Chapter 6
SIX
Simone
I can hardly believe it’s happened—I’m officially Mrs. Ronan Callahan.
After the wedding, I’m ushered off to the Crown Plaza Hotel, where we’ll be having the reception.
Mom and Chantal help change me out of my wedding gown into my reception dress, a svelte ivory design with lace appliqué that’s mid-length and backless.
The fabric is light, breathable, and a relief after the weight of the ceremony gown.
I’m in a trance as they fuss over me, touching up my makeup and adjusting the loose curls that frame my face.
But that’s because I really can’t believe it. I really am in shock I’m now a married woman.
I’m Ronan Callahan’s wife.
The words feel foreign in my mind, like they belong to someone else’s life. I’d never imagined this is what would become of mine.
Chantal waves a hand in front of my face. “Paging Simone. Why do you have that ‘lights are on but nobody’s home’ look?”
Mom frowns, smoothing down the fabric at my thighs. “She just needs a little more time. But you look gorgeous, honey. Everyone was speechless when they saw you… including Ronan.”
Chantal snorts. “That’s not comforting, considering who it is.”
Mom’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t argue. She gathers her clutch and heads toward the door. “I’ll be in the ballroom with the guests.”
The door snicks shut behind her, suddenly leaving just me and Chantal.
She turns to me, her expression serious, all the bubbliness stripped away.
“Tell me how you really feel, Sim. And if you’re truly unhappy, then we can run for it.
I’m not really feeling the whole fugitive thing, but we can make it work like in that 90s flick.
What’s it called? Thelma and Louise. Or maybe we should pull a Set it Off and rob some banks.
Just enough to live for the rest of our lives. Then book a flight out of the country.”
I laugh, but it comes out as a pitiful melancholic sound. “That’s okay. I’ll face the music like I’m supposed to. My marriage to Ronan Callahan. Basically a death sentence.”
“Oh damn, Sim!” Chantal gasps, her eyes going wide. She leans in as if whatever’s come to mind is urgent. “Your virginity. What are you going to do? Tonight’s the wedding night.”
My stomach drops just hearing the question.
I hadn’t let myself think about it. Not seriously.
But now that she’s said it out loud, the reality crashes over me all over again.
Tonight.
Me and Ronan Callahan will be checking into a hotel suite. It’ll be with the expectation that we consummate the marriage.
I’ve always been so selective when it comes to men. It’s how I’ve made it to my mid-twenties without giving it up.
I was always proud of that fact—that no man was ever good enough in my mind.
Suddenly Heath isn’t sounding so bad. I should’ve slept with him when I had the chance. At least that way I’d have one somewhat pleasant experience before being forced to fuck Ronan Callahan.
A sigh tumbles out of me. I sink onto the stool by the vanity mirror. “Pour me some wine.”
Chantal doesn’t hesitate. She grabs the bottle of wine sitting on the vanity table and pours a generous glass. She hands it to me then pours one for herself.
“To surviving,” she says, raising her glass.
I clink mine against hers. “To surviving. If that’s what you call this.”
When we can’t stall any longer, Chantal and I leave the private dressing room and step into the corridor outside the Gilded Grand Ballroom. The hall is as glamorous and opulent as the rest of the Crown Plaza Hotel, with its ivory walls and gold detailing that almost feels unreal.
Everything gleams, polished to perfection.
Ronan waits for me near the double doors, hands in his pockets, looking infuriatingly composed. His navy waistcoat fits him impeccably, emphasizing his broad shoulders. And then there’s the emerald tie that matches his gleaming gaze as if by design.
Chantal walks me over to him, her energy even more hostile than mine. Always my ride or die, she stops short of handing me off and points a finger at his chest.
“If you even think about hurting her, I’ll key your car and slash your tires. And don’t think about messing with me either. My dad’s a senator, but he’s not above fighting dirty, Callahan. Your brother’s already serving eight in the penitentiary. We can come for you next.”
She slowly backs away, eyes narrowed, before turning and disappearing down the hall.
Ronan cocks a brow at me. “Isn’t she Mary fucking Sunshine?”
“That’s my best friend, and I wouldn’t mess with her if I were you.”
“She’s very protective, is she?”
“She has reason to be.”
His head slants to the side, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. “I understand why. You did just marry an Irish gangster. I hear they’re brutes.”
I glare at him, so frustrated that words elude me.
He laughs, the thick broguish sound rumbling from his chest. “It’s gonna be a lot of fun getting under your skin for the next however many years we live.” He offers his arm. “Shall we, princess?”
I reluctantly take it, my hand resting lightly on his thick, sturdy forearm.
The doors swing open.
The Gilded Grand Ballroom spreads out before us—ivory walls, crown molding, arched windows overlooking a private garden courtyard.
In the center of the room hangs a massive crystal chandelier imported from Prague, its light refracting into a thousand tiny diamonds across the floor.
We make our debut as a married couple to a captive audience. Almost a hundred faces turn toward us, applause rising like a wave.
