Page 34 of Faithless Vows

I gather my heavy skirts and step away from the table, careful they don’t catch beneath my heels. I keep my movements even, focusing entirely on putting one foot in front of the other and willing my body to move as if nothing is wrong.

When I reach the end of the head table, my mother steps in front of me, her brows knitting together in question. I force a smile onto my face before she can ask. “Washroom,” I murmur.

Relief flickers across her expression. She nods at once. “Of course.”

I walk past her toward the hallway, my steps still careful, still slow. A small brass plaque on the wall points the way to the washrooms. I follow it down the corridor, past the doors marked Ladies, and keep going.

The music dulls as I move farther from the ballroom, the sound fading behind me. Another corridor. Then another. The hotel opens up around me as I go, my steps quickening, the same thought repeating with every turn—

I need to get out of here.

I’m almost running now.

I push through the exit doors and fresh air fills my lungs. I don’t slow until I reach the line of cabs at the curb, wrench open the back door of the first one I reach, and climb inside, skirts and veil tangling around me. Between breaths, I manage my parents’ address.

The door slams shut and the cab pulls out into traffic.

The drive to my parents’ house is over almost as soon as it begins. I don’t remember the streets or the turns. My hands shake as I reach into my hair and start pulling pins free, not caring when they snag or tug at my scalp. I keep going until theveil finally comes loose. The moment it’s off, I can breathe a little easier. I fold it into my lap without looking at it.

When the cab pulls up, I lean forward. “Could you wait a moment?” I ask. “I’m going to need another ride.”

He nods. “Sure, darlin’.”

I let myself into the house and slam the door behind me, already hurrying toward the stairs. I don’t know how long I have before someone comes looking for me. Maybe they already have. The thought sends me up the stairs even faster.

In my room, I drop the veil onto the bed and reach down to unbuckle the straps on my shoes, kicking them off one by one. My fingers fumble at the buttons of my dress, clumsy with hurry, but I manage. The fabric slides down and pools at my feet. I step out of it and leave it there on the floor.

Without stopping, I go to the few boxes still stacked against the wall, the last of my things that hadn’t yet been moved to the new house. I tear open one marked Bedroom and pull out clothes at random, dressing as quickly as I can.

At the bottom of the box, I find my purse and the travel bag folded beneath it. I pull them out and start shoving clothes into the bag without bothering to sort them. Then I tear open another box and dig until I find my jewellery box. Inside are the account papers and the address book Grandda gave me years ago. I tuck them into my purse and snap it shut. When I straighten, my eyes move around the room.

Eileen’s veil lies on the bed where I dropped it. My wedding dress is crumpled on the floor where it slid from my body, my shoes kicked off nearby. Everything I put on in this room this morning—carefully, lovingly—is scattered around me now, and something in me breaks all over again.

My hands twist together before I realize what I’m doing, and my thumb brushes over the smooth band onmy left hand. Ronin slid it there only hours ago. I cross to the vanity, slip it off, and leave it on the tabletop.

I grab my bags and hurry from the room, taking the stairs two at a time and going straight out the front door. I pull it shut behind me and hurry to the cab, climbing into the back seat before I’ve caught my breath. “Can you take me to the National Shawmut Bank?” I ask. “Please.”

As the cab pulls away, I close my eyes and press my forehead against the window. I don’t open them until the house is gone from view.

The bank comes into view sooner than I expect. When the cab stops, I glance at the meter and count out the fare, adding another bill for making him wait. “Thank you,” I say, handing him the money. “Keep the change.”

I step onto the pavement as the cab pulls away and walk straight into the bank. The lobby is nearly empty, with only a few teller windows still open. I notice the pay phone near the doors and keep going. I’ll need it when I’m finished.

It doesn’t take long to withdraw everything from the account Grandda opened for me. I hand the teller my bank book and identification and sign a withdrawal slip. A few minutes later, she counts the full balance into an envelope. I’m shocked by how much Grandda put away for me—more cash than I’ve ever held at once. I tuck the envelope into my purse, thank her, and take out the address book as I leave the counter.

At the pay phone near the doors, I open it to the first page, lift the receiver, and drop a coin into the slot. I dial the number beside the first name in the book.

Aidan O’Shea.

A woman answers on the second ring, her voice carrying a thick Irish accent. “O’Shea residence.”

My throat tightens, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “May I speak with Aidan O’Shea, please?”

The woman doesn’t answer right away.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I add quickly. “My name is Alannah O’Connell. I’m Malachy O’Connell’s granddaughter. He gave me this number and told me to call if I ever needed help.”

“Oh,” the woman says. “Just a moment.”