7. Riley

Chapter 7

Riley

With all the commotion around me, my brain races a million miles a minute. Reception hall attendants roll out an ornate cart on top of which a five or six-layer wedding cake stands tall, decorated with blue, green, gold, and purple frosting crafted to resemble the shimmery tail feathers of a peacock.

A peacock cake… Jesus, Harper.

The crowd oohs and aahs at the massive wedding confection’s intricate design. I’m grateful for the distraction. Because right now, all of my emotions must be written across my face. Hopefully anyone who sees me will chalk up my behavior as that of a blushing bride.

Rough fingers appear on the small of my back, and I flinch when I find that Finn has materialized beside me. His brown eyes churn as I gaze into them, eliciting a shiver along my skin. I step away from him as his fingers travel around the small of my back to settle on my waist.

“Don’t touch me.” My words come out sharper than I expect, and a tense moment of irritation unfolds between us until I hear the snap of an HDR camera.

Against my better judgment, I lean in closer to Finn and give the wedding photographer a smile.

He’s taking pictures of us with the cake. That’s the only reason Finn put his hand on me.

“And now, the bride and groom will cut the cake!” Rory’s eager voice bounds through the sound system.

Annoyance lines the muscles in Finn’s forearms as he snatches a giant cake cutting knife stationed on the cart. For a moment, he seems angry enough to cut me with that knife. I remember what I’m supposed to do and settle my tentative hand over Finn’s so it looks like we’re both holding the knife.

His eyes flick to mine. Cameras snap at us like alligators.

Finn guides the knife to the lowest tier of the cake and slices into it. The room applauds, and I manage to plaster on one last fake smile before I remove my hand from his.

At least that part’s over.

I’m one second from walking away when Rory comes in again with, “And now, the ceremonial cake tasting.”

It takes everything in me not to march over to the stage and smash the microphone down Rory’s throat. How many more stupid wedding rituals will I be forced to go through?

I turn toward Finn, expecting him to share my exasperation. Instead, all I find is a handsome man holding out a forkful of cake.

My heart stutters. All the emotion I had dancing with his father returns in a rush. My lips part, not because I want to taste the cake, but because I want to yell at Finn.

Why didn’t you tell me your mom and brother died when you were little?

As if Finn and I have ever been the kind of close where a reveal of that magnitude would’ve been appropriate.

Still, I’m angry. Angry at him for agreeing to marry my sister. Angry that he kissed me like he wanted me. Angry at my stupid heart for continuing to hope when it knows better.

But after that dance with Shane, all I see in Finn’s face is the hardened exterior of someone who lost everything at such a young age. And he lost everything a second time when his wife died.

It’s impossible to hate him. After everything he’s been through…he deserves to be happy.

Will he find that happiness with Harper?

Finn lifts the fork full of cake to my lips, and I open my mouth wide enough for him to slide it inside. The act of being fed by another person in front of an audience is oddly sensual. By the time I close my lips around the fork, my face is hot.

He fixates on my mouth again, the way he did before he kissed me on the dance floor. I try to distract myself from the memory by focusing on the sweet vanilla buttercream melting on my tongue.

Finn watches me chew like he wants a bite.

Whether he wants to taste the cake or a bite of me remains unclear.

I swallow without finishing chewing. “What?”

He raises thick fingers to my face and drags his thumb over the corner of my mouth. When he pulls his hand back, there’s frosting on his thumb.

He slides his thumb between his lips and licks off the icing. “Mmm. Delicious.”

And just like that, I’m turned on. I picture his tongue licking other things and have to squeeze my thighs together.

Finn closes his eyes as if savoring the taste. When his eyes pop back open, he tips his chin. “Do me.”

I choke on air. Come again?

It takes me a small eternity to recover from the lust ignited by those two little words. When my brain fog clears, I realize he’s talking about the cake.

With a shaky hand, I lift the fork to his sensuous mouth and swallow hard as the cake glides between his lips. When I try to pull my hand back with the empty utensil between my fingers, Finn’s hand appears near my forearm and shackles my wrist.

I know he can feel my throbbing pulse in his palm. What I don’t know is why he’s touching me right now.

Even when he finishes chewing, he doesn’t release my wrist.

“Let go.” My voice comes out way more breathless than intended. “I need to…use the ladies’ room.”

Finn releases me with obvious reluctance, right around the time Rory starts droning on about how dinner’s going to be served.

I’m already walking away when a reception attendant with a wide smile catches me by the arm. “Mrs. Gallagher, your table is over here.”

