A collection of feminine sighs echo around the room. She moves forward, and once again, I study her. In one hand, she carries a small bouquet while the other loops around Pierce’s arm. He towers over Anya, his massive frame nearly swallowing her as he stares down at her. The soft vulnerability appears on his face again. That uncomfortable sensation I’d gotten from seeing his wedding photo on their mantle returns.

  With a few threads of gray through his temples, she looks up at him like a daughter would her father. Her smile is full, and for a moment, she rests her head against his arm. Then, she lifts it, and her eyes meet mine. That smile dims a bit.

  Anya takes a deep breath and then she and Pierce head my way. I swallow down the nerves, the second-guessing, the fear. Instead, I do what I always do when confronting the emotion that only Grand-da could draw out of me. I give everyone my best smile.

  Far too soon, they’re standing in front of me. Pierce’s cold eyes stare directly into mine. Will he refuse to give her over to me? The icy emotion pouring from him chills me, but just like with my grandfather, I don’t let him see past the shield. Tense seconds pass. Someone seated coughs. Anya clears her throat, and finally, Pierce releases her. He palms her cheeks and presses a brief kiss to the top of her head before stiffly returning to his seat next to Francesca.

  The priest begins to speak, but I’ve tuned him out. All I can do is stare at Anya. At her long, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in curls I’ve never seen her wear before. Pink creeps across her cheeks to match the color of her lips. She casts her gaze downward in a shy gesture before sneaking a few peeks back up at me beneath long lashes. Another cough. I blink and glance around.

  Everyone is gazing at us expectantly. I turn toward the priest who smiles with indulgence. “We’ve come to the part where you say I do,” he gently instructs.

  “I”—it comes out on a croak. I clear my throat and begin again. “I do.”

  He repeats the vow for Anya.

  “I do.” Her response is quiet but clear. Far more confident than mine.

  “Do you have the ring?” the priest asks.

  I startle. “Oh, yeah, somewhere.”

  Anya’s gaze widens as I pat my pockets—searching. My neck heats. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to purchase a ring for her. I’m not even sure why I did it. This isn’t a real marriage, but for some unknown reason, it didn’t seem right to not get one.

  Finally, I locate the simple gold band with an inlaid row of small diamonds. It isn’t anything fancy, but I hadn’t been able to picture Anya wearing anything more than this. Her hand trembles beneath mine as I slide it down her third finger.

  “Anya,” the priest intones.

  She stammers uncomfortably, the pink washing out of her cheeks, leaving them pale. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I never expected…” she trails off.

  I gently squeeze her fingers. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t wear it anyway.”

  Hurt flashes across her face. Christ, what a shitty thing to say. She nods, and the priest clears his throat awkwardly before reciting more vows and prayers. There’s a rigidness to her hands I’m still holding, and she won’t quite meet my gaze. At least until the priest, finally, declares us husband and wife. Anya’s eyes widen almost fearfully.

  “You may now kiss your bride,” he says with a bit of trepidation.

  Just get it over with.

  I barely brush my lips over her cheek. She sucks in a sharp breath. It echoes in my ear. Without meeting her gaze, I turn us both so we face our families. Behind me, the priest stammers a bit before announcing, “I give you Mr. and Mrs. Padraig Donnelly.”

  Not knowing what else to do, we both stand there awkwardly. Thankfully, Mother rises. “Why don’t we all head down to the garden and let Paddy and Anya get some pictures taken together. There’s some food and beverages being served.”

  Our families follow suit, and one by one, they follow her out of the room, leaving only the photographer—the wife of one of our soldiers, if I’m not mistaken—my new wife, and me.

  “All right, then, how about we get one over here with you two facing each other,” the woman instructs almost too cheerfully as though there isn’t this heavy pall of uncomfortable tension hanging over everything.

  Anya and I turn toward each other. I stare down at her. It’s far too reminiscent of Pierce and Mila’s pose.

  “A bit closer, please,” the photographer directs. “Why don’t you take her hands in yours, Mr. Donnelly.”

