Kieran clocks my bad mood from across the table and raises his brows at me. “You alright? You look like someone pissed in your drink.”
Saying nothing, I sneak a glance around the room.
I haven’t seen Ciara in a while, which isn’t helping my mood. I swear, if she’s decided to make a run for it…
Brennan nudges me with his elbow from beside me and offers me one of his shit-eating grins. “Jesus, Ronan, cheer up! Today is your wedding day, not your damn funera?—”
The word hangs heavy in the air between us as we’re all simultaneously transported back to our father’s graveside.
The laughter instantly dissipates, and each one of us lifts our drinks to our lips to try to numb the pain.
Every time I close my eyes, his voice sounds in my head.
She deserves happiness, Ronan.
And every time I look ather, this beautiful and furious woman I’ve just tied myself to, I know I’ve already failed him.
My wife has barely spoken two words to me all night, which only worsens my mood. At least at dinner the other night, she fought back, but it seems her spark is starting to die out.
The moment I slid that ring on her finger, I could see in her green eyes that she hates me, and honestly? I don’t blame her.
Cormac gets to his feet and heads straight over to the bar to get us all a refill.
“Sorry,” Brennan mutters. “That was a dumb thing to say.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “You don’t need to be sorry.”
“It feels wrong that he’s not here.”
My chest heaves as I glance around the packed ballroom, knowing my father’s face is one I’m never going to see again. Instead, my gaze lands on Ciara as she stalks toward our table, her expression cold as her eyes look everywhere but at me.
With each step, her hips sway in that tight-fitting dress that clings to her like a second skin, and I bite back a groan.
I can’t even be mad at the extortionate bill she racked up at the bridal store the other day. Not when she looks like a fucking goddess in that dress. Part of me thinks she chose it just to spite me, but if she could hear the filthy thoughts swarming around my head, she’d be bitterly disappointed.
I subtly adjust myself as I try not to focus on the swell of her breasts as she approaches the table, wearing that stubborn little frown that makes me want to push her buttons and wind her up even more.
“Hello, wife.”
Ciara doesn’t even look at me. Not even a quick glance to acknowledge my existence.
Fuck. She’s angrier than I thought.
She tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, doing her best to act nonchalant, despite the fact that everyone’s eyes are on her and have been since the moment she started walking down the aisle.
Including my own.
“Can I talk to you?” Her voice is clipped as she continues to avoid my gaze.
“You don’t need to ask permission.”
Her body tenses.
I frown. “But yes, of course.”
I get to my feet, leaving my half-finished drink on the table, and follow her to a spot in the corner of the room, away from prying ears, my eyes glued to her ass the entire time.
“Can we leave now?” She whirls around so quickly that I almost walk straight into her.
