by A. Zavarelli
Christ. She’s right. Crow’s expecting her.
“He gave ye the night off,” I lie.
I’ll deal with Crow later. I don’t know why it fecking matters, but I don’t want her dancing tonight. Not after all the things she told me this afternoon.
She frowns. “Why would he do that? Did he not like my work?”
“It isn’t that.” I tear my eyes away from hers. “It’s just a scheduling mishap.”
I feel like an arsehole for lying to her, even though I shouldn’t. If I’m going to make the best of this situation, I need to remember that her feelings aren’t important. That’s the only way we can make this work. It needs to be a business arrangement. That’s what I try to remember as I catch my gaze roaming the subtle curves of her body again.
“You can make yourself at home in my room,” I grunt. “I haven’t done much with the spare room yet.”
“What about you?” she asks.
“I don’t often make it past the couch. I won’t be bothering you.”
She seems to consider this for a minute, and she still isn’t getting how bad I just need her out of my sight right now before I do something stupid.
“You’ll probably want an early night,” I add. “We have a big day tomorrow.”
“What’s happening tomorrow?” She frowns.
My jaw grinds down so hard I can barely get the words out. “We’re getting married.”
11
IVY
WHEN I WAKE up in Conor’s bed, it almost seems surreal how much my life has changed in the matter of twenty-four hours. I went from sleeping behind a dumpster to a warm bed, and after today, I’ll be married.
I spend an hour scribbling in my journal, thinking that if I can somehow see my thoughts written in ink, it will make me feel better about the situation. But it doesn’t take the edge off. Not this time.
When I finally manage to swallow down my nerves and face the day, I find Conor sitting at the kitchen table with two fresh cups of Dunkie’s coffee and more donuts. He wasn’t kidding when he said that’s what they usually get.
“Good morning.” I sit down across from him.
His attention flicks from his phone to me, and I wonder if he’s even aware that his eyes are wandering over my body again. From the first time he opened his mouth, I was dead sure he didn’t find me attractive. In fact, he made a point of letting me know it, several times. Other than the slight sting his words left behind, I was okay with that. After Muerto, I couldn’t imagine I would ever want a man’s attention again.
But right now, with Conor’s eyes on me, something feels different. My stomach is all fluttery and my cheeks feel too warm, and maybe there’s a small part of me that does like it. Maybe there’s even a small part of me that wants it, as crazy as that might be. And it is crazy. So crazy that I need to bleach those thoughts from my mind before they can leave a stain.
“Morning,” he says gruffly. “I sorted ye some breakfast. There’s a couple sandwiches in that bag if ye don’t fancy another donut.”
“Thanks.” I take a coffee and another donut while he returns to his phone, tapping text messages. When I finish my breakfast in silence, Conor points to the couch without looking at me.
“There are clothes too. At least a few warmer things for now. We can sort ye out a real shopping trip later.”
I glance at the pile of bags on the couch, and my body stills. The gesture is completely unexpected, and immediately I’m wondering what strings are attached. I’m not in the habit of accepting handouts from people, especially if they come with baggage.
Conor glances at me and shakes his head. “I don’t expect anything in return, Ivy. They’re just clothes.”
I feel like an idiot for even thinking otherwise. Especially when I tried to fling myself at him any which way I could offer last night in a bid to protect Archer. He didn’t accept then, so I don’t know why he would now.
I pad over to the sofa and examine the pieces he bought me. There’s a winter coat and a couple lighter jackets. In another bag, I find all the cold weather basics. Scarves, beanies, gloves, jeans, boots, and sweaters. And a multi pack of cotton underwear, along with two bras.
“How did you know what sizes to get?”
A flush creeps over Conor’s face as he shifts in the chair. “I looked through your bag.”
Heat pricks at my neck, and I want to be angry at him for invading my privacy, but how can I? It was a nice gesture, or at least it seems like it. Even if it makes me feel slightly humiliated that he had to buy me clothes at all, it doesn’t feel like that was his intention.
“Is there a problem?” he asks.
“No.” I clear my throat. “I’m just… these are really nice. Thank you.”
“I didn’t pick them out,” he says. “So, I can’t take credit for that. Crow’s wife did all the shopping.”
“Then I should probably thank her too.” I go about the business of picking out something to wear for the day before Conor stops me.
“There’s a dress in the bathroom.”
“A dress?”
“Aye,” he grunts. “For the ceremony.”
Right. We’re getting married today. And he bought me a dress. My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s going to blow out of my chest. “Where are we doing it?”
The words come out all wrong, and my cheeks heat when Conor turns to me with a smirk. “We’ll exchange vows at City Hall. Nothing too fancy. But ye should at least have a dress.”
I stare down at my toes. “Are you sure you want to do this? You could just send me away, you know. Archer and I can disappear, and I wouldn’t be a hindrance in your life. You wouldn’t have to change anything.”
The muscle in his jaw tenses, and his eyes darken. “No can do. You’ve seen some shite ye were never meant to see and this is the only way I can keep you and my crew safe.”
There’s no point arguing. Conor has made up his mind, and I won’t be changing it. But I still can’t help wondering if he really knows what he’s getting himself into.
