“Ready?” Jack asks with a serious expression.

  I’d rather get shot by the fecking Polish again, but I put my familiar mask on. The corners of my lips turn up, and I give a cocky head tip. “Let’s do this.”

  Tears well in my mother’s eyes. “Look at how handsome you are.” She takes the tie from my hands and loops it around my neck with a sniffle.

  Jack and Nathan make themselves scarce while she puts the finishing touches on this damn penguin suit. Mother quickly makes work of the black fabric and then smooths the lapels of the jacket down before glancing up and meeting my gaze.

  “I’m so proud of you, Paddy,” she says, wiping away a stray tear. Where did those lines near her eyes come from? In my head, my mother is perpetually young without a single wrinkle or gray hair. I take her in. There’s a bit of silver threading through the copper-colored hair we all inherited from her. Lines radiate from her eyes, and a few crease across her forehead. Still, she’s beautiful.

  “I love you, Mother.”

  She blinks. A watery smile forms and she wraps me in a hug I haven’t felt since I was a kid. When was the last time I told her that? Far too long, I think. I return the embrace. She seems so small in my arms, her head barely reaching my shoulders. Finally, she loosens her hold and takes a step back. She pulls a tissue from her sleeve and dabs at her tears.

  “Why don’t you head up to the music room with the boys. There’s a small bar up there. No more than one drink, though,” she instructs. “I won’t have you slurring your way through your vows.”

  I bite back a smile. “Yes, Mother.”

  “Don’t come out of there, either, until it’s time for the ceremony to start. It’s bad luck to see the bride beforehand.”

  I simply nod.

  “Well, go.” She shoos me with her hands.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I salute her with a grin and head up the stairs.

  I pass Caitlín on the second-floor landing. She looks me over with disdain and then crowds me against the wall. I let her because it’s obvious she’s got something to say. I’d rather get it over with.

  “Don’t fuck this up. Or pull another stunt like last night.” She jabs me in the chest. “You may not realize how big of a deal it was for Anya to ask you to do this, but I do. She’s strong, but there are parts of her that are far more fragile than either of you know. If you hurt her in any way, brother or not, I’ll make you regret it.”

  Caitlín stabs me with her finger again and then picks up her dress skirt and runs the rest of the way down the stairs. I believe her threat, too. No doubt she’ll make my life hell. The thought makes me smile with genuine emotion. I’m actually glad Anya has someone like my sister to defend her. While I know the generics of what happened to her, I don’t have any specific details. It’s not something I really considered, but thinking about it makes me hate the Polish that much more.

  I climb the remaining stairs and make my way to the music room. My steps slow as I approach my grand-da’s old office. The familiar weight of dread lands in my gut. All the times he called me in there. All the times I never told Mother or Da what went on behind that closed door. My gaze stays locked on it as I pass until, finally, I lose sight of it.

  Feck. I’m going to need that drink.

  Chapter 16

  Anya

  * * *

  It’s probably not ideal to have a panic attack on my wedding day. Except one is brewing. I’ve been practicing my breathing like Theresa, my therapist, taught me and trying to talk myself down from it.

  Mila’s been in tears all morning, which is making Milana cry right along with her. Pierce took off before the sun rose for goodness knows where. Which leaves me sitting on my bed, staring at the wedding dress hanging on the outside of my closet door, doing my best not to let my anxiety win.

  Instead, I focus on the most beautiful piece of clothing I’ve ever made or owned. I spent the whole week on it. That alone makes this day worth it. I glance at the clock. In three short hours, I’m going to be standing in front of my family and Paddy’s, wearing this dress, and pledging my life to him.

  Two weeks ago, this had been a perfect and simple plan. Marry Paddy. Tend my garden. Design and sew clothes. Maybe settle into a nice, easy friendship. But most importantly, stop the assembly line of introductions to men I have no interest in. I hadn’t counted on what happened last night. The awful reaction to seeing that woman. Or the fleeting but unsettling thoughts about my future husband. This marriage is turning out far more complicated than I expected, and it hasn’t even happened yet.

