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One measured step at a time, he closed the distance between us. “You have something to say? Because I’m pretty sure this is breaking the rules.”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly parched. “I need to know why you’re doing this. Why did you agree to marry me?” The Irish would survive just fine without the alliance. It was helpful but not imperative. I didn’t know what I was looking for by asking, but I needed to hear his answer.
He let the question marinate for a long minute before answering. “Duty to my family. The acquisition of power. Sultry green eyes and a fiery disposition. You pick a day; I’ll give you a reason. It changes by the minute.”
But at least somewhere inside him, I was a part of his decision. A piece of him wantedmeand not just what my family represented. That was enough for now.
I nodded, the wave of panic ebbing to a general sense of anxiety. I wanted to ask where he’d been all week and why he hadn’t reached out, but that felt like too much. This wasn’t a real relationship; he wasn’t courting me. I shouldn’t have expected anything more.
Conner came even closer, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck and angling my face up toward his. “Just keep those eyes straight ahead on me. Don’t think about anyone else, yeah?” He must have sensed the unease scraping my insides raw.
A fluttering warmth filled my chest as I nodded.
“Right. Now let’s get this show over with.” Before he moved, his eyes dropped to my lips. “You look good enough to eat, Noemi.” He brought his lips to my ear. “And I’m famished.” Once he’d sucked all the air from my lungs with his comment, he turned and walked away.
Seconds later, my aunt reappeared with Pippa, both brimming with excited energy.
“This entire church is filled, Em. It’s insane.”
“Not helping, Pip,” I shot at her.
She grimaced. “It’s fine, though. All you have to do is walk down the aisle and stand there. No biggie.”
Then bind myself to an Irish mobster for the rest of my life and maybe have sex for the first time ever. Yeah, just any ordinary Saturday.
Deep breath in, slow exhale out.
“Your hair and makeup are perfect. The dress is exquisite. You’ve got this,” chimed Aunt Etta. “The ceremony will be as short as a Catholic wedding can be, then you can stay at the reception as long or short as you like. At least we aren’t having a full-scale dinner. Those last forever.”
After much debate with the wedding coordinator, we’d decided on a cake and champagne reception at a hotel ballroom near the church. No extra catering to coordinate. No memorized vows. No special readings or performances. Just a short walk, a few repeated words, and I do. I could do this.
No, I hadn’t succeeded in escaping the life I’d been born into, but that didn’t mean I had to be unhappy. I could find joy in other areas of my life. Having a perfect husband wasn’t everything. The only caveat was not to trick myself into hoping for more, into believing in love. That wasn’t in the cards for me. If I let my heart grow attached, it would only lead to devastation.
I might end up Conner’s wife, but he was married to the mob before he ever met me.
“It’s time, sweet girl. You ready?” Aunt Etta looked at me questioningly with a glint of sorrow in her eyes.
I didn’t want her to worry, so I forced a smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Pippa handed me my bouquet and brought my veil over my face before her mom led us out to the hall. The gentle strains of a string quartet playing Pachelbel’s Canon grew louder as we neared the entrance to the cathedral. Almost as loud as the pounding of my heart, counting down the seconds until I was a married woman.
It was an enormous church—one of the city's largest—packed to the brim with hundreds of guests. People were standing along the walls beneath enormous panels of brightly colored stained glass. The wedding had drawn people far and wide like a traveling circus, and I was the main attraction.
The veil I wore had seemed part of an antiquated tradition at the dress shop, but I thanked God I’d let Aunt Etta talk me into it because it provided the illusion of a barrier between me and the world. A tiny amalgamation of privacy.
Hopefully, it hid the snarl that teased at my lip when I took my father’s arm.
On the downside, however, the veil also kept me from seeing Conner very well. While I couldn’t make out his azure eyes, I had no problem identifying his proud form at the altar. I did exactly as he’d said and tuned out everything else—my father, the audience, the expectations—and focused solely on the man in front of me.
When we finally reached Conner at the front of the church, he stepped forward and lifted my veil away from my face—a task that was usually left to the bride’s father. Dad stood awkwardly as if unsure of what to do. Conner’s eyes bore into mine, and I wished I knew what he was thinking. While he was a perpetual mystery, my father was undoubtedly pissed. Conner blatantly disrespected my father by usurping Dad’s role in front of everyone. I could only imagine the fury brewing inside him.
It was an enormous relief to think that I never had to go home again after the wedding if I didn’t want to. Of course, the hours after the reception would be rife with a different form of anxiety. It would be the first time I was alone with my new husband in my new house, and I had no idea what to expect.
Conner stared long and deep into my eyes before finally turning to my father and shaking his hand. My fiancé never even gave my dad a chance to kiss my cheek or say a single word. He kept himself angled between us, then guided me to the altar, preventing my father from getting near me.
With that small hurdle overcome, we moved on to the ceremony. I handed my bouquet to Pippa, who was my only attendant. We’d kept things as simple as possible with one attendant each. She stood at my side while Conner had chosen a friend to act as his best man rather than one of his many cousins.
The priest’s words passed through me as though in another language. I couldn’t hear or see or think. All I could do was focus on breathing and try not to pass out.
