Page 133 of Illicit Temptation

“A wedding he planned to stop.” Trace pulls my hair and kisses me deeply. “Consider his head in a ditch an early wedding present.”

EPILOGUE TWO

Shea

Afew hours later, under the mid-afternoon sun, nestled in the Cloisters and high up on a cliff, I look out at all of Manhattan, waiting to get married. Not waiting for Trace, who’s inside the small chapel — I’m waiting for me.

I’m waiting for some kind of sign that thisisn’tright. Not that marrying Trace isn’t right. It’s the rightest thing in the world. We’re fated mates, I know this. A Quinlan and an O’Rourke were destined to be together, somehow, someway.

And it’s us.

There was no stopping us from being together forever or undoing that sketchy Vegas wedding once it happened. I’m swamped with guilt for putting myself secondonce againand not taking advantage of this one special day. A day where every single woman gets to be a princess and bask in the limelight. For not giving Trace any consideration in the planning to see what he might have wanted.

I urged Trace to reconsider what he’s giving up by marrying a woman who can’t have children. He never wavered. I’m the one wavering. I’ve been denied the one thing nearly every woman is blessed with,andI’m about to throw away the one thing I can have!

Nope. I’m calling this off. We’ll do something bigger. When everyone is available. Trace will understand. It’s not like everyone took a day off from their schedules to be here on a Wednesday.

Sniffing, I hurry down to the chapel. Getting closer, I hear soft music playing. A cello and violin sweetly hum together typical pre-wedding melodies.

I stop. “I didn’t request music.”

Larke!

At the historic chapel on the grounds, covered in vines and lattice laced with roses, I open the arched mahogany door and step inside the vestibule. An easy chill from the original smooth natural stone tiles cools my heated skin and the scent of candles fills my nose.

The doors to the nave with several rows of original Flemish oak pews are closed. As I reach for the handle, someone tugs on my dress. A dress I let Trace pick out.

“Hi, Aunt Shea.” Sophie stares up at me with a basket of rose petals.

“Um.” I’m speechless, thinking I’m seeing things.

“Go ahead, sweetie.” Larke hands me a beautiful white lily bouquet before guiding Sophie inside the nave. “Walk right to the front on the runner and drop the petals like we practiced, okay?”

“Mynieceis here?” Stunned, I watch her toss a handful of red rose petals into the air and spin adorably letting them fall all around her.

“Can’t have a wedding without a flower girl,” Larke replies wryly. “And before you ask, you were right. Your family had something urgent to attend to. This is still small, and we have just enough witnesses.”

“Ready, love?” Kieran’s voice sounds out over my shoulder.

I stagger back and he’s holding out his arm, looking as dashing as ever. But he’s not in one of his usual savage suits. It’s a...tux. “What the heck are you doing here?”

My brother, who found his smile when he found Isabella, says, “I’mgiving you away.”

I gape at Larke.

She shrugs innocently. “You needed someone to give you away.”

I take a deep breath, calming myself. Kieran and Sophie are here, which probably means Darragh is here. Anamust be busy. That’s fine. Kieran is the boss and makes his own schedule.

“Sorry, we’re late, lass,” Rhys says, squeezing by to head inside.

“Trace’s best man,” Larke explains. “He needs one.”

“Did you pick up your parents, you git?” Kieran calls out to Rhys, who smiles and jogs inside.

Parents?

I spin around and have to scrape my jaw off the stone floor. “Mrs.... Mrs. Quinlan?”

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