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‘I was going for impact.’
‘Well, no doubt it has that. Just be careful, Maeve. Don’t antagonise them. Just do your best to hold tight until we can get you back.’ He softened as he walked toward me and gave me a hug about the shoulders. ‘You look cracking though, going to knock ‘em dead.’
I swallowed hard in my brother’s arms, relishing in them. God, I was going to miss them. I doubted Harold and Cameron would encourage regular visits with them.
‘Thanks guys.’
‘We have something for you.’ Ewen took out a square navy box and handed it to me.
‘A gift? I didn’t think you guys had it in you to be that organis--‘ My words cut off as I opened the box. Its velvet interior held a ring and a bracelet that I recognised instantly. Tears sprung to my eyes as I gently touched my mum’s engagement ring and the diamond bracelet. There had only been three little discs on it the last time I’d seen in, but now a fourth, shiny metal disc joined the others at the clasp. The tiny initials read MM and joined with the three initials of the women in my family who had worn it on their wedding days, and to many events thereafter. My mother had worn it often, and I still remembered late nights at parties when I was curled in her lap and toying with the bracelet as her arm wrapped around me.
My voice caught as I tried to talk. ‘Shouldn’t... shouldn’t it have gone to Esther?’
‘She wanted you to have it. She wished she could have been here for you, wished she could have come back and taken you from it.’ Logan took the box from my hands.
A sob fell from my mouth as Logan lifted the bracelet and fixed it around my wrist. My hands shook so badly that it took me a moment to get the engagement ring onto my finger.
They wrapped me in their arms and we stood there together until the make-up artist found us and went into a flap about the state of my face.
Katie sidled up next to me as I stood outside of the ceremony room in the foyer of a grand castle, reaching out and squeezing my hand. Logan directed a foul look at her, which she studiously ignored.
‘You’re a knockout, Maeve,’ she said with a smile. ‘Keep your head up and you’ll be through it in no time.’
She let herself into the ceremony room, allowing me the briefest of glimpses beyond the doors. There wasn’t a spare seat to be seen, people packed in like sardines.. Harold must have invited every god damned criminal family in Scotland.
Logan put his hand on the arm I’d linked through his as I trembled. He was so tense at my side that I could feel the angst radiating off of him.
‘It’s not too late to run, Maeve. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.’
‘Mac is in there. We can’t let him down.’ I steadied my shoulders and used my other hand to smooth down my hair before a lady passed me my bouquet. ‘We can do this.’
‘We can do this.’ He repeated my words, and I wasn’t sure they particularly comforted either of us.
The doors opened, and I saw my intended at the end of the aisle. Cameron Thompson, the ice king himself. His suit was tailored to perfection, skimming his muscled torso just so. I hated him all the more. If he was as ugly as his rotten father, at least there would be some justice in the world.
Muttered voices and gasps followed as we entered the room. I focused on keeping my head high and my posture in check. I wouldn’t let them see my despair. My resolve wobbled slightly as I saw Mac seated near the front, his face full of utter fury. He mouthed what I read as don’t do it. It’s okay, I mouthed back, spying the gun held firmly to his side as one of their men sat close to him.
Taking a deep breath, I approached the front of the room, where the celebrant dismissed Logan, leaving me alone with my soon to be husband.
His eyes met mine only as I took up the space next to him, with a brief glance at my dress. Without even a flinch of reaction or greeting, he turned back to the humanist.
Two could play at that game.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CAMERON
The doors to the room opened, and the buzz from the congregation amplified. I resisted the urge to turn and look at my forced bride, staring straight forward as soft music from the string quartet rose to a crescendo.
It wasn’t until the air beside me moved, and the bottom of her dress skimmed my ankles, that I turned toward her.
Fuck.
I expected her to be coming to the altar as a bag of nerves and hate, but she came throwing punches. I only allowed myself the briefest of glances down her dress and back up to her face before I turned my focus forward.
She looked incredible. She had no right to. I expected her to be in some princess number or something simple to avoid attracting attention. I hadn’t expected her to show up in a dress that made me want to rip it off of her.
There was zero chance of that. The thought of touching a McGowan with anything other than fists was incomprehensible. My dick didn’t seem to get the memo, though.
