Page 130 of Illicit Temptation

“Yes. Turns out priests aren’t very busy during the week,” Erin chimes in.

“Great.” I had one card to play with Kieran to make sure he accepted Trace and me. No pre-nup. And to untie all my money from the family. Whatever I have, will be shared with my husband.

Eoghan is quickly amending my tax returns from the last three years, so I don’t get tagged by the IRS since I filed them all as Single and not Married knowing I was married. That will keep him busy.

Katya ended up having a C-section and Lachlan hasn’t left her side, or put down his daughter, except to let me hold her. Baby Layla is gorgeous with wisps of Katya’s fair hair and my brother’s gray eyes.

Riordan and Priscilla are covering for Lachlan, having Kieran’s nannies look after Saoirse-Rose. The rest of mybrothers are busy running the O’Rourke kingdom and going home to kids and wives, a few of them pregnant and who I hear are very horny. That’s as far as I let that thought resonate.

“Did you pick a dress from the ones I sent over?” Erin asks, shaking the idea of my brothers with their wives away.

“Oh no, not yet.” I hop off the white tufted leather sectional sofa in the living room of Trace’s apartment.Ourapartment once all of our assets are combined.

“I can’t believe you!” Larke says, huffing. “It’s the one thing brides salivate over and you don’t care.”

Wandering into the bedroom, I put the phone down and activate the speaker. “Because I wear fancy dresses all the time.” I unzip the first white garment bag. Then the next, and the next. “Okay, we have a problem.”

“What?” Erin sounds panicked.

“I don’t like any of these,” I whine with a profound sense of sadness all of a sudden.

“Because they’re not wedding dresses,” Larke snaps. “I’ll have a few real humdingers sent over early tomorrow morning.”

“She asked for simple, Larke,” Erin argues.

I feel so conflicted. I’m used to being in the background. These dresses say background all right. Erin gave me exactly what I asked for. Why do I hate them?

“I’ll figure it out,” I say and pick up the phone.

“Where is the gorgeous groom?” Larke asks, cooing.

“I honestly have no idea,” I answer because it’s true from a location standpoint. And I can’t tell my team over the phone, he’s probably murdering someone.

“It’s kind of late. Are you worried?” Larke whispers.

“Not in the least,” I laugh.

He walked through fire to stop me from getting a divorce and even stayed celibate.

Yawning and with the daunting uncertainty of what I’ll be wearing tomorrow and the prospect I’ll have to get up early and hunt down a dress on my own, I end the call with my team.

Tucked in bed, I scroll on my phone and shoot off a few messages to bridal designers who I know keep one-of-a-kind simple wedding dresses in stock. But it’s late and figure they’ll answer me in the morning. My heavy eyes close, and I drift off to sleep in a bed so soft, I sink right in. It feels like Trace’s arms are around me.

I’m awoken by a warm heavy body on top of me.

“Hello, wife.”

My eyes spring open to natural light of a bright and sunny late-spring morning pouring into the bedroom. “You’re just getting home?”

“Home... Our home, aye.”

Squinting, I check the clock, shocked at the time. “Where have you been? Did you have a bachelor party I didn’t know about?”

“I’m not a bachelor, love. I was tying up loose ends.” He pushes the covers away. “Or in this case, decapitating them.”

I take in his appearance. Unlike other mafia husbands,who I heardcome home covered in blood and head straight for a shower, mine pulls me in and swipes any fresh blood across my cheeks before devouring me.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach every time he touches me with bloodied hands. I’m ashamed of how I love the smell of raw male heat after a kill and the scent of blood on his skin.

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