Chapter 6 Maeve
MAEVE
Mrs. Brady's hands are shaking as she tightens the laces of my dress.
"You look beautiful, Maeve," she says, her voice thick with tears she's trying to hold back. "Just beautiful."
I stare at myself in the full-length mirror and barely recognize the woman looking back.
The dress is as perfect as it was in the bridal shop—more so, even, now that I’m styled and accessorized like a bride.
My hair is styled in soft waves, pinned back on one side with pins tipped with pearls.
I did my makeup, and it helps with my paleness and the shadows under my eyes, making me look less waifish.
I have pearl studs set in gold in my ears, a pearl bracelet at my wrist, both gifts from Mrs. Brady, who is essentially standing in for my mother, my sister, a friend.
For any woman who I should have with me today and don’t.
Looking in the mirror, I can see the fear in my eyes. The dress and makeup can't hide that.
"Thank you," I whisper, because Mrs. Brady has been crying on and off all morning, and I'm afraid if I say anything more, I'll start crying too.
"Your mother would be so proud," Mrs. Brady continues, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "You look just like her on her wedding day."
The first part I’m not so sure about. I used to think that if my mother cared about me at all, she wouldn’t have left.
That doesn’t entirely match up with the memories I have of her—I remember feeling as if she loved me—but that was what my father and Siobhan and Desmond always said, that if she loved us, she would have stayed.
Now, I’m not certain of that. After all, if I could run, I would. If I could escape this life I was born into, I would. Maybe she just couldn’t take it any longer. Maybe she found a way out.
I just wish she would have taken me with her.
There's a knock on the bedroom door. "Miss Connelly? The car is here." It’s one of the guards—a younger one from the sound of his voice—and I feel myself shrinking inside.
The car. The church. The wedding.
Sean.
My stomach lurches, and for a moment I think I might be sick. But I breathe through it, forcing the nausea down.
"I'm ready," I lie.
Mrs. Brady helps me down the stairs, her hand on my elbow to steady me, and out to the waiting car.
It's an elegant black limo, and I’m grateful for the old tradition that says Sean shouldn’t see me before the wedding, because I know it will be empty.
I’ll have a little time to compose myself, at least. The driver opens the door without meeting my eyes, and I slide into the back seat carefully, arranging the dress around me.
The door shuts, and I half expect to hear the click of the locks, just to keep me from escaping.
As if there’s anywhere for me to go.
It’s beginning to drizzle again, which feels appropriate. I stare out at the leaden sky as we drive toward the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, trying to breathe normally, telling myself I can do this.
I can walk down that aisle. I can say the vows. I can become Sean Flannery's wife.
I just have to survive the next few hours. Then tonight, then tomorrow. Then the next day.
One moment at a time. One day at a time. For the rest of my life.
The car stops at the curb in front of the steps, and guards step forward with umbrellas to shield me and my dress from the rain.
I almost laugh, because what I need to be shielded from isn’t a little bit of wet.
It’s men like the Council. Men like Sean.
Men who want to control my life because of my name, because of what I’ve inherited.
There’s no one to protect me from them.
The driver opens my door, and I step out carefully.
The church is stunning—historic architecture, stained glass, framed against the grey sky and wet with rain like something out of a painting.
I struggle to breathe as I walk slowly forward under the canopy of umbrellas, willing my hands not to shake.
This isn’t the church I’m familiar with, and I’m once again grateful that Father McCleary is marrying us, that there will be one thing to anchor myself to that isn’t strange and frightening.
A red-haired woman in a powder-blue suit is standing in the vestibule, tapping at something on a miniature iPad.
She looks up at the sound of the doors opening, waving away the guards as I walk in.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t get her wet closing those umbrellas!
You did well so far, don’t fuck it up now! ”
I see the harried look on her face as the guards scatter back and close the umbrellas well away from me, see the bouquet of burgundy roses and greens lying next to her, and realize this must be Meredith.
She looks at me, takes me in, and nods. “Are you ready?”
