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I glance at my watch. It's not even nine o'clock, but I'm ready to get this over with and get to a hotel room so I can bed my new wife.
I order, "Let's move. Where are we doing this at?"
Father Michael hesitates again, then says, "In the church, of course. Let me get ready."
"Don't take too long," I demand. I lead Maeve through the building and down the hallway that connects to the church.
We step inside. The candles are the only things adding any light.
She surprises me and goes over to the wall. She kneels in front of the candles, reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a coin. She puts it in the tin, and the sound of it clanking echoes in the empty church.
She takes the stick, lights it, and then puts it against another wick until it bursts into flames. She makes the sign of the cross, puts her hands in prayer formation, and closes her eyes.
I study her, wondering what she's doing. It looks like she's praying, but is she actually religious?
She finishes, makes the sign of the cross, and rises.
"Didn't know you were religious."
"I'm not," she says.
"Then why are ya praying over candles, giving them your last coin?"
"Well, it won't be my last coin, will it? If I'm marrying ya, I'll have plenty of money, won't I?" She smirks.
An uneasy feeling grows inside me.
Maybe I should get a prenup.
What am I talking about? She's never going to divorce me. She's mine forever.
Don't let her get under your skin. I'm the one in charge.
I step toward her, reach around her head, and take a handful of her hair in my fist. I gently tug it, and she inhales sharply. Her eyes widen. I lean over her so our mouths are only an inch apart, studying her perfectly plump lips.
"Stare much?" she mumbles.
"How old are you?" I ask.
"Twenty. How old are you?"
"Thirty-eight."
"Do ya always go after younger women? Ones you can take advantage of?" she asks.
"Tell me how I'm taking advantage of ya, Maeve."
She says nothing, keeping her intense glare on me.
"I gave ya a choice. Ya made your decision. Ya could have told me to kill your da, but ya didn't. Ya chose to marry me."
More hatred fills her. "Ya know I would never let ya kill my da."
I insist, "But that's your choice. We all have choices, lass. I make mine, and you make yours."
She shakes her head, not that she can move it a lot. I have a firm hold on her.
Father Michael comes in and clears his throat. "Sorry, am I interrupting?"