  In a nervous gesture, I swipe my palms down my pant leg and clasp Anya’s hands—along with the bouquet—in mine.

  “I apologize for sounding like an asshole about not wearing the ring. It wasn’t meant as a slight against you. I just meant I’m not much for jewelry,” I lie in a low voice.

  She shakes her head. “I understand. Thank you for getting me one. It really is beautiful.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d want one a little more flashy.”

  Anya tightens her grip on me as though afraid I might try to take the ring off her finger. “It’s perfect, actually. One I’d have picked out for myself.”

  Something like relief rushes through me. “I’m glad.”

  The photographer calls out demand after demand for new positions. We comply with all of them. I can only imagine the expressions on my face. I hope they’re not as forced as they feel. Or as Anya’s appear to be. Time passes far too slowly until, finally, we’re done.

  “I think I got some beautiful shots,” the woman says. “I’ll reach out to your mother once I’ve finished editing them.”

  “Thanks. We’ll walk you to the front door.”

  The three of us take the elevator down. The second I close the front door behind her, I sag in relief. Don’t forget who’s standing next to you. I tense again before facing Anya—my wife.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and head out to the garden with everyone else. I’ll be there shortly,” I say.

  She hesitates, opens her mouth, closes it, and nods. Without another word, she moves down the hall. Her hand fists at her sides. Then she disappears around the corner.

  I let out the breath I’d been holding and run my hands through my hair. Feck.

  Chapter 18

  Anya

  * * *

  I collapse against the wall next to the door leading out to the garden. My heart races, and I palm my chest as though that will slow it down. It’s done. I’m a married woman. Shouldn’t I feel different for some reason? Except I still feel lost. Unsure. Terrified.

  The ceremony had been more than awkward. I glance down, and my gaze catches on the ring I’m wearing. It’s absolutely gorgeous. It’s unbelievable that Paddy bought it for me. It’s not something I would have ever expected. Especially knowing this isn’t a real marriage. There’s a pinch of guilt that I didn’t get him one as well, despite his insistence he wouldn’t have worn it anyway.

  Footsteps draw near. I freeze at being caught standing here instead of outside where I’m supposed to be. How do I explain what I’m doing? Except Paddy continues past the doorway of the mudroom. He doesn’t even glance in my direction. His shoulders seem to sag as though he’s carrying a heavy weight. It’s the quick glimpse of his expression that draws my attention. It’s almost…defeated.

  Is he that miserable with this marriage? If so, why did he go through with it, then? I’m too afraid to ask the question out loud. I quickly sneak out the door and go to join our families. The stone path leading to the lawn is lined on either side with an array of flowers: pansies, petunias, and different colored tulips. The sun shines from a clear, blue sky as though declaring this the perfect day.

  Conversation floats toward me from the small, white party tent that’s been erected on the left side of the yard. Beneath it are several long tables covered with a pale pink cloth and laden with platters of food. Three round tables with six chairs each are set up just outside the tent.

  Caitlín runs around with Saoirse and Cristiano, heedless of the bridesmaid dress she’s wearing. I make my way across the lush, green grass where Mila stands next to Brenna, Rory, and Francesca. Their eyes light up at my arrival.

  “You look so beautiful,” Francesca says, giving me a brief hug. Rory follows suit.

  “Thank you.”

  Brenna’s next. She wraps her arms around me. “It was a lovely ceremony.”

  I’ve been intimidated by her since the first meeting. Maybe because she’s Emilio’s wife. She’s so poised and confident. I’ve always been treated kindly by her, but just knowing she’s the most powerful woman here is a little nerve-racking.

  “I’m glad you all could come,” I tell them.

  “Of course, we’d be here,” Francesca says kindly. “You’re family. So is Paddy. Where is he anyway?”

  I quickly scramble for an answer. “Oh, he needed to take care of something real quick. He’ll be right out.” I hope.

  “Let me see your ring.” Mila wiggles her fingers at me.

