Page 9 of Shattered Hearts
My stomach churns, but I force the feeling aside. Wherever Harper is now, is she happy? Safe?
A huge part of me is proud of my sister for finally having the courage to walk away from the only life she’d ever known. Though an equally large part is pissed simply because I’m about to do the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
The hairstylist and make-up artist knock on the door. I let them in and allow them to work their magic. When they finish, I see Harper staring back at me in the mirror. To blot out the smoky eyes and red lips, I pull the veil over my face.
My lungs constrict as I emerge from the room and my cousins gasp. They ply me with compliments in-between giggles and fluffing the back of my dress. One of them offers me Harper’s bouquet, a thick cluster of fresh, fragrant red roses bound together by ivory lace.
Musical notes cue the start of the procession. Together, Harper’s bridesmaids pair up with Finn’s three best friends and glide down the aisle. First Rory. Then Darren.
Before his turn, Cian smirks at me, and I get the strangest impression that he can see right through my ruse. “Break a leg.”
With a wink, he escorts our cousin Sophia into the church. That leaves my father and me.
I eye my father’s extended arm like it’s a snake. Sweat gathers on the back of my neck.
I can’t believe this is happening.
Today, I am the better daughter for the first time in my life. But instead of feeling victorious, I wish I could join Harper and run away too.
Chapter 3
Finn
I can’t do this.
I pace the tiny, barren space and tug at my collar. My bow tie is choking the life out of me, and this stupid penguin suit feels like a prison cell.
When my father came to me with the proposal to marry Thomas Brennan’s daughter, duty dictated that I agree. Even if I’d rather drown in a vat of battery acid than say “I Do” a second time, how could I refuse? Especially when nothing would make my father happier than grandchildren.
The first time I got married, I didn’t bother to ask for the approval of my dad or anyone else.
I went rogue like the selfish prick I was at twenty-eight. Not caring about anyone or anything else, I married the only woman who made me feel more than just indifference. With Brianne, I was a different person, and I thought that was love.
Even now, I remember the roses in her bouquet on our wedding day—the same ruby red shade as the blood seeping out of her lifeless, dismembered body, the chunks of her corpse scattered on a filthy cement floor. Her severed left hand, wedding ring still on her finger?—
“Finn.” Rory bumps shoulders with mine, offering me a beer. “I thought we agreed you were going to practice smiling.”
Rory’s golden-brown hair is perfectly styled. His hazel eyes blink at me. I’m so out of sorts, I take the can from him and try to down it unopened.
Darren reclines on a low settee next to the window, smoking a cigarette. Smoking isn’t allowed in here, but Darren does whatever the hell he wants. “If Finn knew how to smile, he would’ve shown us ages ago.”
Despite getting hammered the night before, Darren still looks better than the rest of us. He could be a movie star in that tux with his pretty-boy face and hay-blond hair swooping to one side, although he’s far too edgy for Hollywood. The wild gleam in his chemical blue eyes unsettles even hardened criminals sometimes when they get trapped in their glow.
“Both of you are wrong.” Cian adjusts his bow tie in the mirror, his emerald green gaze laser-focused on his reflection. “Blank and glumisFinn’s smiling face.”
Cian smooths down his tuxedo shirt and smirks, probably calculating how many women he can fit in his car and take home after the reception. And speaking of copious amounts of sex, every time I think about whatI’msupposed to do tonight in the honeymoon suite of the Blackadder Hotel, guilt chargrills me on the inside.
Every man in the fucking family age fourteen to sixty-five is jealous of me. They’ve been pulling me aside left and right since we announced our engagement, congratulating me while licking their damn chops as if they hope I’ll be generous enough to share.
I’m marrying Harper Brennan, the “sexiest” Mob daughter there is. Of all the men she could have picked, of all the men she could have been arranged to marry, she “chose” me. I’m thelucky asshole who gets to change her last name to mine, but the truth is, we have no connection.
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her. She’s beautiful. Blond-haired, blue-eyed. Long legs. Intelligent. Vivacious, outgoing personality.
I’m the problem. Since Brianne’s untimely murder, the only thing that somewhat excites me is my job, and I’m practically married to it.
I hardly register my friends’ words with my thoughts spiraling in every direction.
The bottom line is I don’t want to get married. Not today, or ever again.