“Ah, don’t talk about the nights,” Thomas says. “Sure, it’s going to be a cruel enough awakening for the poor, innocent little virgin. But the less she knows about it, the better.”
“True.” Aiden takes a deep pull on his whiskey. “If she only knew what was coming to her, she’s probably die on the spot.”
“Go on,” I say, “keep telling yourselves bedtime stories about the fierce, destructive power of your manly weapons. And we girls will continue to jolly you along. It’s always one good way we can get a laugh out of yous.” Before either of them can gather their thoughts to strike back, I tell them, “You’ve shown your little dangles of yarn to me at just about every opportunity since you were weans. All I can say is I hope that my John will live up to his O’Malley family reputation.”
It’s true what Thomas said, though. I am a virgin. I have no experience at all with the male of the species. Not in any intimate context. While I won’t let these two get under my skin, I do wonder what I should expect. I try to brush it off by thinking, Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. It does nothing to quiet my fears since I’ve no clue what the best or the worst would even look like.
It seems to me that everything I’ve heard anyone say on the subject is wildly lyrical and probably exaggerated out of all recognition. It’s definitely going to be a day of discovery.
What I’m hoping for is a real marriage. Even more than a hot husband, I want to be part of a strong partnership. One where we work together.
Make a bond, a home, and start and raise a family. Build something. Together.
I know I have a lot to give, and I can’t wait to share.
We go straight from the airfield to the hotel. Papa has arranged stylists for me. As soon as I’m powdered up and ready, we go to an Irish-themed Vegas wedding chapel. It’s a tiny one, but the O’Malleys have packed out their side of it.
A sharp twinge in my gut makes me feel like I should have brought all of the lost and forgotten aunts and cousins after all, just to show that our family has some substance to it. But I know it’s only foolish nerves.
Papa is at the back, waiting to walk me down the aisle. Pride brims in his eyes and his smile gives me courage. I look to the groom’s side of the altar.
A line of three big men stands at the front. The one in the middle starts to turn slowly as I walk toward him.
I hadn’t thought before of how strange it is, walking into my wedding, waiting to meet my husband for the first time at the altar. The first words that I say to him are probably going to be ‘I do.’
I feel like I’ve walked into a medieval fairy tale. As I remember it, those stories often ended up in a great mess of blood and gore. Now I’m in my own fairy tale, and I have to discover whether I’m the heroine or the victim.
As my groom turns, the hard light in his eyes flips my stomach and sets it into freefall. A feeling like a thud, deep below the sea, echoes from far away. My breath catches, thick in my chest.
He’s ten years older than me. But I knew that. Whatever I was preparing myself for, I never expected him to be so handsome. His chiseled jaw, his high, sharp cheekbones, the cleft in his hard chin, and his hands. His huge, strong hands. He could be a model or a movie star. Or a killer.
He looks too good to be true. For a moment, I think he must be a rakish uncle or something. Not my future husband. Am I really going to marry him? He looks at me, serious. With intent. Not a trace of anything as frivolous as a smile. I’m melting inside. I’m so hot, I feel like I’m about to gush.
Whatever else this marriage brings, I’m never going to have a hard time looking at him.
And, yes, the first words I say to him are in response to the question, “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
My natural response is, Are you nuts? He looks great, but I’m scared to death of him and I haven’t got the first clue who he is!
Instead, I look in John’s eyes and I say, “I do.”
I’m pleased that my voice is steady and strong, because it’s not how I feel. I practically have to bite my tongue to hold back from saying, ‘Oh, you fucking bet I do.’
Chapter Three
John
Outside the chapel, we pose for photos. Kiera looks up at me. She speaks, but quietly, so only I can hear. She says, “You’ll be able to do whatever you want with me.”