  I hold my hand up, and the four of them ooh and ahh over it. A giddiness sweeps through me. It may not be as large or fancy as everyone else’s, but to me, it’s perfect. Caitlín rushes over and nearly tackles me.

  “Thank god, that’s over with,” she says, snagging my hand and admiring my ring as well. “Wow, Paddy did good. This is totally you. That’s twice now he’s impressed me. Shit, I hope he’s not going to make a habit of it. I can’t be annoyed with him if he keeps doing nice things like this.”

  “He is my husband now, you know.” I give her a pointed stare. “I suppose I need to defend him.”

  “No need to defend me against the brat. I’m more than capable of taking her insults. Been doing it nearly her whole life.”

  We all turn at Paddy’s voice. He strides forward, a smile on his face—completely at odds with his expression not that long ago—and moves next to me. We’re not quite touching, but he’s close enough that his body heat radiates off him, warming my side.

  “Calling me a brat certainly isn’t winning you any points,” Caitlín grumbles.

  “No fighting on my wedding day, please,” I implore.

  “I wouldn’t dare,” Paddy says in a curious tone.

  I turn in his direction. There doesn’t appear to be any sardonic expression on his face. Merely the same smile he appeared with. I study him a bit more closely. His eyes don’t gleam with humor. They’re almost…weary. It’s like he’s wearing a mask.

  A compulsion makes me reach out and touch his arm. “Thank you.”

  Paddy glances down to where my hand rests and then lifts his gaze to me. “You’re welcome,” he says softly.

  I can’t seem to pull away from the intensity of his stare. My pulse quickens. His muscles shift beneath me. I drop my arm—fingertips still tingling—and glance around. All five women are gaping at Paddy and me like they can’t understand what is happening. My cheeks heat. Paddy clears his throat.

  “Yes, well, I’m going to grab a drink.” He walks away and heads toward where his brothers stand.

  My gaze stays on him a moment longer before turning back to my friends, who remain wide-eyed. I shift nervously. “What?”

  Mila shakes her head. “Nothing. We’re just a bit surprised is all.”

  My eyes scan them. “Surprised about what?” Although I’m pretty sure I have the answer.

  “That,” Caitlín exclaims, not at all hesitant. “That little exchange between the two of you. I mean, you touched him.”

  I give a small shrug and cock my head. “So. Paddy is my husband.”

  “You don’t touch any man,” she goes on. “Ever.”

  I hate that they’re making such a big deal about it. It was a single touch. Barely anything. “It was nothing.”

  Caitlín opens her mouth. Brenna nudges her with an elbow, and she snaps it shut with a side-eye.

  “C’mon.” Mila loops her hand around my arm. “Let’s go grab some food. I’m starving.”

  I let her lead me toward the first table. I’m not sure I can eat—my nerves are still a little rattled—but I add a few things to my plate. I glance up, and my gaze meets Paddy’s. My breath freezes. He nods briefly and turns back to his conversation with his brothers. I fumble with the serving spoon and manage not to spill food everywhere. Keep it together.

  We all take a seat at one of the tables while Moira seems to have taken over entertaining her two older grandchildren. The babies are sleeping for the moment, but knowing Milana, it won’t be for much longer.

  Emilio approaches Paddy. They’re too far away for me to hear their conversation, but Emilio glances in my direction, and whatever he’s telling Paddy doesn’t seem to be making my husband happy. Moments later, they’re joined by the rest of the men.

  My gaze frequently searches out Paddy. He catches me staring more than once. Each time, my face heats, and I quickly dart my eyes away to study my plate. Francesca, Mila, Rory, and Brenna all have their own conversation going. I glance at Caitlín, only to find her staring at me.

  “What?” I stage-whisper with a short chuckle. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You’re not having certain feelings about Paddy, are you?” She sounds almost horrified.

