Page 70 of Iron Blade

No. I had always wanted an intimate affair. My father, me, and whatever girlfriend I might be able to retain between the hours I worked forging paintings, and selling them alongside overpriced dabs of acrylic on canvas.

No, I didn’t think I’d ever have time to cultivate the relationship that would be needed for a marriage, much less have a wedding. At least until Eoghan arrived, with that single-minded tenacity, and focus that was aimed adoringly right at me.

Keith pulled up next to a store, and turned off the engine. He got out and opened my door, and his eyes followed me as I got out, staying entirely too long on my legs. A store door opened, and a woman in a Tiffany turquoise green sheath dress stood, with a plastered smile on her face.

“Miss Kekoa? We’ve been expecting you.” Her smile was tight and was less than friendly.

Despite the late hour, the bridal store behind her was brightly lit like it was daytime. Beside her were women in the same kind of colors, standing with their hands clasped in front of them, their hair perfectly pulled back.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, as I stepped into the brilliant, bright, and very, very white shop. Tulle, silk, lace, and crystals adorned every single nook and crevice of this place. Not a single price tag in sight, which meant that the dresses were obscenely expensive.

“Miss Kekoa, let’s start with what kind of looks you like…” She came over with a pearl-white book that I knew would be full of pictures, but I didn’t need them.

I told her what I wanted. When they tried to pin a veil on me, I batted it away, looking at the florist who stood with an orchid bouquet and told her what I wanted to adorn my head.

“I don’t think that’ll go well with the hair we had planned for you,” the head Tiffany said, her hands on her hips. “Eoghan Green likes a minimalist look, so we were going to do a French twist, with…”

I snorted.

I looked at the women, and the one who was in charge. I assessed her from head to toe. She was thin, beautiful, and sleek. Exactly the kind of woman I would have expected for Eoghan Green. The exact kind of woman she had probably expected too.

“Eoghan didn’t choose a slicked back woman with pale skin, and no curves,” I looked her up and down, with my best disdainful glare. “He’s marrying me. He knows what he’s proposed to.”

These women weren’t going to make me sweat. Not now. Not ever.

Was I insecure with the sudden knowledge that Eoghan Green had possibly slept his way through every skinny pair of legs in New York City? Yes. But I wouldn't let that show.

“I want what I want,” I said, in my best imitation of Cosima. “If you don’t give it to me, Eoghan will know who’s to blame.”

Tiffany’s jaw clenched, and she looked at me with a quiet storm in her eyes.

She didn’t like me, and the feeling was quite mutual. But for once, I had all the cards. Not because I had earned it, but because I was marrying into it.

“I know what I want to look like on my wedding day,” I said, lifting my chin. “And my fiancé will adore me, no matter what I choose.”

I watched her nostrils flair, before she stretched her neck to one side, then replaced that tight smile on her pinchy little face.

“Yes ma’am,” she said, as she walked away with the vile little veil she was trying to offer me, and looked at myself in the mirror. They pinched, polished, and powdered me to death. I was sewn into the dress so that it hugged my waist, my rounded hips and breasts, and made my skin practically glow with the contrast to the bright white of the light, diamond-laced fabric that came off the shoulder into a corseted, plunging neckline, and a simple A-line that narrowed just a little at the knees to give a hint of a mermaid silhouette.

It wasn’t gaudy, like the ring on my finger. It didn’t sparkle large enough to signal the green lantern if I needed to. But it was me.

Would that be good enough?

Chapter twenty-four

Persephone

Eoghan

Ipaced the church, waiting for her arrival. “Christ, I should have picked a time.”

“That’s what happens when you do last minute things, Eoghan,” Dairo said, sitting on the altar, his feet dangling off the sacred platform where a sacrament would be if we were doing this the good, Catholic way. “You’re half-assing this! Why? You're afraid the girl will run away if you don’t do it right now?”

That was exactly what I was worried about.

“Tell me, cousin,” Dairo chuckled. “Is she such a good lay that you would pledge forever to her?”

I clenched my jaw. My hands closed into fists as the reminder of my unfulfilled desires washed over my skin. I hadn’t so much as seen those gorgeous tits that haunted my dreams. I knew they’d be large, rounded and smooth to the touch. I knew they’d taste divine, the moment she let me take them in my mouth. But other than a stolen kiss…

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