All is still right with their world.
I linger where I am, frozen, my chest heaving.
This really is real.
It isn’t a prank. It’s not some negotiating tactic. He’s really arranged for me to be married.
To a low-down, uncouth Irish gangster I’ve never even met.
And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
THREE
Ronan
What’sthe first thing two powerful families do when they’ve arranged their son and daughter to be married? They throw a party.
I step out of the Rolls-Royce onto the curb outside the Beekman Hotel in Lower Manhattan, adjusting my wool coat as Killian and Eddie follow behind me.
The cool evening air bites at my face, but I ignore it. I’ve got bigger things to worry about tonight than the weather.
Killian comes up on my side and grunts, “They better have a stockpile of whiskey on hand.”
“For you and me both,” I answer.
Killian Rourke’s been my best friend since we were kids—back when we had a fistfight in the schoolyard over something neither of us remembers now.
We both walked away with bloody noses and mutual respect. Over twenty years later, he’s a boneman for the clan, which means he specializes in breaking bones and bringing pain to anybody who crosses us.
But he does that anyway as a professional boxer. He’s got that “beaten” look to his face—bent nose, restructured jaw, heavy brow—that somehow makes him insanely attractiveto women.
Go figure.
Then there’s Eddie, who comes up on my other side.
Nineteen years old, a college sophomore at NYU, and my brother Lochlan's boy. He’s enamored with all things clan related, even after his dad’s recent lengthy jail sentence.
The kid’s got ambition, I’ll give him that. Whether or not he’s got the brains to back it up remains to be seen.
We stroll through the Beekman’s lobby as a trio.
I have to admit, the place is impressive. Timeless luxury.
Dark, weathered wood everywhere and geometric Art Deco lines and patterns running along the walls and floors. The armchairs are deep eggplant and moss green, plush enough to sink into. Chandeliers hang overhead like crystal clouds, casting bright light across the space.
Even breathing in the air feels like it costs you a pretty penny.
“This is way fancier than Sullivan’s,” Eddie mutters, looking around like he’s stepped into a museum. “But it’s no contest. Sullivan’s would’ve been a better time.”
I cut him a sidelong look, unimpressed. “The engagement isn’t about a good time. It’s about solidifying the deal.”
Eddie shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t get why the deal’s necessary anyway. My dad’ll be out in no time.”
“Eight years is nothing to sneeze at.”
Killian snorts. “This is why you’re just a college kid, Ed. Let the grown-ups do the real work.”
Eddie shoots him a pointed look that Killian easily ignores.