Page 26 of Chains of Recompense
Because if the eldest Murray daughter is going to be married off for political alliance and mutual revenge, we may as well make it look gorgeous on Instagram.
“Aisling, stop fidgeting,” Siobhan says, swatting my hand away as I tug uncomfortably at the tight lace collar my younger sister buttons at the back of my neck. She’s seventeen, too beautiful for her own good, and annoyingly delighted to be maid of honor. “You’ll mess up the stitching.”
“I can’t breathe.”
“That’s the point. Beauty demands sacrifice.”
“For our family, everything comes with a sacrifice,” I quip, glancing at her over my shoulder as I shut the door with a soft click.
Her smile falters. “You don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.”
She’s not the only one who’s reminded me today, and it feels pointedly masochistic each time I’m forced to acknowledge the fact that I’m doing this to myself.
But for my family, I will sacrifice my peace of mind and my sanity until the fighting is done.
I can endure any torture when I know there’s going to be a finish line. Marrying Rafael Chiaroscuro will be no different.
I snort. “Like hell, I don’t.”
Siobhan sighs because she knows I’m right.
The Yakuza have turned their backs on us.
Our alliance is fracturing—worse, it was a hollow promise from the start—and the Chiaroscuros have enough soldiers and enough rage to stand with us if we can prove ourselves worthy allies.
And apparently, my body is the best collateral we have to offer. Lovely.
The music starts, and I take a shaky breath as I turn to face my little sister.
Her blonde hair cascades in ringlets around her delicate face, and she gives me a warm smile as she pulls me in for a hug.
“You look beautiful,” she murmurs.
“Thank you,” I breathe, then step aside so she can take her place in the procession.
Little Riley, my heart wrapped in ivory tulle and dark curls, stands at the door, my father kneeling in front of her as he gives her gentle encouragement.
Known as the Murray family’s “whoopsie baby”, Riley’s far younger than Siobhan at not yet five years old.
But I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone as much as I love that little girl.
And my heart clenches as she toddles down the aisle with a basket almost as big as she is, tossing petals in random, chaotic handfuls, occasionally stopping to wave at strangers because she believes everyone is cheering just for her.
They are.
Because she positively glows.
My throat tightens and my eyes sting.
People think I don’t cry because I’m strong. But the truth is I don’t cry because once I start, I don’t know if I’ll stop.
Siobhan goes next, taking the arm of Raf’s identical twin, Sandro—whose suit looks rather impressively tattered for having come straight from the tailor’s only days ago.
I can’t help but wonder if he’s managed to get in a scuffle with some of my father’s men already.
Something I wouldn’t find surprising based on his reputation.
But no one says a word as he guides my younger sister up the aisle.
