Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
IVY
I ’m getting married today.
That was my first thought as I opened my eyes. But it was when I saw the white gown hanging against the door that my breath caught in my lungs. I blinked several times, my brows knitted in confusion, convinced I was seeing things.
And still, the sophisticated, romantic dress of my dreams stayed put as I stared in utter shock at the replica of my mother’s gown. The same semi-sheer bodice making up the A-line shape, the delicate Chantilly lace appliqué, and glittery misty tulle train that pooled onto the floor of my room from where it hung.
I sat up in the bed, my heart pounding, and spotted a figure sitting on the upholstered chaise lounge to my right: my soon-to-be husband, a shadow of stubble on his beautiful face, watching me with an unreadable expression. I gasped as I took in the bags under his eyes, his split lip, and the purple bruise running the length of his jaw.
“Good morning,” I murmured. When he said nothing, my eyes darted back to the dress. My dream dress. “What happened to you?”
He shrugged. “Wild bachelor party.”
“Oh.”
He nodded to the door. “You like it?”
“I—yes, I do. Very much.” I adjusted the blanket, pulling it around my body. “It looks just like my mother’s.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “That’s because it is.”
My hand flew to my mouth, where it tried and failed to muffle a squeal. My head whipped to Christian.
“How? When?” He didn’t answer. “But my mother’s dress is stored away on our family’s estate. In Ireland .” His stare crept under my skin, flustering me. “Was your bachelor party in Ireland?”
He stood up, his tall frame dominating the room and his bruised jaw hinting at an answer. “Maybe.”
“Please tell me you didn’t.”
If my brothers found him anywhere near our home, they wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot at him.
His non-answer had my stomach fluttering with butterflies. That he would go to such lengths… Oh my God. I just couldn’t believe it. My heart was one more kindness away from melting into a puddle at his feet. Aemon told me one time years ago that if someone did something for you without expecting anything in return, they were a keeper.
“And what do you want from me?” I breathed.
“Nothing.” My gaze coasted down his body and his eyes darkened. “Today, I want you to have the wedding you dreamed about.” Fuck .
“How did you know?”
He smirked, and the confident, borderline cocky man I knew was back. I relished it. “Your Pinterest page.”
Three words, and I was speechless.
This man was hot for me and the proof was piling up.
Our gazes locked, and he must have read the startling realization in my eyes because his eyes darkened and he ran his tongue across his teeth.
After he’d dismissed me at Wynter’s wedding reception, his rejection stung, and I worried I was alone—not to mention delusional—in feeling this chemistry. Yet, it seemed the man was a tad obsessed with me. Maybe it was my vanity or just the woman in me, but I reveled in the power I suddenly felt.
“That was incredibly dumb.” I slid off the bed, wearing nothing but my pink boyshorts and a white tank top, and went to stand in front of the dress. I traced my finger over the layers and layers of silk and tulle and lace and fought back tears. Still facing the back of the door, I whispered, “Thank you.”
His warm, masculine woodsy scent came behind me and my pulse drifted between my legs. I tried to ignore the way Christian invaded my senses and made every one of them fuzzy. It was like a hit of the most powerful drug that you couldn’t resist.
I could hear my heartbeat as I held my breath, the heat of his body at my back. Too close. Too far away.
“I can’t wait to see you in it.” I glanced over my shoulder, at his boyish grin, and almost climbed him right then and there. “I’ll be the one in the best-looking tux, waiting at the altar.”
The sun glimmered between 18th Street and Benjamin Franklin Parkway as the car pulled up to where I’d become Mrs. Christian DiLustro. The Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul, with its massive stone columns and a great dome, gave the illusion that we’d been transported to Rome.
I exited the car, gripping the bouquet in one hand. When my eyes lifted to the church, I almost stumbled over the hem of my dress. At the foot of the steps leading to the church stood my brothers, looking dashing in their tuxedos, their hands tucked into their pockets.
“Aemon, Bren, Caelan…?” I whispered, bewildered.
“Hello, princess,” Bren greeted me.
“You didn’t think we’d miss our only sister’s wedding, did ya?” Caelan drawled, smiling widely.
