Page 32 of Faithless Vows

I glance down at Alannah. Her head is bowed. Tears keep falling, and she makes no move to wipe them away. She should be smiling beside me, not standing here crying for the whole room to see. She knows better than this, and it only pisses me off more.

I lift my head. “Everyone,” I say, my voice carrying across the ballroom, “if I can get your attention, please. My new bride and I would like to thank you all for being here to celebrate with us.” My fingers tighten at Alannah’s hip. She trembles in my hold, but I keep her pressed against me.

“This is a day my wife and I will carry with us for the rest of our lives. And since it’s something we’ll never forget, it seems fitting that a lesson be learned here too, in front of everyone who matters to us—right at the beginning of our life together.”

I scan the crowd until I find Kathleen sitting off to one side beside her da, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of wine in her hand. Her painted lips curve into an amused smile as I hold her gaze. “Kathleen O’Malley,” I say clearly. “If you’d come up here, please.”

Kathleen sets down her glass and rises slowly. A ripple of unease passes through the room as heads turn to follow her across the ballroom. She stops in front of us.

Beside me, Alannah is still crying, pale and frozen in place. I release her waist and take Kathleen’s hand instead, threading my fingers through hers in full view of everyone. The gesture is deliberate, possessive, leaving no room for anyone to misunderstand what I’m doing.

Gasps break out across the room as I raise our joined hands for everyone to see. I smile at the shock on their faces. “And what I see fit is to spend my wedding night with someone who knows how to please me.”

I give the room a curt nod. “Excuse us.”

With Kathleen beside me, her hand locked in mine, I push through the doors. Behind us, the ballroom erupts into a roar of voices. I don’t stop until we’re through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk.

I yank her toward me and bend close to her ear. “I’ll only say this once,” I tell her quietly. “You crossed a line today. Going anywhere near my wife was a stupid decision.”

Her eyes widen as the smile falls from her face, and she jerks against my grip, trying to pull free. I haul her back against me. The stupid bitch actually thought I was choosing her, as if she could show up at my wedding, throw what happened between us in my wife’s face, and expect me to reward her for it. “I suggest you steer clear of both of us from here on out,” I say, my voice low and hard. “Because one more wrong move, and I’ll have the boys drop you over the Summer Street Bridge.And I know for a fact the Channel’s got plenty of room for one more piece of trash.”

She starts to speak, but I don’t give a shit what she has to say. I drag her to the nearest cab waiting at the curb, wrench open the rear door, and shove her inside. “Go home,” I say. “And think very carefully before you pull something like that again.” I slam the door shut.

The cab pulls away, and I look back at the hotel. Alannah and I were supposed to spend our wedding night here, in the honeymoon suite, before leaving for Italy tomorrow.

I could go back inside. Go straight upstairs and wait for her in our room. I nearly do.

But if I go back now, she’ll think she can question me in front of my men and I’ll still go running after her. No. She needs to learn that isn’t how this works.

I turn away from the hotel before I can change my mind and start down the street. I keep walking with no real destination, the neighbourhood growing rougher with every block. A narrow bar wedged between two brick storefronts catches my eye, its painted sign faded and its front window dulled by grime. It looks like the kind of place where nobody asks questions and everyone minds their own damn business.

I step inside and take a seat at the far end of the bar. I’m not in the mood for conversation. But I sure as fuck need a drink.

I signal the bartender. “Jameson,” I say. “Leave the bottle.”

Chapter Twelve

Alannah

I stare at the doors my husband just walked through, another woman’s hand in his, and I can’t make sense of what just happened.

I don’t move. I don’t think I can.

Whispers break out around me, low at first, then growing louder as they spread through the ballroom. Soon the sound is everywhere, but it reaches me hollow and far away, the words impossible to make out. My body feels heavy, like it’s sunk into the floor beneath my feet. Someone takes my hand. I don’t know who. I let them lead me to my seat at the head table. I sit where they place me and fold my hands in my lap because that feels like the right thing to do.

I’m still here.

But I’m no longer part of this.

I watch Cormac climb the steps to the bandstand, drink in hand, a broad smile on his face. He doesn’t hurry. He never does. When he reaches the microphone, he taps it lightly with his knuckles.

The room falls quiet.

A low chuckle carries through the speakers as he shakes his head. “Now then,” he says lightly. “Let’s all take a breath.”

A few people laugh, thin and uncertain at first, then others join in.

“You’d think you lot had never seen a groom get a case of nerves before,” he goes on. “Big day like this? Does funny things to a man. And my son’s always had a temper. Gets it honest, I’m afraid. A bit of steam to let off. Nothing more.”