Page 9 of Vengeful Vows

When Father Hannigan asks the same to Bree, she stays silent, her mouth pressed tightly together, looking up at me.

My father clears his throat, looking at me intently, and there are four or five of our men standing behind him, at attention.

I lean forward, putting my mouth close to the shell of her ear.

“Say I do or there are eight men in this room that will end you.”

She trembles, but only slightly.

“I do,” she whispers. That’s good enough for Father Hannigan, who is being paid handsomely for this impromptu wedding, and he finishes up his speech.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

I lean down and press my lips against her mouth, chastely and coldly, barely tasting her cherry chapstick. A rush of arousal runs down my spine nevertheless, and I hate myself for it.

Why does she affect me so much? She is a Murphy.

Bree stands stock still, trembling slightly, but my father walks up to her.

“You won’t be harmed,” I murmur to Bree as I stand beside her. “Not as long as you do what you’re told.”

She doesn’t respond, but her hazel eyes flash to mine, and they’re full of rage.

Good. I don’t want her getting any ideas that I give a shit about her or actually want this.

“I’ve invited a few people for the ceremony,” my father says, and I stare at him as if he’s lost his mind, which I’m pretty sure he has. “You’ll be polite.”

I nod. It’s not like I have a choice.

If this is what he wants, this is what I’ll do, but I don’t have to be happy about it.

I take a drink of champagne from a nearby table and offer one to Bree but she shakes her head briefly.

I sigh. “You can loosen up, you know? I told you that you won’t be harmed.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” she grumbles in a low tone. “You just threatened me to death if I didn’t say yes to this scam of a wedding, so I’m not really chomping at the bit to be here.”

“You were not doing your part, so I had to remind you of the consequences,” I admit. “But don’t worry. You’re my wife now, you’ll be fine.”

She scoffs, but her stomach growls loud enough that I can hear it.

“I’m sorry we have been such dreadful hosts and starved you since you got here,” I tell her. “You should have some crab cakes. Our chef, Marisol, is amazing.”

She huffs out a breath. “How do I know it isn’t poisoned?”

I roll my eyes and take a plate off the catering table. When Da had gotten all this set up, I don’t know, but his ability to throw a party at a moment’s notice is well documented.

I pop one into my mouth, taking my time chewing before swallowing. “See?”

She glares at me, but slowly takes the plate from me, taking a couple of small, polite bites before finally shoving the rest of it into her mouth.

I give her a half-grin. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t answer, but she eats another.

I sip the champagne, telling myself not to overindulge. I just want to get the hell out of here, so I can be alone and process.

Lara and Paige whisk Bree away somewhere, and I have to admit, I’m grateful. Her staring holes through me isn’t making me feel any better about this whole situation.

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