Page 16 of Shattered Hearts
I inch down the corridor created by applauding wedding guests in every direction. I’d bolt if I could, but this is as fast as I can go in these shoes.
The good news is I can breathe and move easily in Harper’s dress.
The bad news is this ivory silk sheath hugs and reveals my body in every imaginable way. I’m a walking billboard in this eye-catching, attention-stealing, jaw-dropper of a gown.
I resist the great urge to cringe away from the invasive stares of reception guests all around me. This is what I used to hate most about visiting the Gallagher clubs. The lascivious way men watched the women who worked there.
It came with the territory of the business this family does, but still, I despised the lewd, lustful gazes. Being undressed by the greedy glint in a man’s eyes never leads anywhere good, at least not in my limited personal experience.
Men can keep their attention to themselves. I’m happy in the background, where I can breathe. For Harper, I guess it’s the opposite.Thisis the place where she breathes easiest, when every pair of eyes in the room is glued to her.
Finally, the spotlight heating my body dims enough for me to take in the reception hall, and the applause dies down with it, allowing me to better see and hear what’s happening around the room.
A massive, twinkling five-layer chandelier dangles from the ceiling. Ivory silk panels the walls. Round, ten-seat tables, lined with snow-white tablecloths and plush little upholstered chairs abound. Colorful, gorgeous miniature flower arrangements and delicate tented place cards with guest names written in calligraphy adorn each table.
The dance floor is a laminate wood square, positioned ahead of a shallow stage covered in elaborate flower displays and wedding gifts.
As soon as things get back to normal—meaning the attention in the room is redistributed so that everyoneisn’tstaring at me at once—I learn that this reception is a merry-go-round of everything I hate most.
All of Harper’s many admirers are present. Dozens of foot soldiers, associates, former classmates… Almost everyone we’ve ever known or grown up with is here, and the looks people give me range from excitement to jealousy to lust. I’ve entered a shark pool wearing a shark bait costume.
The only connection I have left to my sanity is my curious nature. My inner informant.
You ask too many questions.
Something my father often told me. One of several reasons he always favored Harper. She always says, “Yes,” and I always ask, “Why?”
From my childhood, I’ve been a curious person, and in a world where women are meant to shut up and fall in line, my questions didn’t go over very well.
I’ve been yelled at, degraded, and sidelined many times in my life as a result, but a desire for knowledge is a fundamental, irrepressible part of who I am, and in these dizzying moments, as I smile and receive well wishes and kindness on Harper’s behalf, my insatiable hunger for understanding buoys me.
And the inquisitive side of me insists something is wrong with this picture. Besides the obvious.
Harper left a note. I confirmed her handwriting myself. Sure, a kidnapper could have forced her to write that note, but my gut says she’s on the run. I don’t know why she bolted, but there are any number of legitimate reasons, and honestly, a woman trying to escape this world is a sign of sanity, not distress.
Her disappearance is not the most suspicious part of today.
What’s most suspicious is the way my father’s acting.
I scan the room until I spy him talking to Shane. The mood between them appears jovial, but I can’t shake the feeling.Something’s off.
In the Gallagher Family—a title used interchangeably with Irish Kings these days—no big decisions are made in a vacuum.Just about everything involves the input of Shane’s innermost circle and his ultimate approval, especially if there’s some kind of problem. If a deal falls through or is jeopardized in any way, Shane should be the first to know, followed by Thomas.
Why, then, did my father alone await me in Harper’s dressing room when I arrived at the church this morning? Why was he the only one to receive Finn and me when we pulled up to the reception hall?
For some reason, my mind drifts to the day of Harper and Finn’s engagement party, when I ran into Charlene, the former nightclub worker turned abductee. I’m still no closer to understanding what happened that day, because no one seems to be talking about the missing drugs.
A renewed sense of uneasiness swarms in my gut.
It’s the same frustration one feels when the pieces of a puzzle don’t fit together the way they should.
“Please welcome to the dance floor, for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. Finn Gallagher!” Cheers and clapping drown out every other sound in the room as my heart leaps into my mouth.
My head jerks up toward the stage where Rory has gotten ahold of a microphone. Don’t tell me he’s the emcee…I can’t get revenge on Shane’s top tech guy.
I throw back the remaining champagne in my flute. With two glasses down, a fuzzy, bubbly buzz has begun to spread through my body.
A waiter retrieves the empty glass from my fingers. Everyone ushers me toward the dance floor at the center of the room with their heavy, happy stares.