We stroll to the center of the dance floor as the live band begins to play. The opening notes are soft and soulful, playing a rendition of Prince’s “Adore.”
The singer’s voice is rich and resonant, filling the room with warmth.
Ronan holds my gaze as he speaks, lips barely moving, “You have to pretend to like me for our first dance, princess.”
“I’m not an actress.”
His hand comes to my waist, sending an instant sharp shiver jolting down my spine. His other hand takes mine in his to guide me.
We start to move in a slow waltz as everyone else watches.
It’s surreal.
Dancing to this song about deep love with a man who feels more like an enemy. A man whose name I’ve taken without ever having had a full conversation with him.
Even a date.
Our first kiss was literally at the altar.
We don’t know each other, except for the fact I already know I hate him.
I don’t want to be married to an Irish gangster, and I never will. No amount of time together is going to change that.
We sway together, gliding across the ballroom floor to a watchful crowd. Everything feels like background noise—the music, the voices, the clinking glasses—as I find myself unable to look away from him.
His eyes are a vivid green that reminds me of Ireland itself. Like being transported to the Irish moorland. There are flecks of gold scattered in them, tiny shards among vibrant emerald that’re so intense they almost lull you into a trance.
The longer his gaze remains on me, the more the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“Stop staring at me,” I whisper.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a crooked grin. “How can I not stare at something as beautiful as you?”
“You won’t charm me, if that’s what you’re trying to do,” I mutter back. It takes effort to move my lips as little as possible.
“I’d never try to charm you. I don’t give a fuck about that, princess. But I’m an honest man, and I’ll always speak what’s on my mind—and staring at the most beautiful woman in this room is as natural as breathing.”
My cheeks warm at the flattering honesty.
I finally tear my gaze from his, glancing at the others in the room.
They’re all watching us. Some with smiles. Some with curiosity. Others, like Seamus Callahan, with thinly concealed calculation.
We go around the floor a few more times as the soulful song plays, the singer belting a high note that echoes through the ballroom.
“Are you uncomfortable being this close to me?” Ronan asks.
“What do you think?”
“If it makes you feel any better,” he says quietly, “this isn’t what I wanted either.”
I glance back up at him. “How romantic.”
“There is no such thing as romance, princess. Forget about your fairytales and step into reality.”
The song ends, the final note fading off before the room erupts into applause.
We immediately go our separate ways.
I’m hot and irritated, every joint and muscle in my body wound tight. I can’t get away from him quick enough as I cut through the crowd that starts spilling onto the dance floor.
One thing rings true: I was right.
No man measures up to what I really want in a partner. All men are disappointing and not worth my time.
Yet now I’m married to one.
Over the next hour, the music varies from some R&B classics to the occasional Irish contribution, including a beautiful ballad called “The Voyage.” The melody is haunting and lovely, a song that would mean more if I were actually in love with my husband.
Dad and I share a father/daughter dance to a slow rendition of “Isn’t She Lovely.” He holds me close, looking down at me with pride etched on his face.
“You look beautiful, Simone,” he says. “And I’m proud of you. More proud than you could ever realize.”
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“You’ve proven you’re loyal and devoted to our family,” he continues. “There’s nothing more important than that.”
I nod, unable to speak.
…because what can I say?
That I did it because I had no choice? That loyalty feels more like a cage than a virtue right now?
For the rest of the reception, I’m sullen. Everyone sits down to a large full-course meal with a blend of cuisines—Irish, Black American, even some Ghanaian options like jollof rice balls.
The artfully plated food looks amazing, but I can barely taste it. I drink more than I eat, easily polishing off a second, then third glass of wine.
Eventually it’s time to cut the cake.
The creation is a towering multi-tiered masterpiece with gold leaf detailing that seems almost too perfect to consume.
Ronan and I stand together, his hand placed over mine on the knife handle. His lips hover near my ear as he asks, “You alright, love? You look a little flushed. I saw you knocking back all those glasses of wine.”
“I’m just trying to get through the night. Pretend I like you, right?” I mouth back.
We cut through the cake together to applause and cheers.
“That’s true,” he admits. “But what comes later tonight will be anything but acting.”
He winks at me then steps away.
My stomach twists into a hundred knots. I’ve never felt more helpless in my life.
Another two hours pass. I’m basically a full bottle deep now, so tipsy my heels are becoming increasingly more difficult to walk in.
People have slowly started leaving, trickling out of the room in packs of twos and threes.
Seamus Callahan and his posse leave together, the group of intimidating men in dark suits easily parting the crowd as they move through.
Mom and Dad seem close to leaving too, off in their own world, smiling and dancing with each other like they’re the only two people in the room.
Ronan comes up and scoops my hand in his. “It’s time to head up to our suite and officially start our wedding night. What do you say, my little princess bride?”
I find myself breathless as I set down my wine glass and nerves ripple inside me.
“What choice is there at this point?” I mutter.
He smirks, threading his fingers through mine. “Don’t look so worried. I promise I’ll be gentle.”