wanted to drain his glass in one long gulp. Bullshit artist or not, he could have gotten them all in deeper trouble by trying to impersonate a litigator or whatever he was doing, yet somehow here they were.

Duncan leaned across the aisle and clinked his glass with Griffin’s, then reached around to the seat in front of him and did the same with Noah. Then he threw back his bubbly like it was a shot of whisky.

“I thought you said you had a concussion,” Griffin said. “Should you be, you know, drinking?”