  There’s a soft knock on my door before it opens. Mila pokes her head in. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and her face is splotchy. She offers me a small smile. “Pierce is getting Milana settled. Can I help you get ready?”

  “I’d like that.” I rise from the bed.

  She steps inside, and her gaze catches on the dress. Her hand goes to her mouth as she takes in a short gasp. “Oh my god, Anya. I knew you were talented, but this? This is absolutely stunning. You’re going to make a beautiful bride.”

  More tears fill Mila’s eyes, and she hastily wipes them away. I slowly remove my clothes until I’m standing in only my bra and panties while she crosses the room and gently lifts the dress off the door. Her fingers caress the length of satin and lace before ghosting over the pearls adorning the modest sweetheart neckline. She slips it off the hanger and turns to me. I bend forward a bit with my arms up so she can place it over my head. A memory of her helping me dress when I was a little girl flashes in my mind.

  The fabric floats down around me. I smooth it just under my breasts where the A-line skirt begins before holding an arm out. Mila goes to hook the tiny loop around the pearl to close my sleeve around my wrist. She pauses. I follow her gaze to the white, vertical scar in the middle of my inner forearm. It itches beneath her scrutiny. Hurry, please. As though hearing my unspoken plea, Mila fastens the lace sleeve closed.

  “I’ll get the other side,” I tell her quietly.

  She takes a couple steps back while I do my best to quickly button the right one while trying to forget the scars neither of us talks about. Or that I’m not sure she’s truly ever forgiven me for. Her gaze travels from my head to my toes and back up. Pride, and a bit of sadness, seem to cross her face. I turn and catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. Mila comes and stands behind me, both of us taking me in. Her eyes sparkle. I avoid looking at my own. Instead, I keep them on her reflection.

  “How are you going to do your hair?” she asks, playing with the ends of it.

  “I was just going to maybe try and put some soft curls in it, and leave it down. What do you think?” I’ve never really bothered much with it except for a ponytail once in a while.

  “I think that will be perfect.”

  I take a seat at my vanity and plug in the curling iron I rarely use. Then I pull out the small makeup bag that contains only the basics, like powder, mascara, and a few tubes of tinted lip gloss.

  “Let me,” Mila says.

  She gently swivels me in the chair so I’m facing her. Neither of us speaks as she applies everything. It’s not a comfortable silence, nor is it awkward. More contemplative. She works on my hair next. At last, she turns off the curling iron and sets it down. I let her fiddle with the curls and apply a bit of hair spray until she’s satisfied. “All done,” she says.

  I take a deep inhale and turn in my chair. The person staring back at me from the vanity mirror is someone I don’t even recognize. She’s beautiful. But behind her eyes, there’s fear. I blink, hoping to get rid of it, but it remains. Quickly, I pivot away and look at my sister.

  “Thank you.”

  Mila’s gaze scans my face. Her expression is solemn. “You’re welcome.”

  A knock comes at the door. She crosses the room and opens it. Pierce walks in, Milana looking so tiny lying against his chest, and I rise to my feet. He comes to a complete stop and stares at me. I swallow, smoothing my clammy hands down my skirt, waiting for him to say something. A flicker of emotion passes over his face. It’s not one I’ve ever seen before. He clears his throat as though something’s caught in it.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, his voice rough.

  My cheeks heat, and my head dips with a sudden shyness. That means a lot coming from him. Pierce isn’t one for insincere compliments.

  “We should be going.” He passes Milana over, and Mila walks out the door, but he remains.

  “You still have time to change your mind.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going to.”

  He sighs. “I had to try.”

  “I know.” I close the distance between us and go up on tiptoes to brush a kiss across his cheek. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

  “You ready, then?”

  I glance around my room. This may be the last day I spend in it. While I worked on my dress, Mila and Caitlín packed up most of my things for me. Will Paddy and I move into the house today?

