5. Riley
Chapter 5
Riley
Untangling myself from Harper’s wedding dress takes fifteen minutes by itself. Getting into her reception dress takes the same amount of time.
Not because this dress is even one third as complicated to climb into as that giant lace carnival tent I walked down the aisle in, but because I need the time to convince myself to leave the dressing room in what is essentially a long white slip.
At first, I thought someone stole Harper’s reception outfit from the garment bag. Surely, my sister hadn’t planned to attend her wedding reception in this very naked, damn near see-through silk nightgown.
But then, I remember who my sister is.
Ms. Look-At-Me.
A halter top that plunges to a deep V. A completely open back. From my shoulders to my waistline, just centimeters above my butt crack, there’s zero fabric.
I’ve never gone out feeling so naked in all my life.
Don’t even get me started on the second pair of death-trap heels Harper chose for this sexy number. I’m very tempted to go barefoot and not even bother with the shoes. But the dress is too long.
With my luck, I’d trip, rip the thing fully open, and flash half the attendees. The odds aren’t much better once I strap myself into the matching shoes, but at least I could fall and break an ankle without completely exposing myself.
Probably.
By the time I totter down the purple, carpeted ramp that leads from this dressing room to an entrance of the reception hall, I gather the party’s in full swing.
Good. Maybe I’ll be able to sneak into the mix without too much fanfare.
I wrap my palm around the handle and draw the door back before I can change my mind. Within three seconds of stepping into the room, an optic white spotlight hits me. I resist the urge to fall against the wall like I’ve been physically struck by the force of the beam.
Raucous applause deafens me.
“Please welcome Mrs. Finn Gallagher!” Someone shouts into a microphone. I make a mental note to beat that person senseless later on, whoever they are.
Shit.
Why did I think I could, as the bride, sneak into this reception unnoticed? I should just be grateful Harper didn’t plan to arrive at her reception on a horse.
The way my heart flaps around in my chest has me worried for my cardiovascular health. My cheeks ache from the smile plastered on my face, and my body is overheated despite my bare back.
Is death from self-consciousness a thing?
I inch down the corridor created by applauding wedding guests in every direction. I’d bolt if I could, but this is as fast as I can go in these shoes.
The good news is I can breathe and move easily in Harper’s dress.
The bad news is this ivory silk sheath hugs and reveals my body in every imaginable way. I’m a walking billboard in this eye-catching, attention-stealing, jaw-dropper of a gown.
I resist the great urge to cringe away from the invasive stares of reception guests all around me. This is what I used to hate most about visiting the Gallagher clubs. The lascivious way men watched the women who worked there.
It came with the territory of the business this family does, but still, I despised the lewd, lustful gazes. Being undressed by the greedy glint in a man’s eyes never leads anywhere good, at least not in my limited personal experience.
Men can keep their attention to themselves. I’m happy in the background, where I can breathe. For Harper, I guess it’s the opposite. This is the place where she breathes easiest, when every pair of eyes in the room is glued to her.
Finally, the spotlight heating my body dims enough for me to take in the reception hall, and the applause dies down with it, allowing me to better see and hear what’s happening around the room.
A massive, twinkling five-layer chandelier dangles from the ceiling. Ivory silk panels the walls. Round, ten-seat tables, lined with snow-white tablecloths and plush little upholstered chairs abound. Colorful, gorgeous miniature flower arrangements and delicate tented place cards with guest names written in calligraphy adorn each table.
The dance floor is a laminate wood square, positioned ahead of a shallow stage covered in elaborate flower displays and wedding gifts.
As soon as things get back to normal—meaning the attention in the room is redistributed so that everyone isn’t staring at me at once—I learn that this reception is a merry-go-round of everything I hate most.
All of Harper’s many admirers are present. Dozens of foot soldiers, associates, former classmates… Almost everyone we’ve ever known or grown up with is here, and the looks people give me range from excitement to jealousy to lust. I’ve entered a shark pool wearing a shark bait costume.
The only connection I have left to my sanity is my curious nature. My inner informant.
You ask too many questions.
