Page 35 of Guarding Rory

“Try harder.”

“I think we got it,” the photographer called before Dev could respond, his arms tensing around my thighs a moment before he set me back down on my feet.

We headed back inside just as the day dipped fully into dusk, and I half-listened as Fiona raved over the ‘golden hour’ photos we’d gotten. I was more focused on the feeling of Dev’s hand against my lower back, the way his fingertips felt like they were digging through the fabric of my dress in an attempt to get closer to my skin.

I wanted to rewind, go back to the moment we’d shared outside, see how Dev would’ve responded to my taunt if we’d had the time for it. But it was too late now, the two of us dutifully following Fiona as she led us back through the hallways of the ancient church.

“You’re going to love what we’ve done with the space,” she said with confidence, as if there were a world in which I’d be unhappy with how things turned out. I didn’t doubt her, not only because I didn’t have many opinions on what my wedding would look like, but because Fiona radiated so much competence that it allowed no doubt in her skills.

It didn’t hurt that the ceremony had been beautiful, the old wooden pews and gray stone of the ancient church decorated with greenery and flowers that matched my bouquet. It made the church feel old, other-worldly, the same feeling I’d gotten when I’d tried on my wedding dress. If Fiona could dress up an ancient, damp church into something that could’ve been pulled from a Tolkien novel, I was sure she could do the same for the reception.

But as I walked underneath the stone arch separating the walkway from the reception space, I realized Fiona had misled me. The foliage at the ceremony, the swaths of cloth that hung from the rafters to soften the all-stone, all-gray look of the chapel, the forest green carpet I walked down that wasspecifically brought in to match my wedding colors? All of that was child’s play. Because the ceremony had nothing on the reception.

The courtyard was gorgeous, surrounded on all sides by more of the gray stone that made up the church’s façade. The walls rose two stories, the open ceiling showing the rapidly darkening sky. Fairy lights had been strung across the open air, brightening the space.

Long wooden tables lined the edge of the courtyard, the centers stuffed with more of the dark greenery and white flowers that adorned the ceremony, candles interspersed throughout the leaves, sitting on clear holders that made the candles look as if they were floating. More greenery hung from the walls like climbing vines, white flowers peeking between the leaves. Patio heaters dotted the space, keeping it comfortable despite the winter air blowing through the tall archways.

I didn’t realize I’d stopped until Dev pulled me forward, leading us toward the small table at the far edge of the courtyard, only two place settings sitting on the dark wood of the table.

We were barely able to sit down before the first round of guests came over to offer their congratulations, half of their faces only vaguely familiar as business associates of my father. Most of them were those my father had worked with for years, those who had seen me in passing as a child, when they’d stopped by the compound to do business with my father. They knew me as Cormac’s daughter, whom Cillian so kindly allowed to be raised in the compound with the help of the staff that worked there.

There was Andrew Hicks, whose family had been supplying any manner of illegal weapons to my family’s business for the past fifty years. Chris Mulaney, the current DA, whom my father had pulled strings to have elected and had in his pocket just in case he ever needed his help. There were a few other politicians my father had business dealings with, some of them also familiarwith my husband, who greeted them by name, his voice holding an edge for those known to be less savory.

Then there were the men and women who worked for my father, who’d known me as a child, the daughter of their associate, the one they taught to play poker and how to sneak well enough to eavesdrop on my father’s business meetings, back when I was a young girl with no friends and little family. They knew me as Cormac’s daughter but also considered me as one of their own, giving me hugs instead of handshakes, their eyes kind as they wished Dev and me happiness, even as I saw the suspicion in their eyes, the wonder if Cillian had used me - a daughter so close to his business, one he watched grow up in his house - as something to be traded away.

I wasn’t upset at the assumption. It was close enough to the truth and would only help spread the knowledge that Cillian had an alliance through marriage with Dev and his crew. Hopefully, it would keep others away from the three of them, along with Wren and Ames, knowing the full force of my father’s wrath would come against anyone who’d go after the family of his pseudo-goddaughter’s husband.