  “Ready.” Am I, though?

  A wave of homesickness washes over me. This was my room for over two years before I moved into the dorm at the community house. It’s where I first started to heal after. I’m going to miss my sister, my niece, and Pierce. I’ll miss stepping out of my room and everyone being here. I’ll miss dinners together. And watching my favorite clothing design show with Mila. Especially the times we catch Pierce watching it along with us from his stealthy position outside the doorway when he doesn’t think we’re looking.

  I blink back tears because it’s my wedding day, and I’m supposed to be happy. It’s a cause for celebration. I’m getting everything I wanted.

  We arrive at Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly’s brownstone. Caitlín flings open the door before my foot even hits the first step. She squeals, rushes outside to drag me up onto the stoop, and grabs my upper arms. “Oh my god, look at you.”

  She gestures for me to pivot in a circle. I comply with good humor until I’m facing her again.

  “Satisfied?” I ask.

  “Are you kidding? You’re absolutely gorgeous. Paddy won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you.”

  “You know it’s not like that,” I remind her.

  She waves me off. “I know, I know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t rub it in his face a little bit about what he’s missing out on. It’ll do him good to be knocked down a few pegs.”

  Mila coughs behind us.

  “Oh, shit, sorry. Come in,” Caitlín steps back in the house, and we all follow until she closes the door.

  I’ve been here many times over the years, and I’ve always loved the place. It’s so homey and warm. I love all the family pictures that line the hallway leading to the living room. Mila and I didn’t have that growing up.

  Everyone is smiling and happy. My gaze latches on to one of the photos. One I’ve passed by a dozen times or more. For some reason, today, it draws me in. I move closer and study it.

  The whole family is crowded together. Whatever the photographer said or did must have been funny because they’re all laughing. Not the fake kind, either, but genuine amusement. Except for one person. Paddy. It seems like he’s trying to smile, but it’s not quite forming. In fact, it’s almost strained. What’s going on inside his head? He appears so much different than the almost always smiling man I know.

  “Oh my goodness.”

  I turn away from the picture. Paddy’s mother strides down the hallway toward us. She’s a lovely woman, who’s treated me kindly from the moment I joined Emilio’s family. I’ve always liked her.

  “You look absolutely gorgeous, Anya.” She pulls me in for a gentle hug. Her soft, floral scent envelops me. “I’m so happy to be gaining a new daughter.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Donnelly.”

  She leans back with a gentle smile. “Please, call me Moira. Although, I hope one day you’d like to call me Mother.”

  I’m not sure I’m ready for that, so I settle on the first. “Thank you, Moira.”

  “Everyone is upstairs in the music room, except Emilio and Brenna. They’re running a little bit behind. If you’d like to wait in Caitlín’s room, I’ll let her show you the way,” Paddy’s mother says. “I made you a small bouquet from the flowers in my garden. I understand you enjoy gardening, as well?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It relaxes me. Yours is stunning.”

  She flushes with pride. “Thank you. I enjoy it, too. Paddy tells me that you have a lovely garden at your new home. I’d love to come take a look at it one of these days if that would be all right.”

  “Of—of course.” It feels a bit strange to have her so interested in my hobby, despite sharing it. My own mother could never be bothered with my interests.

  “Come on, we’ll take the stairs,” Caitlín says from the bottom of them.

  “Go ahead.” Her mother nods. “We’ll come get you when Emilio and Brenna arrive.”

  I send a small wave to Pierce and Mila and then follow Caitlín up the stairs until we reach the third floor. She opens the door that leads into the hallway and gestures for me to go ahead. I walk past her. Down the hall, another door opens. Paddy steps out, holding a rocks glass. His gaze locks onto mine, and he freezes. My breath catches.

  “Oh, shit,” Caitlín murmurs.