“So, it’s just the two of us then?” I ask, for no other reason than to break the awkward silence that lingers between us as we wait in the hall.
Conor tugs at the tie around his neck like it’s strangling him. “I’ll tell Crow after.”
He looks as sick about the thought as I currently feel. My blood is pumping so hard and fast it sounds like a freight train running through my ears. I’m lightheaded and nauseous and I can’t stop glancing at the exit, wondering if I could actually make it. But then, out of nowhere, Conor takes my hand in his to stop me from shaking.
“It will all work out. No sense letting yourself get out of sorts over it.”
He sounds so certain, but how can he be? I search his eyes and as tense as he might be, all I find there is calm. So much calm. I don’t know how he can be so okay with this. Signing his life over to someone he barely knows. But then again, I guess it doesn’t really work that way in the mafia. If he gets sick of me, he can just get rid of me. I’m pretty sure I don’t have the same option. But I will be his wife. A role that I’m certain comes with expectations. It’s enough to make any sane person fall off the deep end. But when I look at Conor, steady and strong and fearless, I have to believe that it will be okay. What choice do I have? I’m in it now. At least for the time being.
I study the lines of his face. The long lashes and angular jaw and those soulful green eyes. He is handsome in an obvious way, but there are so many subtleties I have yet to unearth. With our eyes locked on each other, it occurs to me that I want to know them. Like that scar above his eyebrow, how did he get it? Or the callouses on his hands… what made him so hard? I want to know his secrets. The things that hurt him. The things that shaped who he is today. These are dangerous thoughts to have. I’m not supposed to care, and I try to remind myself of that when he squeezes my hand and they call our names.
We follow the clerk into a small room set up with a few chairs and the offi
ciant who is already waiting. The walk up the aisle is entirely too short, and I still don’t know if I can do this. But then I catch sight of our reflection in the mirror on the wall in front of us. Conor in his white button-down shirt and black vest, and me in the white lace dress he picked out for me.
It isn’t a traditional wedding by any means, but you wouldn’t know that by looking at us. From the outside, we look like any other bride and groom about to take the plunge. A little nervous, a lot flushed. But there’s one thing about this picture I can’t deny.
Conor hasn’t taken his eyes off me. And when the vows are read, he repeats them back word for word like they really mean something to him. It scares me even more than the idea that they don’t. Nevertheless, I find myself caught up in the moment, repeating them back just the same.
The ceremony is short, simple, and to the point. It’s over before I can really grasp what I’ve done. And then the officiant pronounces us husband and wife.
Mr. and Mrs. O’Callahan.
She tells Conor he can kiss me, and nervous laughter bubbles up my throat but gets caught there before it can escape. He’s staring at me like he didn’t think about this part. I’m trying to think of something to say, but Conor surprises me when he steps forward and slides his hand up to rest on the back of my neck.
“Just a wee one,” he whispers. And then his head tilts toward mine, hot lips brushing against my mouth that currently feels like the desert.
I’m too stunned to think about it. I can’t understand what’s happening when Conor lets out the smallest of groans, and I start to kiss him back. My lips part, and his tongue invades my mouth as his grip on me tightens. My head spins, and I feel off balance, almost drunk as I melt into his body. He’s so bad for me, but nothing else has ever felt so good.
He tastes of whiskey and mint and danger. So much danger. Surely, I should remember that. But I can’t seem to think of anything else when my hands curl into his vest, adhering to him as our simple kiss turns into an almost x rated show for the officiant.
Conor is the one who finally pulls away, breathless and stunned as his brows pinch together and he examines me like he doesn’t know what just happened either. Neither of us acknowledges it as we put ourselves back together and look anywhere but at each other.
At Conor’s request, the clerk snaps a few perfunctory photos of us, and then we are free to leave. Or in their words, free to start our lives of wedded bliss together.
12
CONOR
OUTSIDE CITY HALL, the rest of the bleeding world carries on with their lives as if they don't have a clue how badly I've just fucked up mine. I offer Ivy a smile for her benefit, but she doesn’t notice. As soon as we stepped outside, she shut down, opting for despondency as we drive in silence.
I want to assure her again that everything is going to be alright, but I can't find it in me to do it. Telling Crow that I've gone behind his back and married the girl I was supposed to kill is not a recipe for good things to come.
The enormity of what I've done hits me in waves. I don't suspect Ivy is all that clued in on our mafia culture, and I probably should have warned her that when we marry, that contract lasts a lifetime. It doesn't matter if she hates the sight of me, we signed our names on the dotted line and now she’s mine and I’m hers. Forever.
When I sneak a glance at her, pale and uncertain, it occurs to me that I like the idea of that a little too much. As fecked up as the whole situation might be, the man in me is satisfied with the fact that I’ve laid claim to her. At least, in my own mind. It will take some time before I confess to Crow. I need to let him get used to the idea before I drop a bomb like this.
There are rules we all have to abide by. And if there’s one thing I can be certain of, it’s that I’ve saved Ivy’s life and secured her protection from the brotherhood.
Wives are off limits.