  “As much as this might offend you, your brother is a reasonably attractive man. I can appreciate that without it being anything more. Besides, we’re married. I’m sure we’re going to see each other quite often. I’d like to make it as not awkward as possible. Who knows?” I shrug. “Maybe Paddy and I will become friends. That wouldn’t be such a horrible thing, would it?”

  “Friends?” Caitlín asks almost dubiously.

  “Yes, friends. Men and women can be, you know.”

  “Paddy doesn’t do ‘friends’”—she uses air quotes with the last word—“with women. They’re good for one thing, and one thing only.”

  I brush off Caitlín’s words. “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Her expression tells me she doesn’t actually believe that. I’m not sure I do, either.

  Chapter 19

  Paddy

  * * *

  “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you’ve been spending a lot of time staring at your wife,” Emilio says. “I’d be careful if I were you.”

  My gaze jerks to my brother-in-law—cradling a sleeping infant—who comes to stand near me. “Careful? About what?”

  He spears a quick glance in Anya’s direction. “Strong women have a tendency to make their way under men’s skin. To destroy our best intentions. We’re helpless against them.”

  I stare at my brother-in-law. What is he insinuating? The most powerful man on the East Coast is actually commenting on my marriage and my wife. “Don’t you think that strategizing our next raid is more important than a discussion about me and my…Anya?”

  Emilio smirks. “You don’t think they’re of equal importance?”

  “No, I don’t.” I barely manage to keep my tone civil. “In fact, we should be talking about how not to lose any men this time, considering two of our best soldiers were killed in the last one.”

  He dips his head in mocking acquiescence. “Of course.”

  “Why does Paddy look like he swallowed something bitter?” Nathan pipes up. “It’s your wedding day, man. You should be smiling and enjoying yourself.”

  I paste a grin on my face. “I am enjoying myself.”

  Emilio, Nathan, and Jack all cast doubtful glances my way but don’t comment further. I sip my drink. Da, Pierce, and Gio join us, and soon, everyone starts talking business. I barely hear the conversation around me. My attention drifts frequently to Anya, who’s been sitting at one of the tables with all the women. Our gazes meet often, and each time, she quickly darts hers away. An adorable flush rises up her chest and face. She tucks a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, and I imagine it’s my fingers gliding along her cheek. Caressing the silky-smooth skin. How far down beneath her dress does the pink go?

  “Paddy, are you listening?”

  I blink and bring my focus back to the circle of men around me. “I’m sorry?”

  “We wanted to make sure you had our weapons and ammunition ready for Sunday night,” Jack says.

  Right, the raid. “Nearly all of it. I’m supposed to get another shipment tomorrow. Top of the line, according to my weapons expert contact.”

  “Cutting it close, don’t you think?” Pierce sneers.

  “My guy has always been on time with his deliveries, so I don’t have any concerns that this one will be any different. This isn’t my first go-round, you know?” I can’t help but ask a bit snidely. I’ve been doing this for half my life. I’m good at it. It’s the one part of the business I feel confident about.

  “I’m sure Paddy has things under control,” Emilio says smoothly. “Now that we have the details ironed out, I need to take my children home. Congratulations to you and Anya.”

  I nod in appreciation. He, along with Pierce and Gio, moves across the yard toward the table of women, including Brenna, who’s holding a sleeping Cristiano against her chest. Emilio reaches them and leans down to brush a kiss across Brenna’s lips and one on his son’s forehead.

  Mila and Anya have their heads together in conversation. Whatever Mila says has Anya shaking her head. Pierce joins them, and she repeats the gesture. He glances over at me before brushing another fatherly kiss across her forehead. She hugs them both, and moments later, the Italians depart.

  Mother and Da, along with Nathan, Jack, Rory, and Caitlín, move the tables and chairs into the small shed Mother uses for storage. I head to the food table and start covering the dishes with leftovers in them.

  Despite our wealth, we don’t employ any staff. Mother has always expected us to help around the house: picking up after ourselves, doing our own laundry, cleaning. She jokes, “It’s why I had children.” Surprisingly, Anya joins me.