I look out across the sea of heads and faces. The whole of the Ritz-Carlton’s ballroom is full of Declan’s guests – people I’ve known since I was just a boy, our business partners, and dozens of others besides. I can’t believe it, but Declan is actually married. Part of me didn’t really believe it was going to happen. I guess, all these years, I’ve been the most important person in his life – and he mine – and now that’s all over.

I don’t begrudge Casey; not one little bit. There’s a time in any man’s life when his mother rules all, then his brother, and it’s only natural that the next in line should be his wife. I just didn’t know it was going to happen so soon…

It almost makes me think that I should start looking for a woman of my own. I bite down on the smile that tickles my lips. Yeah right. Like that’s going to happen.

It’s time.

My chair tugs against the carpeted ballroom floor as I get to my feet. Declan’s to my right, and I give him a hidden nudge in the ribs as I stand. I’m doing this for him, and he better damn well know that.

I pluck a half-full wineglass from the table top, and a silver knife. I tap one against the other, and a peal rings out across the ballroom. Two hundred voices fall silent. One more tap, and I’m greeted by a rapturous silence.

I clear my throat. Public speaking isn’t something I’ve done very often, but neither does it scare me. Why should it? Besides, a wedding has to be one of the easiest places to give a speech. Everyone in the audience, after all, wants you to succeed.

I look out across the room, half-blinded by lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say, glancing down at Casey, who is staring at Declan with so much damn love in her eyes it’s hard to believe. If she only knew half of the things my brother and I got up to as kids… “I’ve got just a couple of notices. Could the gentleman with the red Camaro with California plates please head out to reception, and we’ll be closing the bar in –.”

If possible, the ballroom falls even more silent. You could hear a feather swishing through the air. It’s almost as though these two hundred voices have been silenced, ripped out with horror. Rule number one at an Irish wedding – never close the bar.

“People – I’m kidding. The bar is open and you better believe it’s free all night…”

A smattering of laughter rings out across the room. There it is. Relieved laughter is still laughter, in my book.

I look back down at Declan’s new wife. “I’m told that it’s one of me responsibilities as best man to say a few words, so here I am. I’ve known Declan longer than any man alive, save me late da’, God rest his soul,” I raise a glass to the sky, and Declan follows. Casey strokes his arm.

“So’s ye better believe I know I’ll get a beating if I don’t do as I’m told…”

There’s more laughter.

“Least, I know Dec would try. Apparently it’s bad form to beat up yer own brother on his wedding night…”

“You keep your filthy hands off him, you animal!” Casey exclaims, sitting back in her chair with a grin on her face. She has changed out of her wedding dress into a sleeker, but still white affair. It says a lot about how damn unbelievable she looks that Declan can barely tear his eyes away from her. I still can’t believe that my brother managed to bag a girl that classy.

I raise my glass to her. “Now there’s a lady I’m afraid of!”

“You better be…” Casey mutters in a stage whisper, rousing another round of laughter from the crowd.

I pause, and let the tension build. It’s an old trick da’ taught all us boys as kids. Make the crowd wait, he said, and they’ll eat up whatever you give them. He wasn’t wrong. He never was.

“We got into a lot of scrapes as kids, my brother and I,” I finally say. “Ma,” I grin, glancing down at a gray-haired woman in a smart black dress, sitting a couple of seats down, “you best cover your ears for this one…”

Declan glances up at me theatrically, beating a couple of laughs from the crowd.

“But hey, it was Dec’s fault anyway. He was oldest, so when he said jump, I just asked how high…” I grin.

“Like hell ye did,” Declan growls, relaxing back into his chair and swinging an arm around Casey, pulling her into him. “It was probably your damn idea. Ye always were good at shifting the blame.”

I shrug, grinning at the crowd. I look from chair to chair, picking a person on every table to make eye contact with: another thing that da’ taught us. An old lady here, a family friend there, on every table I’m greeted by a tipsy smile…

…except one.

My eyes seem drawn to her: a lady in a mid-gray silk dress, plunging at her neck, barely covering her breasts. It’s not stealing the show. It’s not nearly the most revealing dress in this ballroom, maybe not even on the table she’s seated on. But it’s the only dress that’s literally stopped me in my tracks.

I’ve seen her before. But never looking like this.

It’s Sofia Morello.

Goddamn. My mouth goes dry. Mickey Morello’s sister looks fierce as hell. She’s not quite smiling. The corners of her lips are upturned, hiked upwards as though she’s considering it, but holding back. Sofia’s eyebrows are arched. It feels like she’s questioning me. I know I’m wrong, I know that she’s only staring at me because I’m giving a goddamn speech, but I can’t help thinking that Sofia only has eyes for me.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.”

I reach down towards the table, searching for a tumbler of water. I’m going to need it. I swallow a mouthful, and turn my eyes away from Mickey’s sister. I know that if I keep staring at her, then my tongue will stick like it’s been cemented in place.

My body begs me to turn back to face her. I feel it twisting of its own accord, trying to force me into something I know I can’t bear. I’ve never seen a woman like that before – so calm and confident in herself. It didn’t feel like Sofia was a mere guest at the wedding, it felt like she owned it. Her gaze felt like a thunderbolt ripping through my body.

