53. Lourdes
Lourdes
Sitting at my desk in the Zervas & Company office, I stare at the text that came through ten minutes ago. Looking up, I can’t see anything past the glass because several wide-shouldered guards line the wall.
I’ve wanted a cup of tea for the last two hours, but it’s not worth the hassle of making that line-up of muscles get into formation and escort me to the kitchen.
So, I’m even more surprised when the door opens and they let someone through who isn’t Ares. Or Daria.
“Can I help you?” I ask the stunning brunette who looks vaguely familiar.
“Actually, I’m here to help you.” She steps aside, and another woman waltzes in holding…a long, white garment bag.
“What is that?” My fingers start to shake. “And who… Who are you?”
“That is a gown. And I’m your wedding planner.”
“My…my what?” I glance down at Ares’s text again.
Appointment Reminder 4 p.m.
‘Ares!
Heart pounding, I lift my gaze to her. “Am I getting married today? At four p.m.?”
“It’s last minute, but my team is here to get you ready.” She snaps her fingers, and more women pour in.
I’m going to kill him…
Squeezing my phone, I steady my breath and say, “This is not how a…” I stop, unsure of what I should reveal to this woman.
Sensing my anxiety, she takes a seat in front of my desk. “We didn’t formally meet the other night at the Aurelian. My name is Shea Quinlan.”
It all comes back to me. “Quinlan. You’re related to…”
“I’m married to Trace Quinlan. Griffin’s cousin.”
The Irish… She’s mafia.
“This is a little sudden, don’t you think?” I sit back, thinking I can negotiate my way out of this. Like Ares does.
Smiling, she replies, “It’s actually a new wedding package of mine. The Surprise Wedding.”
Narrowing my gaze, I challenge, “I’ve heard of those. Though usually the bride is in on it.”
“This is next level,” she says, rising to her feet, signaling this is happening.
“Ares set this up?”
“He did. Called me two days ago.”
I glance at the thing hanging on the back of my office door. “Is that my dress?”
“Ares picked it out for you.” She strides to the garment bag and slowly unzips it. “This is the sensitive part. Showing a bride the most important dress she’ll ever wear. One she didn’t pick out and hope that she loves it.”
“If your name is Quinlan, then you know who Ares is. And why this is happening.” I exhale. “I don’t really have much choice so I—”
Anything else I was going to say dies in my throat when Shea removes the dress from its wrapping. I can’t say for sure I would have picked it out. But it’s luminous white silk without a bead or a pearl on the thing. Not one bit of sparkle.
Even on the hanger it’s…gorgeous. With its portrait neckline, a trim bodice, a drop waist, and inverted pleats down to a slim skirt, it’s so elegant.
“How do you know that will fit me?” I ask.
“Ares sent your measurements.” Shea looks at it with pride. “Lana finished it up this morning.”
I hide an eyeroll, wondering where the hell he got my measurements. I picture him with a tape measure, rolling me around in my sleep.
Then the name hits me. “Lana… Lana Ang?”
Shea fans out the skirt. “Ares saw it and said: Spare no expense.”
“Is it rude for me to ask how much he paid?”
“I suggest you ask him.”
My eyes wander to the small army of makeover artists staring at me. “Where am I getting married?”
“North of here. The Cloisters. I got married there.” She looks at her watch. “Guests should be arriving soon.”
“Guests?”
She starts to look anxious because I haven’t moved. “Ares handled the guest list.”
“Is my sister on that list?” I swallow.
Her frown tells me she’s not. It was a thoughtless question, though. Our wedding is a target. Kirill Volkov knows we have her. It’s too risky.
I close my laptop and give a soft smile to Shea Quinlan. “Let’s not keep the God of War waiting.”
Shea’s surprise wedding team performs a small miracle.
In forty minutes, I’m…a bride. A beautiful one from what I can see in the stand-up mirror they rolled in.
What an operation. Shea’s hairdresser left most of my hair loose, pinning back a portion of soft curls into a half-up style at the back of my head.
A simple raw silk headband anchors a veil of layered tulle that cascades down my back, extending beyond the long train of my gown.
I should feel embarrassed to leave the office this way, but Atlas and Ambrose are gone. Presumably, they got an invite before me and are already at my wedding.
I’m moved like I’m royalty down the private elevator and into a white Rolls Royce. All the traffic from the block has been cut off. Ares’s new guards and their SUVs are here, and off we go.
At 3:45, the city should be snarled with traffic, but roads are miraculously open. We sail to the northern tip of Manhattan to the Cloisters, a section of the city I never knew about.
The Gothic-looking church has leftover snow in its carved stone walls. Once the guards’ SUVs are in position, the driver of the Rolls brings me right to the front of the church. I immediately notice there are no photographers. And I’m not sure how to feel about that.
A heavy, ornate church door opens, and I expect to see some wedding matron telling me I’m late.
It’s Ares…
In a tuxedo. Wow. This gorgeous man is about to pledge himself to me.
The driver gets out, but it’s Ares who opens the car door to help extract me and this massive dress from the Rolls.
“Am I by any chance marrying someone else? Aren’t you not supposed to see me before the ceremony?” I ask, pushing the veil aside.
He stares down at me. “Christ, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
As the dress, hair, and makeup are all his doing, I’m not sure what credit I can take.
“Thank you,” I say anyway.
Getting closer, he whispers, “Are you angry I did it this way?”
“An earlier heads-up, and not just in a text, would have been nice.”
“I didn’t want you to stress over the planning.” He lifts my hand with the engagement ring. “I picked out the wedding rings, too.”
Of course, he did.
“Are Atlas and Ambrose here?” I glance over his shoulder.
“Yes. Ambrose would like to walk you down the aisle.”
My heart swells at that. “I’d love that.”
When I look away for a moment, he brings my face back. “I’m sorry your sister couldn’t be here. I sent word to every house about this wedding. Including the Bratva. I am claiming you as mine, Lourdes. And that means your sister is mine, too. Still, I couldn’t risk her being here.”
I nod. “I understand. This is all to keep her safe.”
“No,” he cuts me off. “I’m marrying you because I want you to be mine. I don’t usually take it this far, but I… I don’t want anyone else.”
Again, he doesn’t say he loves me. Just that I’m his, and it’s confusing. Maybe that will come later.
“I don’t want anyone else either.” I run a hand down the silk of my gown. “I can’t believe you got the hottest designer to make me this dress. It must have cost a small fortune.”
“Money doesn’t matter. I wanted you to have what other women are waiting for. What other women want.”
I stare up at the most gorgeous man on this earth, and think I already have what other women want.
The ceremony is a blurry haze of vows and candles and a kiss by Ares that I don’t think I’ll ever get over.
The reception, which may have been an afterthought, since Ares just wanted to be married, is in a heated tent behind the church. I can picture Shea arguing with him that he had to provide something to the guests.
There’s no music, no dance floor, just champagne and small plates of food.
But Ares introduces me to every person there. I recognize the names. Mostly business associates. And no one named Volkov or Scava. No other Quinlans either.
His own sister wasn’t here. Maybe Ares was afraid she would bring a knife and accidentally stab someone.
Ninety minutes later, the final guest departs, Ares reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine.
“Let’s go home, Mrs. Zervas.”