Maybe it’s cheap, but Crow will have to honor that sacred agreement. It doesn’t mean he can’t and won’t have me killed for it though. What I’ve done is a betrayal of our trust, and I’ll remember that every time I look myself in the mirror.
I never thought there was anything that could test my loyalty. Two weeks ago, nothing could have convinced me otherwise. But two weeks ago, I didn’t know her. There is something about this girl that crawled under my skin the moment she stumbled into my life. It was easy to believe that I did all of this because of the kid. I didn’t want him growing up an orphan. But that has nothing to do with the way my eyes have been roaming over her. Or the fact that when we kissed it was like ten thousand volts of electricity straight to my dick. Now all I can seem to think about is being inside of her. Owning her. Laying claim to her body and her mind.
Ivy doesn't seem to be on the same train of thought. Her hands curl together in her lap all the way home and she stares out the window, silent. I want to know what she’s thinking. I want to know what she’s feeling, and I hate myself for it.
If this is going to work, I need to cop on to myself. Ivy isn't here because she likes me. She isn't here because she wants me. She's here because it's the only way she can stay alive. At the end of the day, there will always be a part of her that hates me.
The reality of our situation makes my throat itch for a drink and my fists desperate to pummel a punching bag just to bleed some of this tension out of my body. But before I do any of that I have to establish the ground rules with her.
The moment we walk in the door, she tries to make a mad dash down the hall to change out of her dress, and I grab her by the arm. She looks up at me, wide eyed, pink cheeks, and so pretty I could fuck her right now. I wonder if she’s thought about it. I wonder if the idea repulses her. And then I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me.
I tell her to sit down on the couch and she does. My eyes rake over her, and she’s back to being skittish as a fecking mouse. We have a long way to go. She's been beaten down by life and hungry for far too long and I intend to put a good twenty pounds back on her frame by feeding her regular meals and taking care of her. But the first thing I need to do is establish how this relationship is going to work between us.
“I have to go out tonight,” I tell her. “Work shite. But before you go getting any big ideas about running out on me, I need you to know one thing. If ye do run there isn't a place on this earth I won't find you. That my brothers won't find you. And those vows we said today, I meant them, Ivy. I hope you took them seriously, because I won't be able to save you if you break them. I know what Muerto did to you. I know the threats he made. But ye have my word as long as there's breath in my lungs Archer will be safe. I can't promise you the same unless you stay here and abide by my rules.”
Her eyes are glassy, but she jerks her chin in agreement. I’m fairly certain I’ve made my point when she comes back at me with something I seem to have forgotten.
“I still have to work tonight,” she says. “Crow is expecting me, and I can't let him down.”
Her observation feeds the irritation festering inside of me. She's right that Crow’s expecting her, but that isn’t what bothers me. What bothers me is that she wants to go. It shouldn't make a damn bit of difference to me. I have no reason to deny her being up on that stage for all the world to see. Other than the fact that she's now my wife, and I don't want any other bleeding imbeciles looking at her like that. But I'm not about to admit that to her especially when I don't want her getting any ideas that this is any sort of romantic arrangement between us.
Ivy holds her breath and waits for me to tell her what we're going to do.
“I still want to work,” she volunteers. “I can't just sit around here with nothing to do, and I gave Crow my word.”
I want to prove it makes no goddamned difference to me, and that’s the reason I find myself nodding along. But I can't change the fact that my voice is full of acid. “If shaking your arse up on stage for all the lads to see is what gets your jollies off, be my guest. You better sort yourself out because I'm heading to the club
in ten minutes.”
And with that sentiment I leave her on the couch while I fuck on out the door to wait in the car.
13
IVY
CONOR’S KNUCKLES are white as he drives to the club, and any connection we might have shared earlier is gone now. Tension bleeds into his body with every second we spend together, and I don’t feel like I can breathe again until we finally pull into the parking lot of Sláinte and open the doors.
We are both absent of words as we walk inside together, and when I look at him, he refuses to return the gesture. Instead, he disappears into the void of the club while I stand there feeling wrung out and confused.
“There ye are.” Crow appears out of nowhere, scaring the hell out of me. He looks at me expectantly, and I swallow hard, wondering what it is he wants. I can barely look at him because I’m certain he’ll be able to figure out what we did.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
I stare blankly, uncertain what he means. He seems annoyed with me when I don’t respond and looks at me as if I can’t comprehend basic English.
“Conor said ye had one hell of a bug.” He arches a brow. “I just need to be sure ye aren’t getting the other girls sick if that’s the case.”
My mouth feels like sandpaper as I process his words. Conor told me Crow gave me the night off last night, but obviously that was a bullshit lie. What I can’t figure out is why he would say that. But the last thing I want to do is give Crow any more doubts about my character. If Conor told him I was sick, then I was sick.
“I’m much better.” I force a smile. “It was just a quick bug.”
Crow crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I have to tell ye, so far ye aren’t making a real big impression on me. Ye beg me for the job and then call in sick the second day. I hope this isn’t going to be a regular occurrence.”
“It won’t,” I promise.
“Alright then, I’ll leave ye to it. Ye’re on in twenty, so best be getting ready. And for the record, ye need to be here a little earlier so you can give yourself time to prepare.”
