He raises his almost empty champagne glass, glowering as he forces the words out through gritted teeth.
“Go n-éirí an bóthar leat!”
Draining his glass, he drops back into his seat. There is some murmuring and laughter in the crowd as people toast. I catch Pa’s glare. Jesus fuck. Paddy needs to watch himself. I need to do some damage control for his out-of-control arse.
Shooting him a glare, I shove to my feet, raising my glass and grinning out at the crowd.
“Short and sweet. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a man of few words like our Paddy.”
Laughter greets my words, and Pa looks appeased. Thank fuck.
“Sure, and I’m glad to share my wedding day with such wonderful people. You’ve made it a day to remember, even though it’s not over yet. I look forward to sharing good craic and a drink with every one of you. I’ll see you at the bar!Sliánte!”
As I drain my glass, the crowd roars their approval, the volume increasing as I hold the empty flute up to salute them again. Pa’s eyebrows are raised as I take my seat, but he shrugs, turning to speak with Connor. Thank fuck that is over.
The waiters hover, ready to bring out the first course. I think they were caught out by how short the speeches were, but I don’t give a fuck. Let’s eat. I want to get drunk with the lads.
As soon as the three courses are out of the way, I’m on my feet, Paddy and Connor following, leaving Tiggy to her own devices.
Darragh stands and moves to Connor’s seat, engaging my father in conversation as Tiggy remains surrounded by empty chairs, smiling tightly as she accepts another glass of champagne from the waiter.
TIGGY
I am left alone, ignored, at my wedding reception. My father and none of my guests have been invited. The enemy surrounds me. My new tribe.
My husband is standing across the room, surrounded by his crew. At least, that’s who I assume they are. They are all similar in age, yet all seem to defer to him. They have to be his crew.
They’re drinking, laughing, and all studiously ignoring me. I have heard whispers of Seamus Fitzpatrick before. You've heard of him if you are involved even slightly in the Boston Underworld. His crew is lethal and feared.
The man himself is said to be arrogant, violent, and cruel. I get that. I can see it in his face and the way he holds himself. The innate confidence of a man who thinks he’s untouchable.
I’ve seen them many times before. Hell, I grew up with them. But there’s something else about Seamus Fitzpatrick. More than other arrogant mobsters I’ve met, there’s somethingdarkin his eyes, and it’s unnerving.
My husband is also the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. I hadn’t been expecting that. I knew about his legendary talent with the ladies, but all the rumors attributed that to his Irish charm and his silver tongue. Not his looks.
While I had been hoping for some kind of spark between us, I hadn’t been expecting how my body reacts when he touches me. It feels like every nerve ending in my body is a livewire. I almost shiver every time his hand or arm brushes against me.
I should resent him for it, the way he clearly resents my existence. But I can’t. Surely it’s a good thing that simply smelling his aftershave turns me on. It certainly makes the whole…consummation…thing more bearable. Hell, maybe even pleasurable. Perhaps I will get my mind-blowing orgasm tonight.
My eyes trail over him as he looks everywhere in the room except at me. That’s fine by me. If he’s ignoring me, I can study him uninterrupted.
His light brown hair is artfully tousled, his jaw strong and covered with a five o’clock shadow of brown stubble to match his hair. Heavy brown brows frame his dark brown eyes, and he is tall and broad-shouldered, tapering down to a slim waist.
He has a fighter's build, and everything about him screams sexiness and danger. Exactly the opposite of the guys I normally go for. I almost snort into my champagne at the thought of comparing 90s boy band Ant to Seamus’s smoldering sexiness.
He’s a player of the highest order. I bet he charms his way into panties and walks away the moment he pulls out. Well, he better fucking wrap up tight because he’s not putting his dick inside me raw if it’s been inside other women that way.
I have no illusions about monogamy in this marriage. His monogamy, at least. I have to be faithful. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. The thought makes it easier to approach this as a business arrangement that might give me some orgasms.
I’m still studying Seamus as another glass of champagne appears before me, even though no waiters have passed by.
A solid body drops into the seat beside me. The source of the champagne. Glancing over, I recognize him as one of Seamus’s men, who I have been staring at all night.
I’m not sure when he left the group across the room, but I clearly missed it. He’s good-looking, in a rough, menacing way. Well, that’s not true. He’s handsome in a golden way. Sandy blonde hair, blonde stubble, and a slight tan on his skin. He just exudes menace somehow.
“I’m Niall Byrne,” he introduces himself, and my insides go cold.
Niall Byrne. The Reaper of the Boston Irish Mafia. He’s their hitman. And now he’s sitting so close our shoulders are almost brushing. The quiet air of menace is starting to make a shitload more sense.