The reception is being heldat the Wyeth Room in the Langham hotel—another decision I either wasn’t consulted on or don’t remember making. When the photos are finished, Sean walks with me to the waiting car, and I have a moment of dizzy fear as I realize that I’m not going to be alone on the trip over.
I’m not going to be fully alone ever again.
This man is going to ride in the car with me. Live with me. Share meals with me. Share a bed with me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll avoid me as much as possible day to day; maybe he won’t want to eat with me. Maybe he’ll want separate bedrooms. But I won’t ever be able to fully separate myself from him again, after today.
I’m his now. My life, my future, all of it belongs to the terrifying man who waits for me to slide into the car and then follows me in, sitting stiff and silent next to me for the entire ride to the hotel.
The Wyeth room is, admittedly, gorgeous. Huge arched windows are at the far end of the ballroom where the dance floorhas been set up, and long tables are set with stunning flower displays in pink and burgundy and sage green, with antique-looking chairs and gold chargers under china plates. Clearly, no expense was spared for this wedding, and I take it all in as Sean and I walk into more polite applause, a string quartet playing somewhere as we’re escorted to the sweetheart table at the head of the room.
I’m acutely aware of his presence from the moment we sit down. He’s far too close to me for my comfort, and I can smell his cedar-and-salt cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. Wine is poured for us, plates of appetizers brought that look delicious despite my utter lack of an appetite. His hand occasionally brushes mine when we both reach for something, and each contact makes me jump.
He doesn't speak to me. Doesn't look at me. Just sits rigid and silent, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on some point across the room.
The meal is elegant—multiple courses that I can barely taste. There’s a petite piece of what I think is duck, and salmon so tender it falls apart at the barest touch of my fork, but it’s all the same to me. I have no appetite. I push food around my plate and try to smile when people offer congratulations that ring hollow. Ronan comes by, but I don’t see Annie—I have a feeling she left after the part that she was required to attend. I don’t blame her.
Connor McBride makes a toast about family and loyalty and the importance of the Irish community standing together. He doesn't mention love. It’s almost reassuring—at least he’s not pretending this is anything other than a business arrangement. A decent number of the guests seem determined to pretend that this is something more than it is—if not love, then at least not me basically being sold into a union to keep my holdings under Council control.
As the meal is brought one course at a time, I drink the wine too fast, hoping it will calm my nerves. It doesn't. It just makes me feel slightly detached, like I'm watching all of this happen to someone else. I can see Sean watching me out of the corner of my eye—whether with judgment or not, I can’t tell—but as usual, he says nothing. The moment the courses are cleared, I excuse myself to use the restroom. I need a moment alone, a moment to breathe without Sean's oppressive presence beside me.
The restroom is empty and quiet. I lock myself in a stall and lean against the wall, trying to steady my breathing.
I'm married. Actually married. In a few hours, we'll leave this reception. Go to… wherever we're going. And then…
I can't think about then. Can't let myself imagine what comes next.
But I have to. It's going to happen whether I'm ready or not.
I think about the bag I was told to pack to be sent over to our room for the wedding night. The white silk nightgown and robe are inside, along with some toiletries and perfume and my clothes for tomorrow. My hands shook the entire time I packed it, fear clouding all of my thoughts as I tried to do something so simple. I think about Sean's hands on my skin, his body over mine, the pain I’ve read about when it comes to the first time. The men in romance novels are always huge… will he be? What does that even mean? I can’t picture it, can only summon the half-baked imaginings from what I’ve read.
Will he be gentle? Will he care that I'm frightened?
Or will he just take what he wants, because I'm his wife now and he has the right?
I take several deep breaths, trying to steady myself. When I walk out of the stall and look at myself in the mirror, I can see that I look pale despite the makeup, my eyes too large and shadowed.
I have to go back out there before someone comes looking for me.
When I step out of the bathroom, I realize I’m too late. Brendan Kearney is in the hall just outside, so close that I nearly collide with him. I take several steps back, wobbly in my heels, my hand pressed to my chest as I try to catch my breath.
"Mrs. Flannery," he says, and the new name sounds wrong in his rough voice. "Lovely ceremony."
"Thank you," I murmur, trying to move past him.
He doesn't let me, angling so that I can’t get past him in the narrow hall without us touching. "Your husband's a lucky man. Pretty young thing like you." His eyes rake over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. "Though I suppose you're the lucky one, really. Sean knows how to handle a woman. He'll have you trained up right in no time."
Trained up. Like I'm an animal.
"Excuse me," I manage, trying to keep my voice from shaking. This man feels like a predator, like someone who I shouldn’t allow to see my fear.
This time, he steps aside, but not before adding, "Just make sure you do your wifely duty tonight, girl. The marriage needs to be consummated properly, or it could be annulled. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"
The words follow me back to the reception, echoing in my head. Consummated. Of course it needs to be consummated. I knew that. I was just thinking about it. Sean said as much in front of Father McCleary a week ago. But hearing it said out loud, hearing it made into a requirement…
I'm going to be sick.
I nearly run back to the bathroom, but the thought of running into Kearney again forces me to fight against the nausea until I have it under control. I make it back to the table and sinkinto my chair. Sean glances at me, and something flickers in his expression when he sees my face.
"You alright?" he asks. It’s the first words he's spoken to me since the ceremony.
