Chapter 4 #2
"The Council assigned me to her," Sean interrupts bluntly. "That's how we met." He tilts his head as he looks at Father McCleary. “You are aware of the Irish Council? From Dublin?”
Father McCleary winces. "I see. And yes, I am aware of them. How long have you known each other?"
“Three days,” Sean answers, before I can speak. “And that’s a bit loose with the definition, if I’m being honest. I’ve spoken to the lass once, when I first met her three days ago. Briefly.”
Is he trying to make this difficult? My fingers are twisted so tightly together I feel like I’m going to pinch a nerve. My cheeks feel uncomfortably warm. Everything about this meeting is ridiculous, and I know Father McCleary is as aware of that as I am.
"Three days," Father McCleary repeats, his tone carefully neutral. He looks at me. "Maeve, are you entering this marriage of your own free will?"
I feel Sean's eyes on me fully for the first time since he entered the room. The weight of his gaze makes my skin prickle. I know what I'm supposed to say. I know what answer keeps me safe, keeps me under the Council's protection.
I lied earlier, when I was alone, when it was just Father McCleary and me. But suddenly, with Sean’s hard gaze on me, in front of the priest who baptized me and gave me my first Communion, who buried my father and my sister and my brother, I can’t force the lie out.
"I'm entering it because it's the only choice I have," I say quietly, not looking at either of them. Fear trickles through me as I say the words aloud, but I’m glad I did. I don’t want Sean to have any excuse, I realize, to claim he didn’t know I was unwilling.
Any reason to do what he undoubtedly will to me while claiming I said in front of a man of God that I was here of my own choice.
The silence that follows is heavy. When I finally dare to glance at Sean, his expression is unreadable. Something flickers in his eyes—anger? Guilt?—but it's gone before I can identify it.
"Mr. Flannery," Father McCleary says carefully. "What are your intentions toward Maeve? What kind of husband do you intend to be?"
Sean leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. "The kind who keeps her alive. That's what I was sent here to do."
"And is that all?"
"That's all that matters."
My stomach twists. Put like that, it seems almost noble. But there’s nothing about this man that makes me think he’d do anything out of the goodness of his heart. There’s something more to this, some reason he’s sitting here, clearly as unwilling as I am, but going along with it all.
The thought of what the Council could possibly have on a man like this to force him into a marriage he doesn’t want is terrifying.
"I see." Father McCleary makes a note in his book. "And have you discussed the expectations of the marriage? Living arrangements, finances, the physical relationship—"
"No," I say quickly, my face heating. I can't have this conversation. Not here, not with Father McCleary, not with Sean glaring at the priest like he’s never been angrier in his life to be in a meeting.
"These things need to be discussed," Father McCleary insists gently. "Marriage is a partnership. You need to understand what each of you expects—"
"I'll live in her house," Sean interrupts. "I'll manage the security and handle the business interests the Council wants protected. That's what's expected of me."
"And the personal aspects of marriage?" Father McCleary presses. "The intimacy, children—”
There’s a heavy silence. My cheeks feel like they’re burning. I want to disappear into the floor and never emerge.
“The marriage will be consummated,” Sean says finally. “And the Council has made it clear they’d like a Connelly heir out of this union.”
“Children.” Father McCleary nods. “They are a blessing, and very much to be desired. How soon do you hope to conceive? And how will you raise your children? I understand you live in Dublin, Mr. Flannery. Will you ask Maeve to relocate, or remain here in Boston at her family home? How many children do you hope to have?”
“Father, I haven’t thought about—” I start to say, but once again, Sean speaks, his voice flat and hard.
“I’ve been told to make sure an heir is conceived as soon as possible.
The children will be raised however Maeve wants.
If the first one is a girl, we keep trying until there’s a boy.
Those are my orders.” He pauses. “I was told to stay here in Boston with her. If those orders change, we’ll deal with it then. ”
Father McCleary’s mouth is a thin line. “You seem to be a man who follows orders very clearly, Mr. Flannery. Man’s orders, that is. What about God’s?”
“Well,” Sean begins, his mouth twitching. “He hasn’t spoken to me recently, but Connor McBride did, so I’ll be following those instructions until I hear otherwise.”
