by Lexi Whitlow
“All mine,” I say again. “Tomorrow. Whatever I decide to do.”
Skye nods. Her lips purse together. It looks like she’s about to say something, but instead, she takes my hand and pulls me up. We go to the shower together, letting the hot water roll over our bodies.
Skye is the first woman I didn’t fuck on the first night I met her, all because of a hunch. I touch her body, let the soap bubbles roll over her supple curves, kiss her as the water streams over us.
If I was anyone else, this would be a beginning—the first night in my new apartment with my fiancée.
Instead, it feels like it could be an ending.
The future presses down on us like a ghost. There’s so much I want to tell her, but I keep my mouth closed. Instead, I use it for other things, tasting her, bringing her to the edge again and again beneath the hot waterfall of the shower.
And tomorrow, we have our very own, very fake, and according to my mother, very big—wedding.
Skye
The church in Queens is big, old, and fully intimidating. Because everything happened so fast, I never stepped inside of it until the morning of the wedding.
“You’ll go down the aisle starting right here.” The woman, some aunt of Liam’s, gives me a bored look and points down the center aisle of the church. “And you’ve got how many bridesmaids?”
“Just one,” I say. “She’s back in the gathering hall in one of the rooms.” I shift uncomfortably. Even though Rhiannon put makeup on me in a tasteful, measured way, I still feel weird. I’m wearing one of Liam’s old t-shirts and his gym shorts, and my hair is pulled back into a bun with tendrils framing my face on either side. The hairspray Liam’s cadre of aunts used on me feels like it’s stuck on my skin as well as in my hair. The whole look is completely uncomfortable, and I keep wondering what Liam’s aunt thinks of me.
“That’s fine. Not everyone has as many brothers as Liam does.”
“How many exactly?” I clamp my mouth closed when I say this. I’m supposed to know everything about the man I’m marrying, right?
“How many what?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Brothers? I keep forgetting how many brothers Liam has.”
His aunt gives me a pained look. “Tell me honestly. Is this a shotgun wedding?”
I blush. “Oh, um. No, it’s not. I just… forgot what Liam said about his brothers.”
“Three. Damian, Finn, and Malachy.” The aunt sighs. I’ve already forgotten her name. She checks her watch. “You need to get going. The ceremony is going to start in an hour.”
“I didn’t realize it was that late.” My heart starts pounding hard, blood rushing in my ears.
The aunt ushers me back to the gathering hall, where Rhiannon waits for me in one room. Liam is somewhere else. With his brothers, his father.
I think of what he told me last night, and I’m suddenly terrified.
Liam’s aunt turns to me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Back in my day, we didn’t get to try on the shoes before we bought them.” She gives me a wink. “But you know what you’re getting into. You’re living in the same apartment! Your wedding night won’t be a surprise like mine was. The size of these men in this family! My sister-in-law—she married Padraic, Liam’s uncle—and she ended up in the emergency room the day before she was supposed to go on her honeymoon. Couldn’t walk straight for a week.”
She looks at me knowingly, and I turn as pale as the white dress I’m supposed to be wearing. The one Liam told me to put on without panties underneath.
I still have my panties on right now, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll obey him—my soon to be husband.
I think about that poor woman, in the emergency room, some thirty years ago—maybe she had one of Liam’s uncles sitting next to her. I wonder if he was hanging his head in embarrassment—or worse, if he was proud.
“I, um. I ought to go get dressed.” I hurry off, avoiding the aunt’s stare. There’s a burning warmth between my legs when I think of Liam. The fear that it might hurt—that he could be too much—only makes my desire for him more intense.
“Good luck, honey! You’ll do fine!” The aunt’s voice follows me down the hall, where I find Rhiannon waiting for me outside of one of the choir dressing rooms, just beside the big hall that’s been done up with a dance floor and a stage.
I guess that Liam’s mom had no problem buying the idea that we were getting married after only knowing each other for a couple of weeks. In fact, I’d wager she was actually glad one of her sons was finally getting married, whether or not it was for real.
Maybe she hopes it is.
“Get in here!” Rhiannon pulls me in the room and straightaway starts stripping me out of my clothes. Before I can even respond, she has me strapped into the corset-like strapless bra I’m supposed to be wearing with my dress. I have to contort my body to even fit into it—but the result is splendid. I turn to a mirror that leans against one wall, and I see a different person when I turn to look at myself.
My breasts are prominently on display, and my waist looks tiny. My hips jut out just like they always have, but today they look even more beautiful. I see myself how Liam sees me. I touch the curve of my hip, appreciating it.
“Here, put these on, too.” Rhiannon puts a pair of high heels—higher than I’ve ever worn—into my hand. I step into them, and my red toenails peek through.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk in these.”
She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You can take them off after you walk down the aisle.”
