"Head up," Dad whispers through clenched teeth. "You're an O'Donnell."
I don’t want to look up. I don’t want to see the man I’m going to marry, the one who’ll touch me in ways that make my stomach roil just thinking about it. Not that I’m a prude. All my friends have lost their virginity, and based on their reports, it sounds nice. But I’d rather give mine to someone I like, not an old husband I’ve never met.
I focus on my breathing. One step. Another. I lift my head, looking toward the end of the aisle to the man standing and waiting.
My first thought is that he’s not as old as I imagined he was based on my father’s description. He’s maybe thirty. That’s a relief.
Next, I notice his size. He towers over the priest, shoulders broad beneath his tailored suit. Dark hair falls across his forehead, but it's his eyes that stop my breath. They’re a piercing blue, cold as winter frost. The man is gorgeous in the way a storm is gorgeous, beautiful but dangerous. His hands are clasped behind his back like he’s in the military.
A muscle tics in his jaw and his gaze looks away. No smile. No warmth. Just intensity that makes my skin prickle. He looks more like he's facing down an enemy than meeting his bride.
I search his face for any hint of the man I'm supposed to spend my life with. But he's unreadable as we close the final steps between us.
My heart hammers as I take my place beside him. Up close, the sharp angles of his face are even more striking, cheekbones that could cut glass, full lips pressed into a hard line. A scar traces his jawline.
I take his hand. It’s warm and strong. Despite the cool demeanor, he holds my hand back.
"Hi," I whisper.
His lips twitch upward, but I wouldn’t call it a smile.
The priest begins speaking, but the words blur together. All I can focus on is the electricity crackling in the space between us. Ash radiates danger, every muscle coiled tight.
During the ring exchange, I’m pleasantly happy at the jolt that sparks through me when he takes my hand again. All of a sudden, I’m thinking this marriage might not be all that bad.
Ash repeats the words the officiant speaks and slips a ring on my finger. I do the same to him.
"You may kiss the bride."
He turns to face me and for the first time, I get the sense that he’s looking at me. Does he like what he sees? I mean, I’m not hideous. He shouldn’t be too disappointed.
I tilt my chin up, waiting for my first kiss. He leans in, his lips brushing over mine. His lips are firm yet soft, tasting of something potent. Whisky, maybe? A strange welling of sensation rolls through my body, making my breasts tingle, the area between my thighs warm. Nope, this might not be bad after all.
He jerks back and stares at me in horror. That’s not a good sign.
The music plays, and he escorts me out of the church. We climb into a waiting car to go to the reception. He says nothing as he pours himself a drink. When we arrive at the reception, he makes a beeline to the bar. I’m starting to wonder if my new husband is a lush.
“Time for the happy couple’s first dance,” my father announces.
The band strikes up a slow melody as I step into his arms for our first dance. We glide along the floor. It’s surprising how well we fit and move together, considering we’ve just met. The woman in me hopes it’s a good sign for the honeymoon.
"You're a good dancer," I say.
"Basic training for any Mob Boss's son." His voice comes out clipped.
Maybe he’s worried about me and how I feel about this situation. I should give him a clue that I’m open to making this work between us. Perhaps I could lighten up the mood.
I tilt my head, smiling up at him. "And here I thought you might have learned for fun."
"Nothing about this is fun."
Ouch. But I hold my smile. I know my role here. Still, this marriage doesn’t have to be like a dead man walking. "It could be, if you'd let it."
I notice he won’t look at me as we keep dancing. Am I really so bad to him? I mean, he benefits from this marriage more than I do.
"You know, most men would be celebrating the partnership this marriage brings."
"I'm not most men."