A small, sharp laugh bursts from me. I can’t help it. It’s the first humor I’ve ever heard from Sean, and it’s so startling that I can’t stop the sound from coming out. I look over at him, alarmed, searching for some humor in his cold face, but there’s none. He’s not looking at me at all.
Father McCleary pauses. “Are you a man of faith, Mr. Flannery?”
“I’m a man who believes in what I can control and see,” Sean says flatly. “I don’t worry about what’s beyond that. It’s out of my hands.”
“I see.” The priest makes another note in his book, and I twist my fingers together again, feeling smaller by the minute.
This feels less like a counseling session and more like Father McCleary is interrogating Sean, but what else could it be, really?
It’s not as if this marriage is a traditional one by any means.
“And do you intend to be faithful to Miss Connelly?” Father McCleary asks.
I can’t help but look at Sean. A wife shouldn’t want her husband to be adulterous, but all I can think is that if he has other outlets, he might leave me alone except when necessary.
Just the thought of having to sleep with him at all is terrifying, but the idea of being subject to all his potential desires, things that I don’t even know about or fully understand…
“Yes,” Sean says flatly, and I want to slide down in my chair.
“And what about finances? You’re inheriting quite the fortune, Mr. Flannery—”
“I’ll manage it as instructed.”
I swallow hard. Soon, this terrifying man will control everything. My life, my house, my money—all things I’ve never had any say over anyway, but for him to be the one in charge now… I feel faintly dizzy, sitting here taking this all in as it becomes more real by the minute.
Father McCleary looks between us, his expression deeply troubled. "I've married many couples in my years as a priest. Some were love matches, some were arrangements. But I've never seen two people look more miserable about the prospect of marriage than you two."
"Then maybe you should refuse to marry us," Sean says, something challenging in his voice.
"Maybe I should," Father McCleary agrees. "But I suspect that would only make things worse for Maeve. At least this way, I can ensure the vows are said properly. Before God, if not before witnesses who care."
Sean shrugs. “Whatever you say, Father.”
He spends the next hour asking us more questions we can barely answer.
About our values, our faith, our understanding of marriage as a sacrament.
Sean answers in short, clipped sentences, and I answer in whispers.
It's the most excruciating hour of my life. By the end of it, I can tell that Father McCleary is no more assured that this marriage is a good idea. But I can also tell that he’s picked up on the fact that it’s going to happen one way or another.
I know he’s protecting me by going along with it, despite his feelings on the matter, and I appreciate it more than I can say aloud in front of Sean.
When it's finally over, and we're dismissed, Sean is out the door before I can even gather my coat. I watch him stride across the parking lot to a black Range Rover, as brusquely as if he can’t wait to be gone. He doesn't look back.
Father McCleary touches my shoulder gently. "Maeve, if you need help—"
"I don't," I say, because what help could he offer? He can’t make it so that I have the things I need to start a life on my own. He can’t keep the Council from coming after me. "Thank you, Father. I'll see you at the ceremony."
I walk out to the waiting SUV, sliding into the back as the door is opened for me. Through the window, I can see Sean's Range Rover still in the parking lot. He's on his phone, his expression hard.
He looks angry. At what? At me? At the situation? At being trapped in a marriage he clearly doesn't want?
After a moment, he ends the call and drives away without a glance in my direction. And as my own car starts to roll out of the parking lot, I feel my stomach sink down to my toes.
I can’t imagine any possible way that this is going to turn out for the better. I’m trapped, with no way out, in an arrangement with a man who clearly hates me.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
—
I don’t see Sean for another three days, until we’re called into Father McCleary’s office again, this time with Connor McBride and Liam Fitzgerald there as witnesses, to sign the betrothal contract.
It’s not as if I expected a ring and a proposal, but staring at the stack of papers that have much more to do with what Sean’s agreeing to than what I am is another cold dash of reality.
Sean is dressed similarly to both of the other times I’ve seen him—dark jeans, a sweater, a leather jacket.
Once again, he barely looks at me, sinking into a chair and taking the papers handed to him.
He reads through them thoroughly, then looks at me before reaching for a pen to sign and handing me the stack.