I glory in his expression—a sweet mixture of confusion, fury, and apprehension. I can’t lie, I like it. I like it a lot. Probably way more than I should. The rush of heady control it gives me is addictive, and I revel. 

For the first time in my life, I’m not letting anyone control my fate. I’m taking it into my own hands. The satisfaction is almost as potent as the perpetual rage that simmers just beneath my skin. Whatever the consequences, it’s worth it purely for the look on his face. 

I hope he feels like I yanked the rug right out from underneath him. Even better if he’s panicking, stuck, thoughts racing. His eyes flick over to the congregation, but I don’t check to see who he’s looking at. Honestly, I don’t much care. Basking in his reaction suits me just fine. 

I give the priest a once-over and note the sheen of sweat on his face. Like most everyone else, the father had a price. It was merely a matter of pushing hard enough to learn what it would take to make him break. Turns out, it was a couple of thousand dollars. I didn’t have it to spare, but I had my mother’s diamond necklace. I hoped she wouldn’t hate me too much for pawning it. 

It was shockingly easy to convince him to change the paperwork and the name in the ceremony from Elizabeth Gallagher to Catriona Gallagher. Of course, this means I’m banking on Aiden and my father not causing a scene, but based on a glance at my father’s pursed lips, he’s not going to do a damn thing. At least, not now with all eyes on us. With the parking lot full of cameras. The pews full of witnesses. 

The priest proceeds with the ceremony, and no one objects. I’m so consumed with relief that I miss most of it. 

“Catriona,” O’Connor says with a sharp, biting undertone. His hands grind the bones in mine against each other, and I wince, glancing around. The priest stares at me expectantly, and I furrow my brows, my thoughts a muddle of nerves and fear, but also satisfaction at O’Connor’s murderous frown. 

There’s no way he can back down now, not unless he wants to make a fool out of himself in front of everyone. The reporters in the pews would have a field day. Maybe if we weren’t in a public place, he’d find it easier to brute force his way out of this, but most of my family is here, as well as strangers who must be his associates. It’s not like he can murder me in front of so many witnesses. 

He should have thought about that before turning down my offer. We could have been partners instead of adversaries. 

“Repeat after me,” Father Michael says. 

I swallow thickly and nod, but it’s more like a puppet jerking on its strings. I may have maneuvered this moment, but the glare I can feel coming from where my father is sitting in the first pew is a stark reminder that he believes I’m his doll to arrange as he pleases. And all this stunt has accomplished in his eyes is to paint an even bigger target on my back. That’ll be nothing compared to Elizabeth’s rage. 

It doesn’t matter. Victory is sweet on my tongue. If they want to treat me like an enemy, then I’ll be one. I don’t need any of them. 

Father Michael begins again, and I repeat as directed. “I, Catriona Deirdre Gallagher, take thee, Aiden Malcolm James O’Connor,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me, “to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

As I speak these words, a heaviness settles over me, the weights of my new manacles closing over my skin, pressing me into the ground. They may be of my own choosing, but they’re heavy around my wrists just the same. 

O’Connor produces rings, and I nearly give in to overwhelming hysterical laughter. Or the increasing urge to faint clear away. Before the compulsion can coalesce, he’s handing me a man’s band, identical to my own, that he helps my stiff fingers place on his in return. 

I note they aren’t the gleaming, brand-new silver I expect to match his eyes. They’re plain gold, nicked in some places, and there’s even an inscription on the inside of one band. Whose were they? Where did he get them? As soon as he finishes forcing his band on my finger, along with a solitaire engagement ring, and then his own, a sick sense of foreboding envelops me. He pulls me closer, and I have a legitimate fear that I may crumple in front of all these people, so I don’t resist. 

Mistake. 

Because the scent of him fills my nose, leaving me sick and obsessed, exactly like I’d been the night we met. He smells like a thunderstorm about to unleash itself in the middle of a dense, verdant forest. Paired with something that makes me want to wrinkle my nose. Like the ozone after a lightning strike or smoke from a fire. I want to flay him alive for ruining the scent of petrichor, one of my favorite things. 

As though he can pluck the thoughts straight from my brain, he shifts closer, filling the space between us. I don’t dare pull away, despite all my instincts screaming at me, because he and I both know it would cause too much attention, and I can’t afford that now. 

When I come to my senses, it’s to the realization that he intends to kiss me. Surely, Father Michael is going to skip the “you may now kiss your bride” business like I asked him to, but all it takes is one frantic glance at O’Connor, and Father Michael turns to me. Surely, O’Connor wouldn’t dare to actually kiss me, but he does. 

I only have a moment to squeak out a startled protest and press my hands against his chest, feeling his firm, powerful muscles bunch underneath my fingertips. Then he’s so close to me I can feel his heat through the layers of his suit and my dress. I hadn’t realized I was shaking, frozen with apprehension, until his warmth sinks into my skin. My breath catches, and then his hands cup the back of my skull, lifting me until our eyes meet in the moment before our lips. 

My brain can’t parse the conflicting responses it receives from my overwrought nervous system—the flash of white-hot panic, the memory of our last kiss. My body recognizes his, remembers how easily he mastered it. For a moment, one flash of weakness, I soften toward him, letting his looming form grow closer. There’s a low rumble in his chest, and I snap to the present, cursing myself for letting my guard down, even for a second. 

I try to step away, but his grip is unrelenting. My chest heaves with the effort to draw air into my lungs, but instead I’m drowning. In the scent of him, the taste. The memories. His lips brush over mine, and I sigh with relief, believing the torture to be over. 

O’Connor moves back—for what, I have no idea—then his mouth returns to mine, pressing hard enough to bruise the sensitive flesh. My gasp may as well have been like spreading my legs for him because the next thing I know, his tongue invades, accepting the temporary surrender and sweeping into my mouth, his taste flooding my awareness. I try to tear away, but he doesn’t give an inch. 

Furious, I bite down—on a lip or his tongue, I don’t know. 

When I pull away, there’s blood on his mouth. He lifts a hand to it, wipes the back of his forefinger over the stain, and studies it with an amused twist to his lips. My thoughts flash back to when I’d drawn blood after trying to escape him. He’d looked the same. Like a shark scenting prey in the water. Cold-blooded. Furious. But also intrigued despite himself. His tongue darts out to wash it away, and then I realize the coppery tinge on my tongue is his blood. 

My face drains of color, and his smirk deepens, his eyes blazing with the promise of swift retribution. 

And there’s no escaping it—him. 

Because I chose this.

When I shove away from him this time, he lets me, taking a step back with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Father Michael pronounces us husband and wife over the ringing in my ears. 

And then it’s done. 

I’m married to Aiden O’Connor. 

Fuck.