Chapter 9 #3
A few minutes later, another brother appears. This one is younger. I furrow my brows at the yellowish bruise across his cheekbone.
“Hi, I’m Gavin. The youngest Molloy.” He sticks out his hand. “Congrats. I think.”
Cillian chuckles and I grin, despite myself. “I guess time will tell.”
“Yeah. This whole thing is insane. You know that, right?”
“I’m aware.”
“Just checking.” His eyes flick toward Eamon across the room, then back to me. “Look, I don’t know you. You don’t know me. But I’ll give you one piece of advice for free. Don’t trust my father. Whatever he says, whatever he promises. Just… don’t.”
“And what about Lochlan?”
“Loch’s different. In every way.” He says it simply. Like a fact. “That’s all I’ve got.”
The brothers exchange a look. Then Gavin drifts toward the bar and Cillian follows with a half-wave at me.
I rest one elbow on the bar and lean forward to take another glass of champagne from the bartender.
“Must be nice for him.”
I jump at the intruding voice, almost dropping the crystal flute. Whipping around, my stomach clenches when I see Ronan grimacing into his drink. His voice is low and bitter.
His cold stare ices my blood. “Abandons the family. Builds his little business. And still ends up with the prize,” he growls.
“I’m not a prize, thank you very much,” I say.
“No?” He tilts his head. “Then what are you?”
“Someone you don’t want to underestimate.”
He stares at me. I don’t blink.
“We’ll see.” Then he walks away. I watch him go, my pulse hammering against my throat.
Jesus, there is so much about that guy that puts me on edge. He’s a spiteful prick with a superiority complex. I’ve met plenty of men like him over my career. Crushed them all. He should really beware.
Maybe he thought his sneer and the venom in his voice would scare me, but fuck that. And fuck him.
Lochlan appears at my side. His hand rests on the small of my back and my skin immediately sizzles.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Fine.”
“Liar.” But he doesn’t push. “My father wants to do a toast.”
“Of course he does.”
Eamon stands at the head of the room and clinks his knife to the side of his glass to get everyone’s attention. When he raises his glass, the crowd quiets.
“To the union of two great families,” he says, voice smooth as silk, words curdling my blood. “To the alliance that will make us stronger. To my son and his beautiful bride.”
Everyone drinks and cheers. I barely wet my lips on the rim of the glass.
Lochlan leans in. “Your turn.”
“What?” My eyebrows fly up.
“You have to toast. The bride’s supposed to say something.”
“I wasn’t planning on—”
“Too late.” He nods toward the expectant faces in the room. “They’re waiting.”
I’m going to kill him. Later. When there are fewer witnesses.
I raise my glass. Every eye in the room lands on me.
“To blood and bullshit,” I say. “The foundation of every great empire.”
Dead silence.
Then Cillian laughs. It’s loud but genuine. “Holy shit. I think I love her.”
Lochlan raises his glass to mine, and we clink them together.
He grins. “To blood and bullshit.”
And then we drink.
An hour later, we’re in his car. The city slides by outside the window, glittering lights a blur as we drive through the city.
I’m married.
The ring feels foreign on my finger. Heavy with intent. And so very wrong.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Home.”
“Your home, you mean,” I say.
“Our home.” He glances at me. “For now.”
A deep sigh heaves my chest. I don’t respond. Just stare into the darkness.
I’m married. To a stranger. To a Molloy.
In approximately thirty minutes, we’ll be alone. In his apartment. As husband and wife.
My grandmother’s ring digs into my finger. I twist it. Once. Twice. Until the skin underneath burns.
“Hey.”
I look up at him.
“Whatever you’re thinking right now, it’s going to be okay.” His voice is low and steady, and it calms me the slightest bit. “I meant what I said last night. I’m not here to take over your life. We’ll figure this out together.”
“Together,” I repeat. The word feels strange in my mouth.
“Yeah.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “That’s how allies work.”
Allies. That’s what we agreed to be. Last night, in my office, when he showed up out of nowhere and somehow made me feel less alone.
I don’t trust him. Not completely. Maybe not at all.
But I’m starting to believe he’s not the enemy.
And right now, that’s going to have to be enough.
The car pulls up to a building in Back Bay. It’s sleek and modern, the kind of building that screams money without saying a word.
He pulls into an underground garage and kills the engine.
“Ready?” he asks.
“No.”
“Yeah.” He almost smiles. “Me neither.”
We get out of the car and walk to the elevator, standing side by side in silence as it climbs to the penthouse.
I watch the numbers tick upward and memories of all that’s happened this week explode between my temples like bullets. The gala, my dad, the contract.
And now this. A new home. A new name. A new life I never asked for.
The elevator dings. The doors open. He gestures for me to go first.
I take a breath, square my shoulders, and step into whatever comes next.
For better or worse.