And my mother's dress, draped across the chair like a promise made between two girlfriends decades ago.
Tomorrow, I'm going to walk down an aisle in the dress my mother married my father in, wearing the bracelet Saoirse gave me when I turned eighteen, toward a man with one green eye and a scar that tells a story I haven't heard yet but want to know.
I'm going to say yes again.
And this time, it won't be because I'm desperate.
It will be because I'm ready.
Connor
"You're an idiot."
Iris is standing in the doorway of the study with her arms crossed and that look on her face that's half sisterly concern and half genuine disgust. I've been on the receiving end of this look enough times to know it usually means she's about to say something I don't want to hear and she's going to be right about it.
"Thanks," I say without looking up from the laptop. I'm going through the latest update from Declan in Dublin.
"You've been hiding in this room for three days,” she adds.
"I've been working."
"You've been hiding." She walks in and sits on the edge of the desk, directly in my line of sight, which is a power move she's been pulling since she was twelve. "You're marrying that woman tomorrow and you've barely spoken to her. She eats breakfast with us every morning and you sit at the end of the table like a gargoyle and grunt when someone passes you the coffee."
"I don't grunt." I sigh and lean back in my chair, dragging my hands through my mop of hair.
"You grunt. Killian does an impression. It's very good." She tilts her head. "Connor. She likes you. Everyone in this house can see it except you, and honestly, I think even you can see it, you're just too stubborn to believe it."
I close the laptop because I'm not winning this one with avoidance. "What do you want me to do, sis?"
"I want you to spend time with her."
"We eat together three times a day, every day."
"We eat as a family. That's not the same thing and you know it." She leans forward. "Tomorrow you're standing at an altar with her. She's wearing her mother's wedding dress. She's giving you her entire future because she trusts you enough to bet her life on you. The least you can do is spend some one-on-one time with her."
The words land harder than she probably intended. Or maybe exactly as hard as she intended, because Iris doesn't miss.
"Where?" I ask.
"Urgh, why can’t men ever figure this stuff out for themselves?" She slides off the desk.
“It’s not like I’ve had ample opportunity, Iris." My words come out a little harsher than I’d intended but Iris softens so I take it as a win.
“Take her around the estate after dinner, just a walk. Let her pick one of the available buildings to make into a home. She has a creative streak she could put to good use renovating one of the older barns."
"You've thought about this."
"Someone had to." She stops at the door. "Connor. She's not going to break if you get close to her. But she might if you don't."
She leaves, and I sit there for a long time staring at the open doorway.
She's right. I know she's right. I've spent three days keeping Anya at arm's length and telling myself it's because I'm busy, because there's work to do, because the Baron is causingproblems in Dublin and Liam needs me focused. But the truth is simpler and uglier than that.
I'm afraid.
I'm afraid that if I sit across from her with no one else in the room and let her see me without the buffer of family and chaos and logistics, she'll realize what she's signed up for.
A man who doesn't know how to be soft. Who's been hard for so long that the soft parts calcified years ago. Who wants her so badly that he's been taking himself apart in the shower every night like a teenager because the alternative is knocking on her bedroom door and doing something he can't take back.
