Chapter Twelve
Alannah
I stare at the doors my husband just walked through, another woman’s hand in his, and I can’t make sense of what just happened.
I don’t move. I don’t think I can.
Whispers break out around me, low at first, then growing louder as they spread through the ballroom.
Soon the sound is everywhere, but it reaches me hollow and far away, the words impossible to make out.
My body feels heavy, like it’s sunk into the floor beneath my feet.
Someone takes my hand. I don’t know who.
I let them lead me to my seat at the head table.
I sit where they place me and fold my hands in my lap because that feels like the right thing to do.
I’m still here.
But I’m no longer part of this.
I watch Cormac climb the steps to the bandstand, drink in hand, a broad smile on his face. He doesn’t hurry. He never does. When he reaches the microphone, he taps it lightly with his knuckles.
The room falls quiet.
A low chuckle carries through the speakers as he shakes his head. “Now then,” he says lightly. “Let’s all take a breath.”
A few people laugh, thin and uncertain at first, then others join in.
“You’d think you lot had never seen a groom get a case of nerves before,” he goes on. “Big day like this? Does funny things to a man. And my son’s always had a temper. Gets it honest, I’m afraid. A bit of steam to let off. Nothing more.”
More laughter follows, louder this time. Cormac keeps talking, but I’ve stopped listening, my eyes fixed on the chair beside me.
Ronin’s seat. He should be sitting there, celebrating our wedding with our family and friends. Instead, it sits empty, and Kathleen’s words come back to me.
She and Ronin had been in love for years.
Years. I can still see the way she looked at me when she asked if I’d really believed I was the only one, as if I were a fool for believing I could be enough for him.
Then Ronin’s face in the bar. The worry in his eyes when he saw me crying.
How pale he went, almost panicked, when I told him I’d met her.
Then red. He’d been angry. So angry.
He’d called me na?ve. Made me feel foolish for believing that becoming his wife meant there would be no one else.
But I’ve known Ronin since I was twelve.
He was the one who asked to date me, who proposed to me.
No one made him do either. I thought he had chosen me.
I don’t know how that man can be the same one who dragged me into the ballroom and humiliated me in front of everyone before walking out with another woman, all to teach me a lesson. I don’t know which one is real.
“Alannah,” Maggie whispers my name close to my ear. I blink and lift my eyes from the empty chair, suddenly aware that everyone is looking at me.
“—which is why she fits this family so well,” Cormac is saying into the microphone.
“Our Alannah girl has the patience of a saint. Knows how to weather a man with a bit of fire in him.” His gaze flicks to Ronin’s empty seat beside me, then away again just as quickly.
He raises his glass to the room. “While Ronin cools his head, Seamus has put on a fine spread, and I’ve put enough whiskey behind that bar to see us through the night.
No sense letting either go to waste. So join me in raising a glass—to Ronin and Alannah! ”
The ballroom fills with applause as our guests rise, lifting their glasses in a toast. I stare out at their smiling faces, unable to understand what they think is left to celebrate. All around me, people drink. I make no move to reach for my glass and join them.
The music starts up again. Cormac steps down from the bandstand and crosses the room toward me, sliding his arm around my shoulders as he leans down.
“Fix your face, Alannah,” he says quietly, still smiling for the room.
“You sit here, you smile, and you show this room we’re solid.
” His arm tightens around me. “We don’t give them the satisfaction of thinking we’re rattled.
” I wait for him to say more. He doesn’t.
He presses a quick kiss to my temple, then straightens and returns to his seat.
As soon as he walks away, it feels like the whole room turns on me.
I keep my eyes down. I can’t make myself look up.
My face is burning, but my skin’s gone cold and slick with sweat.
The music is too loud. People are laughing and talking, glasses banging together, and the noise keeps rising until it feels like I’m drowning in it.
My chest goes tight. I try to breathe, but I can’t get any air in. I need air.
The chair scrapes as I push it back and stand. My eyes go straight to the doors at the far end of the room. If I can just reach them, I can breathe.
I take one step. Then another.
“Alannah.”
I blink, slow to recognize my own name, then turn. Da is coming toward me from the other end of the head table, his brows drawn and his eyes searching my face.