I let out a squeal and picked up my skirts with my free hand, then ran toward them where they stood in a row, looking dashing in their tuxedos. Aemon lifted me up, my feet dangling in the air as I laughed, tears burning in my eyes.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I sobbed out. “How?”
My brother put me down, sliding his hands back into his pockets and swinging on his heel.
“Your idiot fiancé broke into the house.” It was then I noticed the bruise on Aemon’s cheek. “I figured if he’s willing to risk his life like that, he has to be a better option than Aiden Callahan who has a woman stashed away in his penthouse.” My jaw dropped. “Plus, your soon-to-be husband said you’re doing this willingly. Is that true?”
I nodded. Like my brother said, he’s a better option than Aiden who apparently couldn’t be faithful during the short period.
“Really?” Bren questioned, studying me with hawkeyed attention.
“Yes, really,” I uttered. “Does Christian know you’re here?”
Caelan grinned. “Of course. After we brawled and?—”
“And he fucked up Aemon’s pretty face,” Bren interrupted, flashing me a wink.
“I was going to say Aemon’s ugly face,” Caelan chimed in, humor lacing his words.
“Are you done?” Aemon said to our other brothers, who just shrugged. “Your fiancé invited us, sister.”
“Ignore them,” Bren grumbled. “Now, let’s get you inside before your betrothed loses his shit. Fucker’s unhinged.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s not that bad.” Most of the time.
Aemon and Bren took my arms, each at one side, as Caelan procured a basket from somewhere.
“I’m your flower girl… flower boy… man… Fuck !” He seemed to give up and simply bowed, twirling his arm like some eighteenth-century duke. “Anyhow, I’m at your service.”
“Get in front of us, douchebag,” Aemon muttered. “You got it right the first time, flower girl.”
Caelan flipped him off, then made his way toward the church, launching flowers like they were grenades. My brothers and I shared an amused look as we followed him inside, the scents of sage, frankincense, and myrrh—rich, smoky, and slightly bitter—filling my nostrils. The combination of scents—citrus and pine—brought me back to when Athair used to drag us to Sunday service when we were young. I smiled and took it as a sign that he was here with me, happy, even though he’d envisioned someone else waiting at the end of this aisle.
As I moved farther along the pews, the man with the piercing blue eyes came into view, his towering frame like a target for my thumping heart. I found myself drawn to his darkness—to him.
My steps grew in sync with the soft piano notes and my heartbeats. My clammy hands gripped my wedding flowers, white roses wrapped in green ivy, while our families and friends stood on either side of the church, their eyes boring into me.
But I was aware of only one set.
The sun’s rays shone through the stained-glass windows and stopped before his feet, leaving him swathed in shadows that he alone seemed to rule.
I struggled to breathe as he watched me walk toward him, pure bliss flowing through my veins. This—us—hadn’t started in a conventional way, but I couldn’t help feeling like it was everything I wanted and needed. We had all the time in the world to learn about each other, and I was choosing to see the promise in today.
I reached him and he rasped, “All mine, angel.”
We stood face-to-face, the priest reciting our vows. I tried to give the white-haired man with kind eyes my full attention, feeling myself flush under Priest’s gaze.
The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur: Christian making minor corrections to our vows, rolling his hand to gesture for the priest to wrap up the proclamations of good versus evil, and then repeating our lines and uttering our I do s. Finally, it was time to exchange rings.
A rumble of satisfaction traveled up his throat as he slid a ring on my finger, marking me as his. “You like it?” he asked, brushing a thumb across my cheek.
I blushed again under the intensity of his gaze, the tenderness of his touch. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I whispered, “It’s perfect.”
It was a white gold Claddagh ring with an emerald crown that marked my heritage and some of his, although I suspected he only picked it because it was front and center on my Pinterest page.
“You may kiss the bride,” came a raspy voice.
My heart stilled.
We had yet to share a kiss. The only time we’d been intimate, Christian’s lips were nowhere near my face as he savagely devoured me in a dark hallway.
I held my breath as his strong, rough palms cupped my face. A violent, stormy blue swirled among the clouds as he leaned closer.
One breath… two… three… and his lips brushed against the corner of my lips. The touch was light as a feather, the disappointment heavy.
The crowd stood in unison, clapping and cheering, while I tried to understand what just happened.
Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?