“My wedding night.”
Her eyes glitter as she grins. “Let’s get you set up in a change room. He won’t know where to put his eyes with you in this.”
That’s the plan.
Chapter Three
SEAMUS
The church is slowly filling up. The Romanians might be Eastern Orthodox, but they’ve agreed to a Catholic ceremony in our Irish parish church for this wedding.
I tug at the cuffs of my crisp white shirt underneath my navy blue suit. Paddy stands to my left, wearing a matching suit and a grim expression. I can see the rest of my crew on my side of the church, all of them looking like we’re at a funeral, not my wedding.
A silence falls over the church as the Romanians arrive. We kept things small. We don’t need a shoot-out in a fucking church, so there are only about twenty of them. They stalk in, taking their seats along the pews on the other side of the aisle, looking in various states of unease, discomfort, or unhappiness.
Pa arrives, flanked by Darragh and Dermot. He strides confidently up the aisle, embracing me and kissing my cheek.
“I’m proud of ye, son,” he says in a low voice only Paddy and I hear. He nods briskly at me and sits beside Connor and his mother, my Aunt Siobhan, in the front pew.
There’s a shuffling, and the priest steps up behind me as the strains of the wedding march sound out.
“Fucking showtime,” Paddy mutters beside.
I turn my eyes to the doors of the church, where Marius Albescu, head of the Boston Romanian Mafia, enters with his only daughter on his arm.
I’ve never met Marius in person. He’s about five years younger than my father, and unlike Pa, his hair is only just tinged with silver at the temples. The rest is still a rich brown. He has a slight stubble running across his jaw and is handsome in a heavyset way. But my eyes are locked on his daughter. My bride.
I can’t see her face from this distance. It’s obscured by a heavy lace veil finishing at her chin. What I can see is her body in all its glory. The dress is off the shoulder, with lace. It hugs her tits and waist, flaring gently under her ass until it hits the floor, dragging in a slight train.
She’s got a banging body, so it won’t be too much of a chore to perform my husbandly duties. I do wonder about the heavy veil. Maybe she’s fucking ugly under there? No matter. I can do her from behind. And based on her shape in this fitted dress, what a behind it will be.
Once they arrive at the altar, the tension radiating in every line of Albescu’s body becomes noticeable. Interestingly, there’s no tension from the daughter. If anything, she seems calmer than her father.
She turns to him when they arrive, and all I can see is her back, so I focus on that glorious ass. Albescu lifts her veil off her face, settling it behind her head, taking her cheeks, and kissing her four times, twice on each cheek.
When her face is bared to the congregation, there’s a shuffling in the Irish ranks, and out of the corner of my eye, Connor flashes me a thumbs up as he stares at the side of her face.
“Ylenia, fiica mea, sunt atât de mândra de tine. Te iubesc,” Albescu tells his daughter.
Ugh. She won’t be speaking that shite in our house. The woman nods, and they turn to face the altar, Albescu placing her slender hand in mine.
Darragh and my father weren’t kidding. Ylenia Albescu is a stunning woman. Pale skin with masses of dark brown hair pulled back into a simple twist. Her dark eyebrows and high cheekbones cut across her face and frame her deep blue eyes.
Her bottom lip is slightly plumper than her top one, and I have the sudden urge to run my tongue over it. Of course, there’s no way I’m fucking doing that. I don’t kiss my women. Ever.
There’s no expression on her face, and her blue eyes are flat. They flicker briefly over my face as she turns to the priest, her hand lying limply in mine. Yeah, I’m not exactly fucking pumped over this either.
Fuck that shite. She better not be a limp fucking fish in bed. She also better pay more attention to me than some flat-eyed dismissal.
I’m not used to women reacting to me like this. I know I’m a cocky motherfucker, and for a good reason. My way with the ladies is legendary. I have a silver tongue, and when I’m horny, it’s silver tinged with Irish. It drives the ladies fucking mental.
The ceremony is over quickly. The priest has pared it down to the bare minimum required for a legal ceremony. We say the standard vows. She pledges obedience to me without blinking an eye. The register is signed, and Darragh steps forward to provide the second witness's signature as she came without any bridesmaids.
Finally, it’s almost over.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
Fucking hell. I forgot about this part of a wedding ceremony. Couldn’t he have cut this shite out with the rest of it?