A pianist begins playing “Wedding March,” and I experience a moment of hesitation when Catriona doesn’t show as a bridesmaid first. A slow, cold wave of emotion crashes throughout my insides. Sweat dots my brow. I want to wipe it away, but my hands are locked at my sides. It had been easy to agree to this farce at first. Easy to tell myself it wouldn’t matter who I married or who it hurt. But the thought of not seeing her one last time makes my chest tight in a way I don’t want to examine too closely.
There’s no going back now. I’ve made my choice, and I have to live with it. Once this ceremony is done, either Cian will bend to pressure or he’ll retaliate. I can only hope his desire to maintain appearances will be stronger than his desire to punish my mother or me for going against him.
Elizabeth appears in the doorway. She’s draped in a simple, classic white wedding dress and heavy veil, her features somewhat obscured by the material. But she looks enough like Catriona that it makes my heart catch.
I release a breath in a slow, measured exhalation, as I tell myself to get a grip. This is a means to an end. With each stepshe takes toward me, I lock down my emotions, carefully tucking them behind a cold, businesslike exterior.
Until I feel nothing.
Blissfully numb.
The walk up the aisle seems to take an eternity. The priest seems to think so too, because he keeps shifting from foot to foot and heaving with more sighs than seems physically possible.
My mask hardens as Elizabeth draws near. Maybe I should have taken Eamon’s offer for more shots. But no amount of alcohol seems to be enough.
I take Elizabeth’s hand and turn to the priest, who has gone so pale, I’m worried he may simply pass away in front of us. Father Michael sucks in a gasp before clinging to his Bible, eyes dropping to the words as he blinks rapidly through dripping sweat. I force myself to relax one muscle at a time as he begins his introductions.
Christ, I can’t take in a word he’s saying. Not when I’m drowning in Catriona’s scent even though she’s nowhere to be seen. I’m dizzy with it, tempted to search out the source no matter who’s watching. I twitch violently with the effort of my restraint. The fucking woman is haunting me.
When the priest speaks, his voice trembles, echoing throughout the chamber. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and this company to witness the sacred union of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. Marriage is a solemn and holy covenant, a reflection of the love Christ has for His church. It is not to be entered into lightly, but reverently, deliberately, and with the blessing of the Lord. Today, we celebrate the joining of two souls in a bond that is meant to endure not only in times of joy but also in hardship, bound by faith, fidelity, and love.”
Then the priest is motioning for me to remove Elizabeth’s veil. I snap back to myself and am grateful Elizabeth is standingwith haughty defiance. Gripping the fabric, I pull it over her face and behind her head, determined to finish the ceremony as quickly as possible.
And that’s where my hands freeze, on either side of a face that’s been a recurring star in my dreams since the moment we met.
Because the woman standing in front of me isn’t Elizabeth, as promised.
The woman standing in front of me, ready for me to say vows to her, is her sister, Catriona.
She’s not supposed to be here.
This wasn’t in my carefully laid plans.
This is going to ruineverything.
Fear strikes through me, spearing into parts I thought long dead.
Catriona lifts her face to me, a devious, satisfied smile tugging at her lips.
“Hello, future husband,” she says.
CHAPTER 7
CATRIONA
Iglory in his expression—a sweet mixture of confusion, fury, and apprehension. I can’t lie, I like it. I like it a lot. Probably way more than I should. The rush of heady control it gives me is addictive, and Irevel.
For the first time in my life, I’m not letting anyone control my fate. I’m taking it into my own hands. The satisfaction is almost as potent as the perpetual rage that simmers just beneath my skin. Whatever the consequences, it’s worth it purely for the look on his face.
I hope he feels like I yanked the rug right out from underneath him. Even better if he’s panicking, stuck, thoughts racing. His eyes flick over to the congregation, but I don’t check to see who he’s looking at. Honestly, I don’t much care. Basking in his reaction suits me just fine.
I give the priest a once-over and note the sheen of sweat on his face. Like most everyone else, the father had a price. It was merely a matter of pushing hard enough to learn what it wouldtake to make him break. Turns out, it was a couple of thousand dollars. I didn’t have it to spare, but I had my mother’s diamond necklace. I hoped she wouldn’t hate me too much for pawning it.
It was shockingly easy to convince him to change the paperwork and the name in the ceremony from Elizabeth Gallagher to Catriona Gallagher. Of course, this means I’m banking on Aiden and my father not causing a scene, but based on a glance at my father’s pursed lips, he’s not going to do a damn thing. At least, not now with all eyes on us. With the parking lot full of cameras. The pews full of witnesses.
The priest proceeds with the ceremony, and no one objects. I’m so consumed with relief that I miss most of it.
“Catriona,” O’Connor says with a sharp, biting undertone. His hands grind the bones in mine against each other, and I wince, glancing around. The priest stares at me expectantly, and I furrow my brows, my thoughts a muddle of nerves and fear, but also satisfaction at O’Connor’s murderous frown.