I wonder as I stand there if Liam will want me to keep them on while he’s fucking me, and a thrill runs through my body. Signing the wedding certificate, lying to every guest here, faking what I always thought was a holy sacrament—it might be worth it if I get to lose my virginity with Liam fucking me in my wedding dress.
Rhiannon interrupts my reverie and brings the dress over to me, helping me pull it over my head. I close my eyes while she zips the dress to the top, and my breath catches in my throat. The bodice is tight and restrictive, but the full skirt feels like velvet against my legs.
“Wow,” Rhiannon breathes. “You look incredible. I mean, I know this isn’t like, the real thing. But still, you pulled it off. Where’d you even find this dress?”
“It was vintage. Found it on Etsy. It was like thirty bucks. Good deal huh? I was going to look at the thrift store near the apartment, but I didn’t have time. We had to set up the apartment and get it ready for Brie.”
“The apartment? You mean the one you’ve lived in for three years—the one in Brooklyn? Or the new one, with the tattooed boy with the dreamy eyes?”
I blush. “The new one.”
Rhiannon sighs. “This all worries me a fucking lot, for your information. Like, FYI, you shouldn’t do any of this.” She hands me a lipstick—bright red to match my toenails. “But you will look super fabulous doing it. I hate you for roping me into this, but I truly can’t resist weddings. Fucking hell.” She sighs dramatically.
Outside the door, there’s a voice. “You ready, little librarian?”
Rhiannon rolls her eyes. “You can’t see her! It’s bad luck—even though everyone knows this is a damn fake-ass shenanigan!” She says it loudly enough that I’m sure Liam hears her through the door.
“Don’t say that too loud. There are certain people here today that are counting on it being fake as fuck. So, we need to make it seem real.”
“I know,” I say, walking up to the door. I put my hand against it, like I can feel him on the other side, waiting for me. Waiting to marry me. Take my virginity. Maybe break my heart. “It’s going to look real.”
“I’m not worried about you, Skye. It’s your friend in there. Tell her to keep it cool. Marta is here with the kid—and she’ll be taking notes while she’s in the pews, no doubt.”
I gulp. I don’t want to be the one who ruins this custody battle for him.
“I’ll keep extremely cool,” Rhiannon says. I know she will.
“See you out there,” Liam says.
I don’t hear him walk away, and my hand is still pressed against the wooden door. “See you out there,” I repeat.
He walks away, and I’m left to do touchups on my makeup and put on the bright red lipstick. When I look in the mirror, I see a different person—one more confident and capable than the girl I knew only two weeks ago. Liam, for better or worse, has changed me. And surprisingly, I like what I see.
When Rhiannon walks out to the church, she squeezes me tight. “I’ll see you in five, babe.”
Before leaving the room, I shimmy out of my panties, shoving them in the bag I brought with me. I’m smooth, and I’m already wet for him, waiting. Wanting. The garter is the only thing I have on beneath my dress. Like Liam said, I feel every step. I anticipate every move, every touch of his skin against mine. I’ll change forever today, no matter what.
I wobble slightly on the heels as I walk out the door and down the hallway, passing through the empty halls to find my father, waiting for me. He hugs me awkwardly and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“I’ll never understand why you decided to do things so quickly,” he whispers, as we walk to the foyer that leads to the aisle. My stomach is full of butterflies.
“We’re in love,” I say automatically, though I’m not sure if the words mean anything. “We knew it was meant to be. We don’t want to wait anymore.”
These all sound like things a bride would say, if I were a real bride.
And I want him to fuck me. Be his for a little while. Do what he tells me, make him want me every day while I have him.
My dad takes my hands in his. “You do look sensational, honey. But tell me again. Just assure me—you’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Not a chance,” I say. “There’s definitely no chance of that at all.” I smile, and my blood starts to buzz like it did when I used to get high with my friends in college. It could be the bra cutting off circulation to my brain, extreme anxiety, or a combination of the two, but I sort of feel like I’m tumbling forward. The music starts up, and just like that, my father is walking me down the aisle on my wedding day.
The side of the church that’s supposed to seat my guests is mostly empty. There are a few cousins who came on short notice, and my mother is there, looking shocked—but pleased. After Charlie and my withdrawal into myself, I think she decided she’d given birth to a spinster, dried up at the age of twenty-four. There’s a few girls from my dorm, and Mariella, my boss. Since she’s a romance writer, she thinks the whole thing is wickedly romantic—and she gave me the week off work. When I pass her by, she gives me a thumbs-up.
The Dougherty side is filled with perfectly made up women and their husbands, each of them prepared to come to a wedding on short notice—kind of like this stuff happens all the time around here. My stomach drops at the thought.
A pawn in a game. That’s what I am. Maybe. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.
