Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
CIARA
I jolt upright in bed at the sound of my phone ringing and immediately groan as I open my eyes.
It’s still dark outside.
“What kind of psychopath calls this early?” I blindly reach around my nightstand until I find my phone.
When I flip it over and see it’s six a.m. and the call is from an unknown number, I fight the urge to throw my phone at the wall. But then I consider the only person who would dare call me at this hour and find myself sliding my thumb across the screen.
“This better be good.” I put the call on speaker and collapse back against my pillows.
“Morning, Tine Bheag.”
My blood boils instantly at the nickname, and I bolt back upright as I glare at the phone screen.
He’s lucky he’s not here right now because I’d love nothing more than to wrap my hands around his throat. Then again, the last place I want Ronan Sullivan is in my bedroom… Right?
I push my tangled hair out of my face. “What do you want, Sullivan?”
“Considering the fact we’re going to be husband and wife in less than a week, I think you can call me by my first name.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The chapel’s booked for next Friday. The reception venue too.” His voice is calm and infuriatingly casual.
I blink, trying to process the words. “Next Friday… as in this coming Friday?”
“Mhm.”
Despite the ridiculously early hour, Ronan doesn’t even sound tired. He probably hasn’t slept at all, the overachieving bastard.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m always serious.”
I throw the covers off with a frustrated huff and swing my legs out of bed. “You’re planning a damn royal wedding with a week’s notice? Are you insane?”
“This isn’t just a wedding, Ciara. It’s a show of force.” His tone is sharper now. “Both of our families are under the microscope, and everyone will be watching us. A lavish wedding sends a message that we’re united and powerful. But most of all, that we’re not to be fucked with.”
I want to argue, but he’s right, which makes this whole thing ten times worse.
“So, find a dress and get your bridesmaids sorted, asap. Don’t worry about the cost, I’ll take care of it.”
A bitter laugh bubbles out of me. “Of course, you will. Can’t have your little trophy bride looking cheap.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but you implied it.” I pace across my room now, one hand in my hair as I try to ignore my pounding heart. “Do you think I can’t afford to buy my own dress?”
The truth is that money is extremely tight, and if I want to buy my own dress, it will likely have to be from some thrift store, but Ronan doesn’t need to know that.
I hate charity, but I hate it even more when it’s being offered by the Sullivans.
“I think…” He sighs. “That I don’t care enough to argue. You want to pay? Pay. You want to show me how independent you are? Be my guest. As long as you show up at the ceremony, that’s all that matters to me.”
I grind my teeth. “Go to hell, Ronan.”
“I’ll save you a seat.”
And then the line goes dead.
I stare at the screen for a second, tempted to throw the phone across the room once again.
Ronan might see this marriage as a union, but I see it as nothing more than a prison sentence.
After shooting back a triple espresso like it’s tequila and a lot of internal screaming, I meet Mila on the way to Soho to go wedding dress shopping.
“This is surreal.”
Standing in front of the window of Sienna Bridal, a thin sheet of sweat starts to coat the back of my neck. Though that might be down to the amount of caffeine I’ve just consumed on an empty stomach.
Mila loops her arm through mine as we both look at the lavish and overpriced gowns in the window, surrounded by expertly arranged bouquets of fresh white lilies and roses.
“You’re telling me. I can’t believe you’re getting married in a week, and I found out via text.”
“It’s not really a wedding if that makes you feel better.” I sigh as I eye the most beautiful silk dress. “It’s nothing but a business deal—but with roses and cake. Though, knowing Ronan, there won’t even be that.”
Mila chuckles as she squeezes my arm. “You do realize how dramatic you sound right now?”
“I’m marrying Ronan Sullivan, Mila. I am dramatic right now.”
She hums, then grins. “Are you going to wear white?”
I tilt my head to the side, contemplating my choices. “I was thinking black, with a veil long enough to hide my scowl.”
“Or…” She tugs me toward the shop entrance. “We find you something that makes Ronan’s jaw drop. You know, make the bastard suffer.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to seduce the enemy?”
“I’m saying you should weaponize your hotness. He deserves to be tortured a little.”
My lips pull up into a smile.
Now that is an idea I can get behind.
“We really should find somewhere else to look, though.” I sigh as I think of the extortionate price tags on these dresses. “I don’t know why I’m torturing myself. This store is way out of my price range.”
“Yes, but the whole point is to try a few styles on and then track down the dresses at a thrift place.”
“If you say so…”
The moment we step inside the store, I’m hit by the smell of roses and vanilla. If I thought the window display was luxurious, it’s nothing compared to the interior.
Mannequins dressed in the most stunning gowns are dotted throughout the shop floor while various heels and tiaras are displayed on shelves around the edge of the store.
Vases of white lilies and roses are placed on either side of the counter as well as on a glass table set between two white chaise lounges.
I glance down at my worn Converse and cringe.
“Do you have an appointment?”
I whip my head around to see that a shop assistant has appeared behind the counter.
She’s dressed immaculately in a figure-hugging black dress with her blonde hair styled in a perfect chignon.