  I can’t take my eyes off him. He looks good with this reddish-brown hair tousled messily like he’s been running his fingers through it. The tuxedo fits as though tailored perfectly to him. It accentuates his muscular upper arms and broad shoulders and tapers to a slim waist. My gaze travels up to his face. He’s watching me with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. They take a similar path as mine had, drifting over me like he’s taking in everything about me.

  The elevator chimes, breaking the connection. He quickly moves back into the music room just as the metal doors slide open, and his mother, Pierce, and Mila step out. Caitlín gives a little wave and then loops her hand around my arm to drag me toward her room, mumbling about bad luck under her breath the whole way.

  Chapter 17

  Paddy

  * * *

  Christ. Anya is stunning.

  Ethereal.

  My mouth dries seeing her in that dress. I’ve never paid attention to women’s clothing—unless I’m removing it—but I’m definitely appreciating the way it hints at every one of her curves. I drink her in the same way she seems to be doing to me. There’s an unwelcome stiffening of my cock, and I curse. There’s not a fecking chance in hell I’m going to be panting after an unwilling wife. Neither of us needs that complication in our lives.

  The elevator dings and I move back into the music room before the doors open. It had been easy to step outside for a minute.

  To breathe.

  The room is still just as stifling as it had been before. It’s decorated similarly to when Brenna married Emilio. Chairs are set out and separated down the middle to form a natural aisle. Soft music plays from the sound system. A flowery fragrance wafts through the air, either from the candles burning on side tables or the various colorful arrangements placed around the room. No doubt all from my mother’s garden.

  I take another swallow of the whiskey I’ve been nursing since Jack handed it to me at my arrival. In walks my mother, followed by Pierce and Mila, who’s carrying their daughter. Gio, Francesca, Da, Jack, Rory, and Nathan turn at their arrival. I head toward the back corner near where the bar is set up, hoping for a little more peace before I’m forced to make polite conversation.

  Except, there’s none to be had as Jack meets my gaze, excuses himself from the group, and makes his way over. I steel myself for whatever it is he has to say.

  He claps me on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Paddy. I’m really happy for you.”

  Considering he’s done nothing but question my decision, his words surprise me.

  “What?” He laughs. “Don’t look at me like that. I am. Just because I don’t understand what’s going on between the two of you doesn’t mean I can’t be glad for you.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “And if there’s anything you need, you know I’m there for you. Rory, too. She’s excited to have another sister-in-law. Says you guys will have to come over for dinner some night.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say noncommittally. The whole domestic scene he’s offering makes me sweat, and my tie constricts around my throat.

  “Let’s get some pictures,” Mother calls out, waving Jack and me over.

  I toss back the remains of my drink and set it on the bar. Then, I don my mask and join the rest of the family.

  I haven’t had a single moment to breathe. Emilio, Brenna, and their brood arrived shortly after the picture-taking began. Then Brenna, Mila, and our mother disappeared for a bit, saying they were going to go get some photos with Anya and Caitlín. Once the priest arrived, reality struck. I’m getting married.

  “It’s time,” my mother announces happily after the endless, inane conversation I’ve long put out of my head.

  I follow Jack to the front and we stand next to the priest. My gaze travels over the room. The Italians, along with Brenna, sit on one side of it while Da, Nathan, and Rory sit on the other. Mother and Pierce leave together. I try not to grow restless, or attempt to loosen the tie that seems to be getting tighter by the second. Don’t forget this means freedom. No more matchmaking. No more attempts to meet “nice” women. You’re still free to do whatever you want.

  Yet even those words don’t loosen the tightness. Because even more powerful ones form in the background. Stupid. Worthless.

  Caitlín and Mila, followed by our mother, walk through the door. Anya’s sister stands in her place across from Jack and me. My younger sister strides down the aisle and meets my gaze with a narrow-eyed one, as though reminding me of her earlier warning. She moves to the other side of Mila, who briefly smiles at me. Mother takes her seat next to Da. For a second time, the door opens. Pierce strides through and takes a step to the side. Then, there’s Anya.