Something my father often told me. One of several reasons he always favored Harper. She always says, “Yes,” and I always ask, “Why?”
From my childhood, I’ve been a curious person, and in a world where women are meant to shut up and fall in line, my questions didn’t go over very well.
I’ve been yelled at, degraded, and sidelined many times in my life as a result, but a desire for knowledge is a fundamental, irrepressible part of who I am, and in these dizzying moments, as I smile and receive well wishes and kindness on Harper’s behalf, my insatiable hunger for understanding buoys me.
And the inquisitive side of me insists something is wrong with this picture. Besides the obvious.
Harper left a note. I confirmed her handwriting myself. Sure, a kidnapper could have forced her to write that note, but my gut says she’s on the run. I don’t know why she bolted, but there are any number of legitimate reasons, and honestly, a woman trying to escape this world is a sign of sanity, not distress.
Her disappearance is not the most suspicious part of today.
What’s most suspicious is the way my father’s acting.
I scan the room until I spy him talking to Shane. The mood between them appears jovial, but I can’t shake the feeling. Something’s off.
In the Gallagher Family—a title used interchangeably with Irish Kings these days—no big decisions are made in a vacuum. Just about everything involves the input of Shane’s innermost circle and his ultimate approval, especially if there’s some kind of problem. If a deal falls through or is jeopardized in any way, Shane should be the first to know, followed by Thomas.
Why, then, did my father alone await me in Harper’s dressing room when I arrived at the church this morning? Why was he the only one to receive Finn and me when we pulled up to the reception hall?
For some reason, my mind drifts to the day of Harper and Finn’s engagement party, when I ran into Charlene, the former nightclub worker turned abductee. I’m still no closer to understanding what happened that day, because no one seems to be talking about the missing drugs.
A renewed sense of uneasiness swarms in my gut.
It’s the same frustration one feels when the pieces of a puzzle don’t fit together the way they should.
“Please welcome to the dance floor, for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Finn Gallagher!” Cheers and clapping drown out every other sound in the room as my heart leaps into my mouth.
My head jerks up toward the stage where Rory has gotten ahold of a microphone. Don’t tell me he’s the emcee…I can’t get revenge on Shane’s top tech guy.
I throw back the remaining champagne in my flute. With two glasses down, a fuzzy, bubbly buzz has begun to spread through my body.
A waiter retrieves the empty glass from my fingers. Everyone ushers me toward the dance floor at the center of the room with their heavy, happy stares.
Finn’s there, waiting for me.
His dark, scary eyes are distracted, his impatient mouth pressed down into a firm line. I take in his height and his strapping, brawny body, toned and taut from more violence than I care to know about.
He’s practically a different guy in his unbuttoned tuxedo shirt, a hint of chest hair peeking out from that second button. He’s rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, exposing burly, veined forearms that are too sexy for his own good.
Long story short? He’s so devastatingly handsome that I almost forget to breathe. And that echo of my old weakness terrifies me.
There’s no way I can dance with him. What if he feels my heart racing? What if he notices my trembling arms?
The closer I get to him, the more things I notice. Like the fact that I can tell I’m not the only one who’s taken the edge off. The tension in those rock-hard shoulders has eased some, like he’s had at least a few fingers of whiskey.
The fact that a man this sexy is waiting for me, even though we’re only pretending, is overwhelming in more ways than one.
Having all eyes on me is disconcerting. But having Finn’s attention is something else. An unexpected, mind-boggling, frightening, and exhilarating experience.
I don’t know what to do with myself.
What I do know is I’m in trouble. I’d almost forgotten I’m half-naked until Finn’s powerful, weighted gaze rakes over my body, tracking every inch of me from my forehead all the way down to my toes and back up again.
I swallow so hard, I feel it there . In that throbbing place between my thighs.
On a scale of one to ten, my self-consciousness is a fifteen as his eyes bore into mine, steady and unflinching. He’s fearless, but hell if I’m not afraid of him. If he has this effect on me from several feet away, what will happen when only centimeters separate our bodies?
Right now, Finn’s noticing more of me than I’d ever want to show off in a room like this. It’s got to be what I’m wearing. The leaves-nothing-to-the-imagination dress. Why else would he give me those fuck-me eyes?