Liam turns and sees me for the first time since this morning. When his eyes meet mine, I feel every movement of my body, all working together in tandem, building to the moment when he takes me into his arms tonight.
My father kisses my cheek again and goes to sit in the pew with my mother, who has tears in her eyes. Tears of shock or sadness, or maybe relief that her daughter finally got over the boy who broke her heart. I think that’s the real reason my parents are here—they were both so disappointed when I split with Charlie. And when I announced to them just days ago that I was getting married, they seemed surprised—but their voices sounded lighter the next day, like they had been wanting this. A real, true, religious wedding in a church. They didn’t even seem to mind that Liam is Irish Catholic. He’s a man for their daughter to have and hold—a real man for their pure, innocent daughter.
Little do they know.
As I walk, there’s a searing sensation like lightning striking through my core. My virgin sex is bare for him, and ready for the night I’ve been waiting for.
My father and mother look at me with pleased, if somewhat shell-shocked, expressions on their faces.
And then I turn to him. He’s standing next to his brothers, each tall and broad shouldered, wearing gray suits in slightly different shades. Liam’s tux makes him stand out, and he looks even bigger than each of them. His smile is broader, and his muscular frame more prominent.
Even if it’s all a ruse, it’s worth it for today.
This wedding can be practice. And I’ll lose my virginity on my wedding night, just like I had wanted. Just like I’d dreamed. But instead of the fear and pain I imagined in my younger years, Liam will give me pleasure—even if he can’t give me love.
I step up to Liam, and he takes my hand in his, and brings it to his mouth, kissing it gently. I’m wearing the tiny diamond he gave me. It occurs to me, when the priest starts speaking, that I’m not sure if he has a ring. For some reason, my heart beats hard when I think of this, like it will make it more real, one way or another.
One of his brothers reads from Corinthians, a passage I’ve heard a thousand times at all the Protestant weddings I went to with my parents. It’s sweet and simple, but the words say nothing about me and Liam. When he looks at me, I don’t feel pure love. Instead, I feel his eyes roaming over the swelling orbs of my breasts, down to my skirt that hides the treasure waiting just for him.
There’s nothing pure about what I want right now, even though he’s made me live by the letter of the law.
It’s not what I would have chosen.
But it’s what Liam wants, what he’s told me I’m going to do. Give myself to him fully, tonight.
Another brother reads the passage about a woman being a helpmeet to her husband. And then, the priest is talking again, and we repeat our vows. They’re just empty words here, not holy ones.
“Through sickness and health,” I repeat. “Until death do us part.” My face feels numb when I speak, and I can feel myself growing pale, my hands cold. But Liam grabs my fingers, and the warmth returns to them.
“I will stand by this woman,” he says. “I will be next to her in sickness and in health. In rich times and in poor. Until death do us part.”
“Do you have the rings?” The priest asks, his voice creaky.
One of his brothers—Damian with the dark hair and crystal blue eyes—hands two small gold rings to Liam. I know better than to ask where they come from. It’s an answer I’m sure I don’t want to know when it comes to the Dougherty family.
Before I can blink, Liam is slipping a ring onto my finger.
I look into his changeable, hazel eyes and swallow hard. Yellow and green and brown all at once. Like the mountains in the autumn.
“With this ring, I thee wed,” he says, like he knows the line by heart. I guess he’s said it before—or I’m not sure. I don’t know if he and Tabitha were ever married. My heart leaps. How can I marry a man that I know barely anything about?
Before the thought takes hold, I find myself placing the ring on Liam’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”
We turn to the small crowd in the church.
“Is there anyone here who objects to this marriage? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
My blood buzzes with nervousness. I look over to my parents, and back to Liam’s brothers. Everyone is silent, for now. Even Marta sits quietly, hands in her lap. Brie beams at us, even though Marta refused to let her be the flower girl. That awful woman gives me a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. I resist the urge to sneer at her. After all, this is partly for her.
It feels like forever, but there are no objections. I start to step down from the altar, nearly stumbling over my heels. But there’s more—I forgot. We never rehearsed, anyway.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest adds, as if it’s an afterthought.
Liam takes me by the waist and dips me down, his hand traveling over the nape of m
y neck. When he kisses me, I sense his deep, waiting hunger. His tongue finds mine, a welcome invasion. And I let myself melt into him, my body relaxed and calm as he kisses me in front of our family and friends.
Liam and I walk back down the aisle, music surrounding us, rose petals falling over us like spring rain.
We’ve gotten away with it.
And we’re man and wife.
Liam
Skye is holding onto my hand, knuckles white, when we walk into the gathering hall behind the church. Her friend, Rhiannon, is glaring at me, just like she was the other night. But she gives Skye a huge thumbs up when she sees her, and something tells me Rhiannon can’t resist a big event. I can see why Finn is looking at her, too. She’s a firecracker, exactly his type.