“Darlin’,” he says as he reaches me, his hand closing around my arm. “Where are you going?” he asks, keeping his voice low.
“I—” My throat tightens. I swallow. “I need a moment.”
My eyes go back to the doors. Da follows my gaze, then looks away and clears his throat. “Let him cool off,” he says quietly. “He’ll come back. Don’t make this worse by leaving now.”
The word worse lands with a dull weight in my chest. I want to ask him how I could possibly make this worse, but I know it won’t change anything. I drop my eyes and worry at the fabric of my gown, smoothing it beneath my fingers, then gathering it again.
So I nod.
Da turns me back toward the table and walks me to my chair beside Ronin’s empty one. He waits until I sit, then bends to kiss the crown of my head before returning to his seat beside Mam.
A plate is set in front of me. I stare at it, then pick up my fork and cut into the food. I push one piece aside, then another, but I never take a bite. I don’t know how long I sit there before I realize I’m still holding the fork. I set it down.
Movement at my parents’ table draws my attention. Mam has turned in her chair to look at me. When our eyes meet, she gives me a tight smile and tips her chin up slightly—a wordless message she’s given me more than once over the years. She holds my gaze, her expression insistent, expectant.
Keep your head up.
I press my lips into something that might pass for a smile, but I don’t have it in me to keep my head up right now.
I let my eyes fall back to the table and sit there, unmoving.
A waiter appears beside me and clears away my barely touched dinner without a word, leaving a cup of tea and a slice of cake in its place.
I stare at it. It’s exactly what I chose for today—vanilla cake with white icing and one of the sugar roses I asked for still sitting on top. Ronin and I were supposed to cut the first piece together. Instead, someone else has already cut into my wedding cake and served me a slice.
And then, unexpectedly, I feel relief. At least I wasn’t called up. At least I wasn’t made to stand there and smile and cut it in front of everyone.
But the feeling doesn’t last. My stomach drops when I remember the reception is nowhere near over. How much longer am I expected to sit here? Through the speeches still to come? The dancing after?
No. No, no.
I can’t do this. I need to get out of here.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I have to calm down.
If I get up like this, they’ll stop me again.
I pick up my tea and take a small sip, then another, concentrating on keeping the cup steady.
I wait until my pulse begins to slow and I’m sure my legs will hold me.
Then I set it down and stand, slowly and deliberately.
I gather my heavy skirts and step away from the table, careful they don’t catch beneath my heels. I keep my movements even, focusing entirely on putting one foot in front of the other and willing my body to move as if nothing is wrong.
When I reach the end of the head table, my mother steps in front of me, her brows knitting together in question. I force a smile onto my face before she can ask. “Washroom,” I murmur.
Relief flickers across her expression. She nods at once. “Of course.”
I walk past her toward the hallway, my steps still careful, still slow. A small brass plaque on the wall points the way to the washrooms. I follow it down the corridor, past the doors marked Ladies, and keep going.
The music dulls as I move farther from the ballroom, the sound fading behind me. Another corridor. Then another. The hotel opens up around me as I go, my steps quickening, the same thought repeating with every turn—
I need to get out of here.
I’m almost running now.
I push through the exit doors and fresh air fills my lungs. I don’t slow until I reach the line of cabs at the curb, wrench open the back door of the first one I reach, and climb inside, skirts and veil tangling around me. Between breaths, I manage my parents’ address.
The door slams shut and the cab pulls out into traffic.
The drive to my parents’ house is over almost as soon as it begins.
I don’t remember the streets or the turns.
My hands shake as I reach into my hair and start pulling pins free, not caring when they snag or tug at my scalp.
I keep going until the veil finally comes loose.
The moment it’s off, I can breathe a little easier.
I fold it into my lap without looking at it.
When the cab pulls up, I lean forward. “Could you wait a moment?” I ask. “I’m going to need another ride.”
He nods. “Sure, darlin’.”
I let myself into the house and slam the door behind me, already hurrying toward the stairs. I don’t know how long I have before someone comes looking for me. Maybe they already have. The thought sends me up the stairs even faster.