Under the watchful eye of my father and the congregation, I press my lips against hers. She doesn’t move. Stands as still as a fucking statue, her eyes wide open. Not to be outdone, I keep mine open too, staring straight into her eyes until I step away.
“May I present Mr. and Mrs. Seamus Fitzpatrick,” the priest announces to the congregation to muted applause.
The photographer takes exactly five photographs of me and my new bride on the church steps. Exactly as I specified. One for my father’s desk and four to be placed strategically around my house.
“Come on.”
Closing my fingers around her slender wrist, I stride over to the SUV parked at the curb, not bothering to look around to see if she is keeping pace.
I’m not a complete asshole. I hold the door open for her as she scrambles in, sliding in after. Paddy stares morosely out the windscreen in the front passenger seat, refusing to look at the woman. Can’t say I blame him. Fucking Romanians.
Liam is driving, twisting in his seat to eye her, a grin stretching across his face.
“Ylenia, I’m Liam.”
“Ee-len-ya,” she says in clipped tones. He tries again, still fucking butchering it. I bite back a smirk as she sighs, a pained look on her face.
“Tiggy,” she says, sounding resigned. “Just call me Tiggy.”
I have no idea what it is about her giving us an easier fucking name, but it snaps something in Paddy. His head whips around, anger and hatred blazing out of his eyes as he glares at her.
“What did your father say to you at the altar, Tiggy?”
Her lips flatten into a thin line, a sure sign she is about to refuse to tell us. My own lips flatten as well. She pledged her fucking loyalty to me in front of God twenty minutes ago. Refusing to tell me something isn’t a great start. I reach over, intent on plucking up her wrist. But before I can, she glances over at me, acquiescence in her eyes.
“That he was proud of me. That he loved me,” Tiggy replies in the same flat tone she used throughout the ceremony.
She hates that we made her share it. I can see it in her face. She hates that we took away the last private moment between her and her father.
I feel a surge of smugness that she told us anyway. That she obeyed the command in my eyes. Good. It will make this much easier if she does what she’s told, even if her pliability is grudging.
The door opens, and Tiggy glances over in surprise. Like she didn’t notice we had pulled up at the front of the hotel. The doorman smiles at her. Everyone loves a bride, even if she is the spawn of motherfucking Albescu.
I vault out of the SUV, round it, and start up the stairs. Jesus fuck. The woman. Stopping, I turn, raising an eyebrow at her as she thanks the doorman for helping her out of the vehicle and turns to me. She catches sight of my face and hurries over to me.
As she climbs the stairs, she reaches out for some fucking reason. Ignoring her hand, I turn, remembering to moderate my pace to her smaller steps as we walk through the hotel lobby to the ballroom, Paddy and Liam flanking us.
Her hand drops to her side, brushing over the skirt of her dress. Whispers and smiles follow our progress through the hotel. As I said, everyone loves a bride.
I relax when I step into the ballroom, familiar faces all around us. Beside me, Tiggy tenses for the same reason. From the look on her face, nobody bothered to fucking tell her this reception is just for the Irish. If we’re going to be drinking, we’re not inviting our fucking enemies. Marriage or no marriage. Truce or no truce.
A flash of panic crosses her face, and I raise an eyebrow at her. Straightening her back, she banishes the alarm, lifting her chin.
Everyone turns to us, and only about half the smiles look forced. At least the women, led by Aunt Siobhan, are beaming. What is it about weddings that get women so…happy?
Even though everyone here knows this is simply a sham of a marriage to bring a truce with the fucking Romanians, I’m expected to act in a certain way. Pa is watching me, so I can’t stride over to the bar and get wasted with the lads.
Biting back an annoyed sigh, I lift my hand, not looking to see if she will take it. She better fucking take it. She does, allowing me to lead her into the room and up to the head table, where my father and Connor are already seated beside my seat, with Darragh at the other end of the table.
Paddy will sit between him and Tiggy. He has already expressed his disgust at the seating arrangements, but Pa pulled rank, and Paddy fell in line. He breaks away from us, striding to the bar to slam back a whiskey.
Ignoring Paddy and the glare Pa casts his way, I wait until Tiggy takes her seat and drop into mine, immediately reaching for the glass of champagne in front of me and draining it.
Pa raises an eyebrow, shooting me a warning glance as he stands, lifting his own champagne glass. Paddy slips into his seat, pointedly edging his chair away from Tiggy, closer to Darragh. I stifle my snort at his obvious aversion to her.
“Seamus and Ylenia.” Pa turns to us, holding his glass out in a toast.“May the lilt of Irish laughter lighten every load. May the mist of Irish magic shorten every road. May ye taste the sweetest pleasures that fortune ere bestowed, and may all yer friends remember all the favors ye are owed.Mo sheacht mbeannacht ort!”
Pa leads the toast, smiling down at Tiggy and taking his seat. Paddy is slow to take his feet, casting a dark look over Tiggy and a meaningful one over me.