“You’ve proven you’re loyal and devoted to our family,” he continues. “There’s nothing more important than that.”
I nod, unable to speak.
…because what can I say?
That I did it because I had no choice? That loyalty feels more like a cage than a virtue right now?
For the rest of the reception, I’m sullen. Everyone sits down to a large full-course meal with a blend of cuisines—Irish, Black American, even some Ghanaian options like jollof rice balls.
The artfully plated food looks amazing, but I can barely taste it. I drink more than I eat, easily polishing off a second, then third glass of wine.
Eventually it’s time to cut the cake.
The creation is a towering multi-tiered masterpiece with gold leaf detailing that seems almost too perfect to consume.
Ronan and I stand together, his hand placed over mine on the knife handle. His lips hover near my ear as he asks, “You alright, love? You look a little flushed. I saw you knocking back all those glasses of wine.”
“I’m just trying to get through the night. Pretend I like you, right?” I mouth back.
We cut through the cake together to applause and cheers.
“That’s true,” he admits. “But what comes later tonight will be anything but acting.”
He winks at me then steps away.
My stomach twists into a hundred knots. I’ve never felt more helpless in my life.
Another two hours pass. I’m basically a full bottle deep now, so tipsy my heels are becoming increasingly more difficult to walk in.
People have slowly started leaving, trickling out of the room in packs of twos and threes.
Seamus Callahan and his posse leave together, the group of intimidating men in dark suits easily parting the crowd as they move through.
Mom and Dad seem close to leaving too, off in their own world, smiling and dancing with each other like they’re the only two people in the room.
Ronan comes up and scoops my hand in his. “It’s time to head up to our suite and officially start our wedding night. What do you say, my little princess bride?”
I find myself breathless as I set down my wine glass and nerves ripple inside me.
“What choice is there at this point?” I mutter.
He smirks, threading his fingers through mine. “Don’t look so worried. I promise I’ll be gentle.”
SEVEN
Ronan
Simoneand I ride the hotel elevator in silence. We stand side by side, now husband and wife with tension crackling between us. The noise and crowd of our wedding and reception have fallen away, leaving just the two of us.
Alone for the first real time.
Simone won’t meet my eyes. Her nerves are palpable despite how unbothered she tries to act, smoothing a hand down her lacy dress and clearing her throat, holding her chin high.
My princess bride seems to have a million thoughts running through her head.
I stuff both hands in my trouser pockets and glance up at the floor levels glowing red. We climb higher and higher… twelfth floor… seventeenth floor… twenty-eighth floor… forty-second… then finally ading,and the doors roll open to the fiftieth.
The luxury suite. Ours for the next twenty-four hours.