No. I'm not ready. I'll never be ready.
"Yes," I say.
“Good.” She grabs my shoulders, steering me toward the double doors in front of me, and thrusts the bouquet into my hands. “You look beautiful. A bit old-fashioned, but hell, it suits the venue. So you managed to do that right, at least.”
At least? Was there something I did wrong?
I don’t have a chance to ask, because Meredith is fussing around my dress, getting the skirt to lie just so—and then I hear music swelling beyond the doors, and they open out into the cavernous, gleaming interior of the massive church.
As I step forward, the music filling my ears, my fingers white-knuckling the bouquet in my hands, I can see down the aisle to where Sean stands at the altar.
He's wearing a black suit, perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and tall frame.
White shirt, black tie, no boutonniere. He shaved for the occasion, which only serves to make the scar down his cheek and notching into one side of his jaw more pronounced.
His hair is styled smoothly back away from his face. His face is completely expressionless.
He is, I realize as I stare at him, forcing my feet to put one in front of the other again and again, devastatingly handsome.
Or at least I think he is. I haven’t had the opportunity to compare many men and decide what it is that I’m attracted to.
But there’s something about him that makes me think that no one could look at this man and think that he’s anything but gorgeous.
His green eyes lock on me as I walk toward him, and something flashes across his face too quickly for me to identify. Then it's gone, replaced by that familiar cold mask.
I swear I can hear the sound of my footsteps, the pounding of my heart, over the music.
The church is full—associates of the family, probably, people my father and Desmond would have recognized.
I know very few of them. I see Ronan, sitting dutifully near the front behind the councilmembers, Leila on his other side.
Next to him, I see a flash of copper hair and realize with shock that Annie is sitting here, a dark-haired man next to her.
As I approach, she turns to look at me, and I see a flash of sympathy on her pretty face.
Guilt throbs in my chest. Of all the people to feel sympathy for anyone in my family, I can’t imagine it would be her. I don’t feel deserving of it, even though I had nothing to do with my brother’s crimes.
Connor McBride looks satisfied. Liam Fitzgerald looks as if he’s enjoying this a little too much.
And Brendan Kearney is looking at me with a barely disguised lust that makes my stomach turn over as I walk past the people here to watch me sign my life away and up to where the Wolf of Dublin is waiting for me.
Where I’m going to step into a future I can't predict and don't want.
When I reach the altar, Sean turns to face me fully. Up close, I can see the tension in his jaw, the tightness around his eyes. He doesn't look happy. He doesn’t look like he wants this at all. He looks like a man about to face an executioner.
It’s oddly comforting. He might not be an ally, but we at least have that in common.
Father McCleary begins the ceremony. His voice is familiar and comforting, speaking words I've heard at countless weddings. Words about love and commitment, and the sanctity of marriage. Words that feel hollow given our circumstances, a homily not meant for us.
"Marriage is a sacred covenant," Father McCleary says, his eyes moving between Sean and me. "A joining of two souls before God. It requires love, respect, and a commitment to cherish and support one another through all of life's trials."
I feel Sean shift beside me. Is he as uncomfortable with this as I am? Does he feel the weight of these words, the gap between what marriage should be and what ours is going to be?
"Sean and Maeve have chosen to enter into this covenant today," Father McCleary continues. "If anyone here knows any reason why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace."
The silence that follows is deafening. I mentally plead for someone to speak up.
Hope someone will object, even though I know no one will.
Everyone here is connected to the Council in some way.
Everyone knows their word is law, and their word has bound Sean and me, stronger than any priest or vow ever could.
No one is going to say a word to help me.
No one does.
"Then let us continue." Father McCleary looks at Sean. "Sean Joseph Flannery, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"
Sean's jaw clenches. His eyes are on Father McCleary, not on me, and I can see the muscle jumping beneath the scar. For a moment, I think he might refuse. Might finally say no to this farce of a marriage.
"I do," he says, his voice rough and low.