“What? No, I…” My voice gets lost in the shuffle. The attendant doesn’t hear me, and in a matter of moments, I’m mortified beyond all belief.

While the rest of the room eats dinner at their round tables, Finn and I are expected to eat at a Bride-and-Groom-Only table for two on the fucking stage, surrounded by all of Harper and Finn’s wedding presents. A small table and two chairs positioned side by side, facing the audience. One of them occupied already.

Somehow, Finn beat us here and has already taken his seat.

The wedding photographers have returned, anxious to get shots of us at this little table, so escaping without making a scene has become impossible for the moment. Good thing I don’t actually have to pee, or this situation would be even worse.

If that’s possible.

Once I’m seated, I drop my head into my hands and take a few steadying breaths.

“Quit it.” Finn rests a hand on my knee. “People are going to think I upset you.”

“Can you just pretend like I’m not here?” And stop touching me.

“If you don’t want to be here, why the fuck did you agree to fill in?”

I whip my head in his direction to deliver an incredulous, wide-eyed glare. “I didn’t do it because I wanted to, that’s for damn sure.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” His indifferent gaze sets my temper on fire.

Under the table, I pry his hand off my knee and place it on his own leg. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t seem to bother you before.” He quirks an eyebrow. “You seemed fine with it during our dance.”

Fury rattles inside me like a faulty engine. “ I seemed fine with it?”

“You heard me.”

Dead family or not, he’s asking for it. “Just where the hell do you get off saying that to me?”

All around the reception hall, attendants roll out carts covered with food and begin serving the wedding guests.

Finn leans in, seducing me with his dangerous smile and cedar and clove scent. “Keep getting an attitude with me, and I’ll do it again just to shut you up.”

Despite his words, his tone is even. Bored, almost. And it makes me want to shake him up. To strip him of his precious control and discover what’s hiding underneath.

But I can’t think straight with his lips brushing my ear.

Reception attendants appear around us and lower our dinner plates to the table, but neither of us moves so much as an inch. His warm breath coasts over my neck, triggering a buzz in my veins.

I want to move closer, until I feel his lips on my skin. Instead, I force myself to lean back. “Look, today obviously didn’t go like either of us planned. Can we just eat in peace and continue this discussion later?”

I need to gather my thoughts and wrap mind around how in the world I’m supposed to keep this charade up for…well, for however long I need to.

After a few uncomfortable seconds of Finn staring a hole in my cheek, he picks up his silverware, and we start to eat.

Several sinful, savory bites of the juiciest filet mignon of my life later, I’m back to the problem at hand. Shane’s words put everything into perspective.

When I saw the opportunity for a marriage between the two of you, I jumped at the chance. That sentence flipped a switch in my mind.

Opportunity.

One man’s crisis is another man’s opportunity. A saying my father pulled out on countless occasions.

This mess I’m in all started with a simple case of crisis and opportunity, four months ago. Someone abducted Charlene and tortured information out of her, in pursuit of a greater objective. Stealing a product shipment from Madden.

I know from my days as a Gallagher informant how catastrophic a stolen or destroyed product shipment can be for business. Client money has been spent, but there’s nothing to deliver to them. At best, the whole operation appears sloppy and incompetent, damaging present and future relations. At worst, this kind of financial hit can weaken a mob and send them down in flames.

Surely this would have gotten my father into a lot of trouble—if word got out that someone snaked a shipment out from under Thomas Brennan’s nose. Depending on how much of the family’s stock or resources were taken, Shane could have elected to kill my dad over this lapse in security.

My father’s supposed to keep a pulse on everything going on in and around the clubs. He organizes the security of all three locations and the shipment routes. A failure this monumental would absolutely be considered his fault.

This issue would have required a swift, discreet, wise, well-connected, and highly strategic person to fix it, and the only man in this mafia who fits that description is Shane Gallagher himself.

I sneak a peek at the man as he sips water at a table near the empty dance floor between Donal and my father. Shane is the only conceivable person I can think of within the Kings who could make a problem of this magnitude disappear. But it’s not the kind of favor someone does for free.

Saving my dad’s ass—not to mention the reputation the Gallaghers have worked to build in this city over several decades—from the disgrace of this blunder came at a price. I already know of my father’s willingness to exchange his children for the Kings’ and his own self-interest. He wouldn’t balk for a second if Shane’s condition for rescue required marrying off his prized daughter to Finn.

Finn means the world to his dad. The kind of love that glistened in Shane’s eyes can’t be faked. I have no doubt Shane’s intentions were good when he decided to use my father’s crisis as an opportunity to marry his withdrawn, beloved son to a beautiful, vivacious woman.

