Page 36 of Forbidden Vows

Easier said than done, of course. Sergei is an intelligent man. A savvy entrepreneur. And a fucking extraordinary psychopath. The man has outsmarted and outgunned anyone who’s gotten in his way, his own family included.

I’m not scared of him, but I do worry. If the other families turn against us, holding on to the seat of power might kill us.

I’m about to marry an incredible woman and our first child is on the way.

I’ve got work to do.

Chapter 13

Eileen

My wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.

Yet here I stand, at the doors of the ceremony hall, holding my bridal bouquet and my breath. I look around at the approximately fifty people present. This feels like a shotgun wedding. Hell, it really is, if I think about it.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, my dress suddenly too tight.

My father hooks his arm through mine. He’s yet to see a doctor, and he’s looking like he’s got one foot in the grave already. It’s the stubborn Irish in him, through and through. “Come on, Eileen. You’ve got this,” he whispers.

I glance down at myself. The bridal gown is beautiful. Trying it on and having it adjusted for my ever-changing figure was one of the highlights over the past few weeks. The white satin wraps around my chest and arms, leaving my shoulders and the upper part of my back bare. Everything else is an elegant tulle with thousands of pearls embroidered in delicate floral motifs. My veil flows from a gold band fastened around my updo.Curls tickle the base of my neck. I look beautiful. I should feel beautiful.

“Do I?”

“You do, my child,” my father says. “For better or worse, this is your day. And you must seize it. You’re a Donovan.”

I look around again, spotting guests from our side of the family, some from Anton’s. Ciara sits in the front row, still sulking. I bet she’ll grow old and be buried with that frown on her face.

“She hates me.”

Dad follows my gaze. “Ciara will get over it. Come, Eileen. Let’s get you married.”

I should be gliding down the aisle, weightless with joy. But I can’t savor this moment. Not really. It feels as though I stole it from Ciara. Anton stole it, actually. He couldn’t leave well enough alone, and now he waits for me at the end of the aisle, next to the priest and his brother.

We didn’t have any bridesmaids. No pompous ceremony. Nothing too flashy. We agreed on something small and private after the debacle at the first wedding attempt.

Bitterness lingers on the tip of my tongue as I take a deep breath and let my father walk me down the aisle. The organ fades into the background as the thudding of my heart echoes in my ears.

“You look wonderful,” Laura whispers from her seat.

I give her a warm smile. “Thank you.”

If only I felt wonderful. For a moment, as my gaze locks on Anton, I fool myself into thinking that this might turn out beautifully, after all. The sparkle in his eyes lights a fire withinmy heart.

We haven’t seen much of each other since I got back from the hospital. I made sure to keep busy and out of his reach, and every time we did meet, I kept it short and at a reasonable distance.

“Congratulations!” a cousin of ours whispers loudly.

I smile and nod, pretending this really is a most auspicious day. To my surprise, whenever I look at Anton, I actually believe it long enough for me to play my part, anyway. My father gives me away, quietly shaking the groom’s hand before he takes his seat next to Ciara. She’s got tears in her eyes, and spite curls her red lips. The off-white dress she’s wearing is yet another jab. Dad gives her a gentle squeeze on the knee.

“Ready?” Anton asks me.

“As I’m ever going to be,” I grumble, then put on a fake smile and face the priest.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest begins as he prepares to read a few passages from the Good Book, “we are gathered here today to join…”

His voice fades as my mind and gaze wander.

I smell the candles burning. The subtle fragrance of my rose bouquet.

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