He’s standing at the altar like he owns the goddamn place, wearing a black suit that’s tailored to perfection. The strong lines of his face mixed with the broadness of his muscular frame send a wave of heat coursing through me as I let my eyes roam over him.
I hate how good he looks. How much he calls to me. It would be so much easier to marry him if he were ugly, or at least forgettable.
But no. Of course, the man who blew up my life has the audacity to be attractive.
Mila nudges me with her elbow. “You ready?”
I nod, even though I’m anything but ready.
My brother is waiting for me just inside the doorway. He’s wearing a fresh new suit, no doubt courtesy of Ronan, and his hair is slicked back and neat.
When he sees me, his expression remains tense and unreadable, and the knot in my stomach tightens even more.
He and I both know our father should be the one offering me his arm at this moment, but because of the family of the man I’m about to marry, he’s gone, and I’ll never get to share my wedding day with my father.
I cling to Callum’s arm, trying to breathe through the pain in my chest. I can’t let myself think of what should have been, because if I go there, I’ll fall apart, and that’s simply not an option. Not when three hundred people are waiting to watch me crumble.
But most of all, I can’t fall apart in front ofhim.
I grit my teeth as the music starts to play and I take my first step toward my future, trying not to think of the fact that if my father were still alive, I wouldn’t need to marry the man who destroyed him.
The ceremony isa blur of vows and rings and applause that sounds too rehearsed. I can barely even remember signing my name on the license, my hand trembling so much that I’m surprised it even counts.
But it’s done.
The gold wedding band around my ring finger feels heavy, and I can’t stop fiddling with it as I stand beside Ronan at the entrance to the ballroom where our reception is being held. He wears a matching one on his finger, and I can still feel the rough texture of his skin as I slipped the ring onto it. It was the only moment in the entire ceremony where it felt like we were the only two people in the room. Then I blinked, and it was over.
A never-ending line of guests filters through, offering their congratulations, though they’re mainly offered to Ronan. I don’t know why he’s insisting on me standing beside him when it’s obvious to everyone here that this marriage is nothing more than a business deal.
He seems at ease as he chats with the guests, shaking the hands of the men and kissing the women on the cheek. I scowl at the contact, mainly because the women’s eyes immediately light up as they cling to that sliver of attention he offers them.
If only they knew Ronan like I do, because they’d be anything but happy about him being so close.
As the guests talk with Ronan, I cast my gaze around thegrand ballroom and sigh. The decorations are stunning. I can’t quite believe I didn’t have anything to do with this.
When I bought my wedding dress, I also picked out Mila’s, and somehow Ronan must have deciphered the color scheme I was hinting at, and he brought my secret vision to life. Or rather, he hired someone to bring it to life.
Huge autumnal arrangements of flowers are placed in the center of round tables, each decorated with gold plates and glasses. The dark wood of the floor ties it all in perfectly, and the low lighting from the candles and chandeliers overhead creates an intimate atmosphere, despite the grandeur of the ballroom.
Everything about this room screams money, which is exactly what the Sullivans want, which automatically makes me want to hate every second I spend in here.
“Congratulations,” a man says, and I blink, turning my attention to the stranger standing before me. “So happy for you both.”
“You looked stunning walking down the aisle,” his wife offers, and I simply nod my head, too exhausted to plaster a polite smile on my face.
The woman looks a little put out by my lack of enthusiasm, but Ronan manages to commandeer the conversation, and the pair of them leave with smiles on their faces.
Before the next guests arrive, Ronan leans in close to me so that I catch a waft of his musky cologne.
“Wipe the scowl off your face,” he warns, his voice low. “You just got married. You’re supposed tolookhappy.”
I whip my head toward him, my temper flaring.
“Don’t tell me how to feel,” I hiss through my teeth.
“I’m not. I’m just reminding you how appearances work, and that you’re meant to keep up your end of the bargain.”
I twist the gold band on my ring finger as my retort lodges in my throat at the dark look in Ronan’s eyes.