Shane’s clearly invested in securing Finn’s happiness, and if the heir to the Gallagher Mafia produces another heir in the process, that’s a bonus. My father’s fuckup served as the perfect leverage.

Men in this mafia would kill to have that kind of power. The power to trade a favor for Harper Brennan’s hand in marriage.

Everything’s become crystal clear. Even my intake interview with Charlene has sharpened in my memory. She swore her kidnappers got away with the theft, and I’ve never heard a single word about the missing drugs.

If my theory’s correct, that’s because Shane kept the robbery under wraps. He hid the massive goof and didn’t punish my father for letting it happen. In turn, my father gave consent for Harper to marry Finn as payment, probably jumping at the chance for his grandchild to one day be the don.

Shane held up his part of the deal. Today was my father’s chance to do the same, but Harper’s disappearance nearly destroyed everything.

No wonder my father’s so adamant that I pose as Harper until she comes back and marries Finn for real. No doubt Dear Old Dad is on thin ice with Shane right now. Thankfully, Shane didn’t seem angry with either Harper or me.

Probably because he wants Finn to have love in his life again.

The rest of the reception swirls by in the blur of well-wishers, lights, and classy jazz. At one point, Finn leaves the table. Right when I begin to wonder if he’s coming back, he reappears with a plate piled high with wedding cake and proceeds to devour every last bite.

I can’t help but smile over the scary enforcer and his serious sweet tooth.

Later, the sun sinks over the Manhattan skyline, shading the Michaelson in a lavender glow. Wedding guests cheer for us as we make our exit. My heart kicks my ribs when Finn’s hand finds mine amid a hearty send-off of friends and family. The limousine waits for us out front, my father holding the door open. Finn gives the crowd a final wave and climbs in.

I imitate those pageant queens Harper loves so much and do the same before pausing to face my father one last time.

I duck into the limo after Finn, and the door closes behind us, finally bringing this bizarre day to an end. My breathing doesn’t resume until the limo pulls away, plunging us into a relieved and exhausted silence.

“I don’t know if anyone brought you up to speed.” I unstrap a heel, almost moaning in relief when I take it off. “But turns out I’ll be posing as Harper for a while longer.”

“I heard.” Finn absently toys with his wedding band. “Have you heard from her?”

“No.” I take off the other heel and wiggle my toes at the instant relief. “And I don’t really expect her to either.”

“Then I guess we’re both in the dark.”

He pinches his eyes closed like he’s trying to work this crazy situation out in his mind, but when he opens them again, the frustration on his face is only more intense. I can’t imagine what he’s going through, how hurt he is…regardless of his feelings for my sister.

Never mind, I totally can. He probably feels the same way I felt when I learned he and my sister were engaged.

“Driver?” I meet the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Can we make a stop in Chinatown?”

The driver gives me the okay, and when I turn back to Finn, he’s somehow more agitated than before.

His jaw is set in a hard line. “What’s in Chinatown?”

“My apartment. Your wedding day is over, and I’m going home.”

I have one thing to thank my father for, and it’s that sitting on the seat across from me is the tote bag from the church. My pantsuit, sensible shoes, wallet, keys, phone. Everything is in here, which means I can finally get out of this godforsaken dress and get back to my normal life.

“And I’m supposed to ride around Manhattan in a limo all night?”

“If you want to. Hell, go to your honeymoon suite and enjoy the amenities. But I also have my own life and responsibilities. A job.”

“You’re saying…you’ll be living a double life until we find your sister.”

“Something like that.” I reach for the bag with my clothes. “Harper told me about your honeymoon plans.” I hate the way my cheeks heat and my stomach roils imagining Finn on a honeymoon…with my twin. “You’re headed to a hotel downtown, and I’m headed home to get my affairs in order before…moving to the mansion. Part-time.”

“The honeymoon’s one night, Riley.” He practically growls the words, like all this is somehow my fault. “Harper and I are supposed to return to the estate tomorrow.”

I rifle through my things to avoid Finn’s penetrating stare. “Which is why tomorrow, we’ll head to the estate together. I have a shift in the evening, though, so I’ll need to get back.”

“Fucking fantastic.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “And we’ll just…what? Pretend you’re Harper indefinitely? Even at the estate?”

“Pretty much. As far as I know, only your dad, my dad,” I gesture between us, “and you and I are aware of what’s going on.”

So desperate to avoid his gaze, I almost pull my bra out of the bag in front of him, which is when it occurs to me. There’s no way I’m getting out of this limo in this dress. Period. I don’t want the Zhangs or anyone, not even strangers on the street, to see me in an outfit that covers about as much of me as a table napkin.

