Page 7 of Guilty as Sin

Connor waves his phone in my face to get my attention. I take it from him, and hang up. Sorry, Charlotte.

“What the hell?” Connor asks. “She wanted to talk to you, she was trying to reach out and be nice.”

“I know.” I hand back his phone and return to pacing the room. “I just… I can’t handle Charlotte right now.”

“She’s our sister.”

I shake my head, my feet drifting to a stop. Charlotte isn’t the same sister that I grew up adoring, and I cringe to think of who she’s become over the past ten years. Obedient bride, obedient wife.

With horror, I realize I’ve stopped in front of the mirror, its gilded filigree framing my reflection. Understated updo, understated makeup, understated dress. But it’s all unmistakably bridal, and compliantly so.

None of this I’ve truly chosen for myself.

My fingers tingle like they’re going numb as I stare at myself in the mirror. The obedient bride.

No.

I straighten my spine.

I’m getting married to protect my brother. I’m doing this of my own volition, which means I’m doing this on my own terms.

Obedient bride, barely.

Obedient wife, absolutely not.

I am my own person, resolute and self-reliant. I will make that abundantly clear to my new husband, whether he likes it or not. I will not be cowed or tamed into being some subservient mafia wife.

And I will not—repeat not—give up who I am for this marriage.

In the mirror, Connor’s reflection appears beside mine. He stands awkwardly, his hands in the pockets of a tux that’s too large for him. I bet the O’Sullivans arranged the ill fit on purpose. They wanted to shame him by making him look like a little boy in his dad’s clothes. It wasn’t necessary, given the state of his poor face, but it’s working. A clever manipulation.

Everything in the mafia world is a manipulation.

And I’m right back in it now.

“You look beautiful, you know,” Connor says. “That’s what she’d say if she were here.”

“If Charlotte were here, she’d tell me I look exactly like her on her wedding day.”

“Right. Then she’d tell you that you look beautiful.”

We both laugh, and I turn to give my brother a proper hug.

“Thank you,” he whispers. When he lets me go, he smears his hand across his bruised eyes. “I know you didn’t want any of this.” He’s right, I didn’t. But he’s my only real ally in this world, and we have to protect each other.

“You’d do the same for me.”

“Of course I would.” He sniffles, then clears his throat to cover it up. “Except you’d never be as stupid as me to mess everything up in the first place.”

“Yeah, that’s true. That was a pretty fucking stupid thing to do.” I grin at Connor’s dropped jaw. “Come on, I found some champagne earlier.”

I lead him into the living room of the adjacent honeymoon suite, where a wine cooler stocked with Dom Pérignon hides inside a mahogany cabinet. I haven’t indulged in such luxury in ages. After I left my family and all of their dirty money behind, I told myself I didn’t miss the finer things.

I pop the bottle without ceremony and pour us each a glass, but Connor frowns at the two flutes before taking his. With a shiver, I realize the second glass was probably meant for my soon-to-be husband for later tonight.

I take a sip to make myself stop shaking. My brother drains his glass in one go, and I can tell he’s dwelling on his guilt, his concern for me the same as my concern for myself.

I have an almost-certain guess about Brady’s expectations for later. But I need to focus on getting through my wedding before I start worrying about my wedding night.