“Seamus!” I called when I saw the familiar, smiling face striding across the courtyard, his height putting him above most of the people in attendance. He gathered me in a hug as soon as he was close enough, and I had to raise up onto my toes to reach his broad shoulders, smelling his familiar tobacco-and-mint scent.

“Little banphrionsa,” he chuckled into my ear, squeezing me tight before putting me back onto my feet. “You look beautiful, sweet girl. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Last I remember, you were a moody teenager, and now you’re grown. And married! I can barely believe it!”

“I can’t believe you flew in from Ireland to come to my wedding,” I said with disbelief, though I was happy at hispresence. I shook my head as I took in Dev standing beside me, and I gestured toward him. “Sorry. Dev, this is my great-uncle Seamus. Seamus, this is Devraj Shah, my husband.”

They shook hands, both of them wearing wide grins. “Great-uncle, huh? On Cormac’s side, I assume?” Dev asked, eyes narrowed.

Seamus only laughed, leaning in closer to murmur under his breath, quiet enough no one around could hear. “On herfather’sside, not Cormac’s,” he said with a wink. “I was around when Rory’s Mam was pregnant with her, helped raise Rory alongside Cillian and Cormac until I moved away.”

“Uncle Seamus moved to Ireland years ago, working on the family business overseas when my grandfather died,” I explained. “He’s who Dad was visiting a couple of weeks ago, catching up on business.”

“Cillian couldn’t trust anyone else when he took power, so I hopped back over to the homeland. Haven’t left since, keeping up our relationships overseas. Until now, of course,” he said, ruffling my hair gently, careful not to make a mess of it. “Couldn’t miss out on my favorite girl’s wedding.”

I scoffed. “I can hardly be your favorite girl when you haven’t seen me in years. Couldn’t even make a trip out to visit in all this time,” I chastised, even as I couldn’t help but smile at one of the most familiar faces in this room. Seamus wasn’t joking when he said he’d raised me, teaching me how to ride a bike when Cormac and Cillian worked under my grandfather, learning the business from the bottom-up. At the time, Seamus was my grandfather’s right-hand man as well as his brother.

“Some of us work for a living, kid,” he joked, nudging me with his elbow. “Putting out fires in Europe requires most of my attention. And creativity. Anyway, I don’t want to take up all your time. Go enjoy your wedding, lovebirds. I’ll be in town for acouple weeks or so, catching up on some work around here. We can all get together later, with your father.”

With promises to call, Seamus kissed me on both cheeks and shook Dev’s hand in goodbye, giving us a reprieve until the next set of guests came over.

The two of us managed bites of our meal between well-wishes, Dev and I barely able to do more than exchange exhausted smiles for the better part of an hour, though eventually those who did business with my father and Cormac and showed up to pay their respects trickled out, until mostly friends and family were left.

John brought his husband over to say hello, and I made good on my promise to thank him for the wedding shows he forced John to watch, the two of us laughing as John blushed when I attributed finding my wedding dress to him.

Cormac came over with his wife Naomi, her dark eyes and black hair more familiar to me than the features of my birth mother. Naomi was the closest thing I’d ever had to a mom, treating me like her daughter despite my lack of relation to her or her husband, who didn’t reveal my actual paternity until half a dozen years into their marriage, when Dad finally trusted her enough to allow her to know the truth. More likely, when he had enough bargaining chips - her marriage to Cormac, their son together, her love for me - to guarantee she’d keep the secret.

When she’d found out, I’d expected her to blow up at Cormac and me for lying, to give up on trying to mother a quiet, sad child with no friends. But instead she shrugged, telling me at eleven years old,You were never related to me by blood, and I still loved you as my own. You could be related to the devil himself, and I’d still consider you my daughter.

“My only daughter, married,” she tsked at me, holding me at arm’s length so she could take me in. “And gorgeous, as always. You get that from me, you know,” she winked, making me laughat the long-standing joke between the two of us, my pale skin and red hair at complete odds with her dark features and tawny skin.

“And my son-in-law!” She gushed, giving him a hug with no regard for the dangerous man beneath his clothes, telling him to his face, “Thanks so much for killing the man who tried to hurt my daughter.”

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