“Oh, uh…” I glance at Mila, who simply shrugs. “I didn’t realize you needed an appointment.”
The shop assistant gives me a once-over, and I cringe.
I chose a simple outfit, leggings and a sweatshirt beneath my parka, which from the look on the woman’s face, was the wrong choice.
But the next words coming out of her mouth take me completely by surprise.
“Are you Ciara McCarthy?”
“Uh…”
“Yes, she is,” Mila answers for me, and the shop assistant smiles.
“I thought so. Your fiancé gave a very detailed description.”
“My what?” I choke.
“He called and said that I would likely be expecting you, and to charge anything you pick to his card.”
“The bastard,” I hiss through my teeth.
Mila laughs. “Oh, he’s good. How the hell did he know you would come here?”
My heartbeat pounds in my ears as my cheeks grow warm.
I signed the contract with Ronan less than forty-eight hours ago, and already he’s trying to control me, even when I specifically told him I could buy my own dress.
If that’s how he wants to play this, then so be it.
“Would you and your friend like a glass of champagne to get started?”
“Definitely.”
The shop assistant, who introduces herself as Charlotte, leads us through into one of the dressing rooms, which is bigger than Mila’s apartment, and pours us both a glass of champagne.
“Now, are there any particular styles you’re drawn to?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.” I try not to cringe at the multiple floor-length mirrors surrounding me.
“Well, your height is more on the petite side, so I would suggest either an empire line or a low V-neck style to elongate your vertical line.”
Mila chuckles as she takes a sip of her champagne. “Definitely, the V-neck.”
I shoot Mila a glare. “Whichever you think will work best.”
While Charlotte disappears into the stockroom, I take a seat on the white loveseat and take a long sip of my champagne. It’s delicious and clearly expensive, which makes me instantly want to hate it.
Mila sits beside me. “I can’t believe Ronan called ahead and gave you his card. I have to say, I’m impressed.”
“He’s just posturing. Flashing a card around isn’t impressive.”
“If you say so…”
“It’s controlling, Mila. I specifically told him I want to buy my own dress.”
“So, shall we leave and head to Goodwill, then?”
I scowl at my friend. “I don’t want to rely on the Sullivans for anything. You know our history.”
“Trust me, I get that. But also, Ronan is literally offering you the opportunity to buy the wedding dress of your dreams.”
“Maybe we should just buy the most hideous dress we can find to spite him.”
“Or you can take this opportunity and just go for it. I mean, maybe you can keep it and reuse it if things fall apart between the two of you.” Mila nudges me with her elbow.
“Come on, Ciara. I know you and Ronan have a complicated history, but this is a great chance to have fun, stick it to him, and get something amazing out of it.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Look, you committed to this, so you’re going to have to find a way to tolerate him. Otherwise, the next fifty years of your life are going to be miserable. Just… try.”
I roll my eyes as I take another sip of my champagne. “Fine.”
But the truth is I have absolutely no intention of being married to Ronan for anywhere near that long. Our marriage will last just long enough for Ronan to receive the justice he deserves.
Two hours and eight dresses later, I’m no closer to finding the one.
That is, until Mila appears holding up an off-white, almost pearlescent silk dress with a lace overlay.
The neckline dips in a way that’s daring but not vulgar, and the back is completely open aside from the few delicate buttons trailing down the lower spine.
It’s perfect, and from the way Mila’s eyes sparkle as she grins at me, she knows it too.
“Try it.”
“I hate you,” I mutter as I take the dress, knowing without even trying it on that it will fit me like a glove.
“You’re welcome.”
In the fitting room, I get undressed yet again and toss my clothes into the corner before stepping into the dress.
The material slides over my skin, and as expected, fits me perfectly.
The moment I finish zipping up the side, I look up and glimpse my reflection in the mirror, and my breath catches in my throat.
I look like a bride, and a thrill courses through me. Then I frown and shake my head. “No, Ciara. You are not allowed to be excited about this.”
“Ciara? Do you need help?” Mila calls from the other side of the curtain.
Ignoring the butterflies swirling in my stomach, I peel back the curtain and step out into the dressing room.
“Oh, my god! Ciara, you look like a princess!”
I run my hands over the dress as my cheeks flood with color. “Do you think so?”
She nods. “This is it. This is the one. You have to get it.”
I glance at myself in the mirror again, and my throat thickens.
Getting married should be the happiest day of my life. I used to dream about my da walking me down the aisle, tears in his eyes as he gives me away to the man I love while he simultaneously threatens him not to break my heart.
Joke’s on me, I guess. My wedding day is here, and not only is my father dead, I don’t even like the man I’m marrying.
Da should be here so I could live my dream. Instead, he’s buried six feet under, and I’m left to pick up the pieces by marrying a man who played a part in destroying my family.
Mila must notice a shift in me as she appears by my side and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“No. But I will be.”
Because I have to.
Ronan can think this wedding gives him the upper hand, but the moment I’m close enough to strike, I will.
And I won’t stop until I’ve destroyed his entire family.