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Neve chuckles. “Good. You’re absolutely wearing that.”
I turn back to look at myself, a cheeky grin spreading over my face. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, which isinsanegiven what’s about to happen, I think I might just see a glimmer of genuine happiness somewhere in that smile.
* * *
There’s no band.No music at all, even. No altar, or white foldout chairs, or any of that. I really don’t think I could do this if there were, in any case. It’s already hard enough to stop my jaw from clenching or my legs from shaking as I stand in front of a rose bush, face to face with Cillian.
The monster I can’t stop thinking or fantasizing about.
The dangerous and dark psychopath with the venomous green eyes who I’m about tomarry.
He doesn’t say anything when I walk out into the back garden dressed as Morticia. But when I come to a stop in front of him—still, I notice, all in black, but with a tie now—I swear the corners of his lips curl up just a smidge.
Because there’s no chairs, Neve and Ares, Eilish, Castle, Callie, and her two other brothers Hades and Kratos just stand in a semi-circle near us. Their facial expressions range from smiles mixed with a touch of sympathy from the Kildare sisters and Callie, to curiously neutral on the part of Castle and Kratos, to outright scowls from Ares and Hades.
But I think everyone knows this has to happen. Or the Kildare empire goes up in civil war flames.
And/or I’mdead.
Elsa Guin, a young British woman who I gather is sort of the Drakos family attorney, is presiding over this whole sorry debacle. She smiles professionally at Cillian and I as she stands in front of us in a very lawyerly coal-gray skirt suit, her white-blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun.
“Well, shall we?”
“Oh,please, let’s,” Cillian drawls with a sarcastic edge.
And then, we’re off.
We say the words, and to my shock, there’s actually rings: two simple, unadorned gold bands. Which are oddly perfect, in my opinion.
Suddenly, it’s done.
I’mmarriedto Cillian Kildare.
If this were real, this would be the part where he kisses me, of course. For a second, he pulls closer, his eyes piercing into mine, my heart thudding as I get a little lost in the swirling green pools of fire.
For a heart-stopping moment I wonder if he really is going to kiss me.
He doesn’t. And I immediately chastise myself for the freakingdisappointmentI feel when he doesn’t.
Because I’m insane.
Obviously.
It’s not real, none of it. Not the marriage. Not the ceremony, or the rings, even.
Not the confusing, conflicted feelings I feel swirling inside of me.
Fear and desire. Resentment and lust. Defiance and submission.
They’re not real.
Sowhy do they feel so much like they are?
20
CILLIAN
The wedding itself is small.It’s the “celebration” afterward that’s big.
