CONNOR
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as Saoirse when she walks into St. Paul’s. She’s wearing sapphire blue, and though I know she must have bought the dress before I ever gave her that ring, I can’t help but think of how it matches the stones.
Jacob is at my side to witness the betrothal for me. I grit my teeth when I see Niall walk in after Saoirse is halfway to the altar, and I turn to glare at Graham.
“What the bloody hell is he doing here?”
“Witnessing,” Graham says curtly. “So there can be no doubt on Liam’s side when we return to Boston that this was done correctly and truly.”
I can’t argue with that logic, though a part of me hotly rebels at the idea that any man of Liam’s would be here to witness my betrothal to Saoirse, who Liam so carelessly threw away.
But those are feelings. And from here on out, my survival and that of my men depends on logic, on control, on handling what is to come carefully and without unnecessary emotion.
Even, perhapsespecially, when it comes to Saoirse.
She glides down the aisle towards me, the pearls at her ears and throat shining in the candlelight.Sheshines in the candlelight, glowing as if lit from within, a flush high on her cheekbones that I imagine is for me.
What I don’t imagine is the way she glances at Niall, just once, before she places her hands in mine as we stand before the altar.
I have no reason to think that there’s any cause for jealousy—nor do I have any right to be jealous, after the promises we made to each other on the beach, the agreement that already exists between Saoirse and me.
The burning in my gut is a feeling, nothing more. But it’s a feeling that tells me that out of all the men in the world, Niall is the one I don’t want Saoirse taking to bed after me.
“Dearly beloved—” the priest begins, and I snap back to attention. Saoirse’s hands are slender and cool in mine, her skin dry, her face still and composed as her green eyes meet mine. I can see the certainty in her face, and it soothes me.
If we stick to our agreement, we will make an excellent team. If we can just do that.
“Connor Declan McGregor, is it your intention tonight to pledge your hand to this woman, Saoirse O’Sullivan, with the intent that you will bind yourself to her in holy matrimony?”
I feel Saoirse flinch, ever so slightly, and I know she must be remembering these same words being said once before, when Liam promised himself to her, a vow he never intended to keep. I tighten my hands around hers, catching her gaze with mine, hoping she can see the unsaid promise in my eyes.
I might not be able to offer her love, devotion, or the fidelity of a passionate marriage. But I have made this choice myself, and I will keep it. I won’t break it like Liam did. I wasn’t forced into this.
“Of my own free will,” I say clearly, holding Saoirse’s gaze as I do, “it is, and I will.”
Something like gratitude flickers in her eyes, and I know she understands what I tried to tell her. That I can offer her loyalty if nothing else. That I won’t lie to her or break my vows. It’s for precisely that reason that I won’t offer her promises I can’t or won’t keep.
I have honor, unlike my faithless brother.
“Saoirse Margaret O’Sullivan, do you pledge your hand to Connor McGregor, with the intent to give yourself to him in holy matrimony?”
“I do, and I will,” she says softly.
“Then Connor, you may place the ring on your betrothed’s hand to signify this bond and solemn promise.”
I take the ring out of the box, sliding it onto her finger once again. The diamond and sapphires glitter in the low candlelight of the cathedral, and I hear Saoirse’s soft intake of breath. Just beyond her, I see the satisfaction on Graham’s face, the grim uncertainty on Jacob’s, and what can only be described as stony anger on Niall’s.
The last, I find gratifying.Good. Let him be angry. Let him tell Liam, and let my brother know that I’m coming back to take what is mine, just as I’ve claimed what should have always been mine here, tonight.
“You may kiss your intended to seal your promise,” the priest intones, and I tug Saoirse gently towards me, leaning in. With every fiber of my being, I want to kiss her as hotly and deeply as every other time. I haven’t touched her since we left the beach, but I’ve touched myself several times since then, imagining her. Aching for her. Just the thought of kissing her is enough to make me half-hard, even here in a church.
Which is why I brush my lips against hers, coolly, almost platonically. It’s like no other kiss I’ve ever given her, in that there’s not a shred of passion in it, not a flicker of heat. It’s a kiss to start the marriage we promised each other with, and I see that reflected in her eyes when she pulls back.
I see disappointment, too. But I can’t think about that.
All that’s left after that is to sign the contract. As it’s rolled up and placed safely away, Jacob comes to stand at my elbow. “We’ve planned a celebration for the two of you at the pub after,” he says, glancing at me uncertainly. “I know you’re not perhaps as thrilled as some men might be on the occasion of their engagement, but it’s a reason to celebrate, surely? That and your return home.”
I clap him on the shoulder, my other hand still entwined with Saoirse’s. “I appreciate it,” I tell him firmly. “One last night to get drunk in London. I can’t think of a better way to spend the remainder of the evening.”