Self-conscious all over again, I clear my throat.

“What?”

“Close your eyes.” I dig through the bag again. “I need to get out of this dress. And this is the only changing room there is.”

Heat flares in Finn’s eyes as they dip to the dress’s low-cut neckline. I feel that look all the way to my core. He swipes his tongue across his lower lip but surprisingly doesn’t argue, letting his eyelids drift shut in silence.

In this brief bit of privacy, I lose myself drinking in his beautiful resting face. Why, of all men, does it have to be this man my sister marries?

“Are you going to sit there and stare at me the whole time?”

Busted. “Umm, I’m not…I wasn’t?—”

“Uh-huh.” He lets out a throaty laugh, which only intensifies at my curse.

Every few seconds, I glance at Finn to make sure he’s not peeking.

He put his tongue in my mouth today. I don’t know what the hell else he’s capable of. But still, I’m thankful for his cooperation as I do the limo gymnastics necessary to get into my pants.

Once I’m right side up, I start to reach for my shirt. “Almost done?—”

The limo hits a massive pothole, throwing me off balance and sending me sprawling straight into Finn’s lap. He grabs me right as one of my hands lands on his chest and the other on his thigh. His very hot, tight, and muscular thigh. Only inches away from the bulge in his pants.

Finn’s now-open eyes widen with unmasked desire.

I’m exactly as naked as I feel, sprawled out over his lap in my white satin and lace bra and matching panties. Lust curls through me, like ink in water. My nerve endings launch into high alert. Again.

Vulnerability and mortification set my face on fire.

Something trembles in the space between our mouths, unstable and alive. Like a mutant strain of an airborne virus… My eyes trace his scar down to his lips and back up to his eyes.

My brain can’t be trusted to do anything in its current state. Not when I can feel his beard rasping against my own chin.

Temptation thunders inside me. I shouldn’t plant another kiss on him. No, I’m in enough hot water. But I still consider it for four tenths of a second. One last kiss for the road would be a hell of a gift to my younger self, who would faint if she saw me now, half naked and basically in Finn’s lap.

Finn’s chest twitches beneath my palm. Is that his…nipple hardening beneath my fingers? I swallow. And speaking of hardening, I have a morbid urge to glance down between his thick thighs. It is absolutely wild to have one of my hands this close to his dick, especially given what happened earlier during that kiss. My eyes drift south but get stuck on his open lips.

Tingles erupt when I realize Finn’s checking me out with the same intensity. His gaze roves over my naked top half. I’m terrified and insecure, but I also don’t want to move away from him. Somehow, the prospect of his rejection’s not as scary as removing myself from this moment.

Having Finn regard me like this, after years of being beneath his notice… It’s like a rich, sweet, heady wine I want to guzzle blissfully until drunk.

What is wrong with me?

Somehow, his gravely, unfriendly voice comes off as unfairly sexy. “Unless fucking me in this limo is part of the act, I suggest you finish changing your clothes.” His rough words and brooding eyes hypnotize me.

I blink, wondering if he’s saying he’ll fuck me in here if I don’t move…

No, no, no. The lust translation feature in my brain has shunted on again. No way he’s serious. He’s just upset that this is happening.

“Well?” This time, his gruff rasp hints that he’s finding speech challenging right now. “What’s it going to be?”

I swallow back my desire. “I’m waiting for you to close your eyes.”

Finn lifts his chin ever so slightly, almost like he’s going to lean into me again or…like he wants me to?—

I beat the lust back with a stick, while he lowers his eyelids again. “Sorry,” I mumble, sitting back on the seat perpendicular to his.

I hurry into my shirt and snatch my blazer off the floor just as the limo slows to a stop. At first I think we’ve reached a light, but then I recognize my neighborhood beyond the windows.

“Pick me up here tomorrow?”

All I want to do is get out of this damn limo. I’m so ashamed of myself, I can’t even face him.

Without waiting for his reply, I duck toward the door, but his hand cuffs around my wrist, forcing me to look at him.

Time stills when his other hand slips into the front pocket of my pants. My breathing hitches as confusion and lust battle for the upper hand.

He tracks my reaction with an amused smirk. “Phone.”

Embarrassment rushes to my cheeks when he extracts my cell phone and navigates to my text messages. He types in what must be his phone number and sends a message to himself containing my name before releasing my wrist.

As I take my phone from him and disembark into the hazy twilight of Chinatown, a single thought dominates my mind.

I’m so incredibly screwed.

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