A shaky exhale leaves her and she waves her hands, as if her palms are sweaty. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
She’s about to reach for the door handle but I grab hold of her waist, pulling her to me before I viciously kiss her. Claim her. Remind her that I’m the one she was with last night. I’m the one whose diamonds she’s wearing.
I’m the one who gave her that ring on her finger.
We break away from each other at the same time, the both of us breathing heavily. Reaching out, she brushes her finger against the corner of my lips. “My lipstick,” she murmurs, showing me her fingertip that’s colored with the soft pink hue.
“Marked me,” I whisper, smiling at her. “Let’s go, wife.”
Pleasure suffuses her face and I reach past her, opening the door. There’s a man in a suit standing guard, and the moment he spots us, he lifts the microphone he was clutching in his hand and switches it on.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our special guests have finally arrived! Mr. and Mrs. Perry Constantine!”
There is cheering and laughter and glasses being raised in our honor when our guests spot us. I can feel the love and warmth buzzing in this room—and it’s all for me. For Charlotte.
For us.
I also notice the familiar faces mixed among the strangers. Family and friends and business associates. It feels like everyone from the Halcyon offices is here. All of my siblings and their significant others. There are Lancasters there as well, I recognize them thanks to their icy stares and regal expressions.
“Ready to do this?” I ask her.
Her smile is soft, as is the glow in her eyes. “Yes. Let’s go greet our guests.”
***
It was exhausting,talking to everyone who’s at the wedding reception, and finally we get a break and are sitting at our table, surrounded by our wedding party, which is actually quite small. My brothers and their women accompany them, as well as Charlotte’s brothers. Grant actually has a girlfriend—who would tolerate that asshole—and she seems quite taken with him as they snuggle close together at the table, just on the other side of Charlotte.
My wife has already had two full glasses of champagne and not much dinner, but I’m not going to tell her what to do.
Hell, I’m a few drinks in myself. I need to withstand the barrage of questions that have been thrown at us since we walked into the gorgeously decorated ballroom. The Lancasters spared no expense. There are flowers everywhere—fucking every available open spot you see is covered with rich dark flowers. The room is heady with their rich scent.
There are lights strung everywhere, dripping from the ceiling in long ropes. Candles and candelabra scattered all over the tables, their gentle light flickering. The food is rich, the alcohol is flowing and the chandeliers above twinkle and shine down upon us. Like we’re living a goddamn fairy tale.
I’m enjoying it, I can’t lie, but I’m also waiting for the pretense to fall, so to speak. There are Morellis here, beyond the ones involved with our family directly. I recognize their faces. Their dark hair and black, soulless eyes. Their arrogant airs and fake smiles. I’m on guard, waiting for a particular relative of theirs to show his face. To reveal himself to me and my bride.
But so far, there is no sign of Seamus McTiernan anywhere.
“You look ready to cut a bitch,” Winston says as he pulls his chair closer to mine. I’m guessing he’s in the mood for conversation. “And I’m not talking about your beautiful bride, either.”
“No, I definitely don’t want to cut her,” I agree, my gaze sweeping the room as I clutch my drink glass with my fingertips.
“Looking for someone in particular?” Winston lifts his brows in question.
“Don’t say his name out loud.” I send him a death look, quickly glancing over at Charlotte to make sure she didn’t hear us. She’s too engaged in conversation with Grant’s saintly girlfriend to notice us.
“Is he here?” I ask my brother. “Because if he is, I’d like to personally escort him the fuck out.”
Winston chuckles. “Look at you, getting all territorial over a woman you barely know.”
“I know her well enough,” I tell him. “And she’s my wife now. No one touches what’s mine.”
“I haven’t seen him,” my brother says, glancing around the room, his expression impassive. “There are plenty of Morellis here though. Even a couple of McTiernans.”
“I’ll rip his face off if he shows up and even tries to talk to my wife,” I practically snarl before bringing my glass to my lips and draining the last of it.
“He might make an appearance.” Winston sounds amused. As if he wants to see me get violent on my wedding day. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“He’s a ballsy son of a bitch, then,” I mutter, wishing I had another drink.