Yep, it’s the dress. I’m sure of it. Either that, or he’s a damn good actor.
Heart hammering, I force my feet to keep moving toward him, stopping a foot in front of him. “Let’s get this over with.” I keep my voice low. “And don’t even think about putting your hands anywhere they don’t belong.”
His lips kick up in a half grin as he closes the gap between us and leans down to whisper in my ear. “Oh, I’m thinking about it.”
I want to kick myself in the face for the way my body reacts to his words. “You’re engaged to my sister, asshole.” And you’d do well to remember that, too, Riley Brennan.
He swallows, and I track the movement. “Better play nice, or everyone will think the newlyweds are having their first argument as a married couple.”
“Can’t have that, can we?”
“No.” When his dangerous hands settle on my waist, I almost hit the ceiling. “We certainly can’t.”
His sultry scent wafts into my nose, intoxicating me as I attempt to play off my surprise by draping my arms over his shoulders.
Nerves and attraction wrestle each other in my chest. Despite my rising anxiety, my fingers ache to rove over the muscles he’s hiding underneath this crisp tuxedo shirt. The grin is long gone, and his scowling face hovers directly in front of mine, close enough to kiss.
I pray he can’t detect my traitorous body’s attraction. The silk of Harper’s dress is so thin, I might as well be wearing lingerie.
And what song comes bursting to life through the reception hall’s stereo system but Sinead O’Conner’s “I Want to Be Loved By You”? I close my eyes against the ridiculous nature of this moment, only to be jolted back to reality when Finn tugs me tight against him and whispers in my ear.
“So how far do we go?” His voice is velvety and seductive.
The heat of Finn’s breath against my ear sends my brain spiraling.
“Um…what do you mean?”
He draws back to meet my uncertain gaze.
“How far. Does this charade. Go ? ” He enunciates like I’m slow, his voice well hidden beneath the volume of the music.
Sucking in a deep breath, I do my best to school my scattered facial expression for the audience eyeballing our performance. “I’m only filling in for today.”
One of his hands adjusts to the bare small of my back, igniting my nerve endings. “Those vows we took back there didn’t mean anything. They have no legal ramifications…so what do we do about the marriage certificate?”
Is he reminding me how undesirable he finds me so I won’t get any ideas?
Swallowing the hurt, I fight to keep my tone even.
“Once Harper gets back, you’ll sign the certificate and actually begin your married life.”
I’m making shit up now. I have no idea what’s going to happen after today. But Finn is the kind of man who likes answers.
And who could miss the urgency in his tone? Beginning his married life with my twin—even though this marriage is arranged—matters to him because what man wouldn’t jump at the chance to marry my sister? No doubt he’s eager to be with his real bride instead of being stuck with me, the counterfeit.
Bitter disappointment stings my insides, but I shove it aside.
I need to get through this reception, and then I can go home and put this day behind me.
Harper’s first dance song winds to a close, punctuated again by the guests’ cheers. Through it all, another sound rises, eventually overtaking the applause altogether.
A symphony of silverware clinking against champagne glasses. I turn my head. Everyone’s partaking. I don’t realize what they want from us until Finn’s coarse fingers alight on either side of my neck, setting off alarms in my brain.
Shit, shit, shit.
They want us to kiss? Again?
Finn leans our foreheads together without any warning, silencing every unspoken protest.
Everywhere his skin touches mine, I burn.
His mouth nears mine. My body, on high alert, braces for physical and emotional impact. Our noses tuck into each other. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Impulses rapid-fire inside me.
Pull him closer , some say. Get away from him. Now, before you make a mistake , others warn.
The loudest among them isn’t an impulse at all, but the voice of my heartache historian.
Remember what happened the last time you fell for someone’s kiss. The heft of that thought ripples through me. Remember what you promised yourself.
Finn’s even breaths warm my lips for half a second before my flight reflex kicks into gear and I jerk my head back from his. He doesn’t budge, his gentle grip on my shoulders holding me in place.
He leans in close. “Just go with it.”
Then he seals his lips over mine.