“We must have been about ten years old,” I say. My voice sounds a bit weaker than usual at first, choked up, still affected by Sofia’s gaze, but I soon pick up steam. Declan glances up at me and groans. He knows the story I’m going to tell.

“Maybe eleven, but who’s counting? So’s, here is how it went. Declan had a bright idea. Most good stories start with that line –.”

Of course, there’s laughter.

“– And this one ain’t no different. Declan always did have an eye for the ladies,” I say, grinning at Casey, who’s hanging onto Dec’s arm like she’s afraid he might up and disappear, “and he wanted to get a real good eyeful, if you know what I mean…”

Declan fixes me with a glare that tells me he plans to get his revenge. I bet if he happens to ever be standing in my place, giving this speech for me, he will be more than happy to twist the knife. But that’s not likely to happen anytime soon…

“So he suggested we hop on down to Mason swimming pool down on Norfolk. The lifeguards there, let me tell ye,” I grin, kissing my fingers like an Italian mobster and gesturing out to the crowd, “they were something else. Somehow, Declan found out, so he did, they trained once every other week, on a Wednesday night.”

Declan makes a throat slitting gesture, though his lips are turned up with humor. Casey’s eyes are bright. I guess Dec’s already told her this story.

“So he dragged me – his frail, innocent, younger brother – down there,” I howl with mock indignation, “and made me crawl through a duct from the boy’s changing room to, you guessed it, the girls’ to watch them change. Of course, we never got nearly so far. A security guard busted us within a few seconds, right when we were unscrewing the grate. Big hulking brute, so he was…”

Two dozen or more servers file into the ballroom – entering from doors at either end – each carrying a fresh bottle of champagne. It’s like a precisely drilled military movement. I know that my job is to keep talking until every single glass in the house is full.

“So we ran. Believe me, I’ve never run faster in my life. You all met da’.” Rumbles of agreement sound around the room. “Seamus Byrne was a fierce man: a proud man. If he had ever found out what we were planning on doing…”

I shake my head, looking over at ma. Her proud eyes are glistening with tears. She dabs at them with her napkin. “It doesn’t bear thinking about. Our asses would’ve been paddled raw…”

Again, laughter rings out from the audience. I glance up into the crowd. The servers are done, heading back out of the ballroom. It’s time.

“But now we’re adults. Will you all please join me in raising a glass to me brother Declan, and most of all to his beautiful new wife, Casey Byrne!”

I raise my glass high into the air. Flickering candlelight shimmers off the outside of the champagne flute, bouncing off the bubbles floating to the surface.

“To Casey Byrne,” I declare, completing the toast, and looking into the crowd with a broad, proud smile on my face, as I hear the response from the whole room.

Of course, without realizing it, my eyes search for the most dangerous woman in the room. Sofia Morello looks unstoppable. Her gray silk dress caresses her body. The light, airy cloth is pulled in tight enough that I’m left with no doubt that her body is just as taut. However, the dress dances around her in a way that makes it impossible to truly make out her figure.

“To Casey Byrne,” Sofia says, raising her own champagne flute into the air. When she speaks, it sounds like she’s speaking with two hundred voices. She returns my stare with lasers of her own which teases my cheeks with a stinging burn.

Two hundred glasses meet two hundred lips, and the room goes silent for a few seconds as our guests drink thousands of dollars’ worth of the best champagne money can buy to celebrate my brother’s marriage. It’s worth every penny.

I drain the whole glass. My mind is spinning. I’m not used to women staring at me like that – with such assurance.

I’m no stranger to looks of greed, or of hungry desire, but the way Sofia looks at me is quite different.

The champagne caresses my throat. The bubbles tickle my tonsils, and the feeling sparks me back to life. I’m still the best man, and my role in this wedding isn’t quite done – not yet.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I call out into the crowd, “if ye will follow me to the dance floor, it’s about time me brother showed you what he can do with his feet…”

I slap my brother on the shoulder. His warm cheeks are tinged red with alcohol, and he’s smiling. His hands are linked with Casey’s, and somehow he manages to tear his eyes away from his new wife. Casey’s bump is showing – and her cheeks are red, too. But she is sober as a judge. Even so, it’s easy to tell that she’s having the time of her life.

Declan pulls me in for a hug. “Thank you, Kieran. You’re next, brother,” he growls into my ear. “I’m looking forward to it.”

I shake my head. I’m still spinning. Ten minutes ago, I would have laughed Declan out of the room; but right now, my confidence is shaken.

“I’m not so sure about that,” I murmur, but Declan’s already gone. Casey is dragging him across the room, the short train of her white dress floating out behind. Casey’s new step-daughter, Carla, has this huge glow of happiness on her rosy cheeks as she watches her new mother’s first dance. I never thought there would be, but the kid’s not jealous about her father being stolen away – just happy for him.

A saxophone player releases a pure, clear note that silences the room. He strides out into the dance floor, and the band strikes up on the stage behind him. Whatever song Casey picked, I don’t recognize it. It’s fast and happy, but…

…I barely hear it. My heart is beating loud in my ears: thud, thud, thud, thud. It’s drowning everything else out: the music; the laughter; the happy chattering of the guests; thud, thud, thud, thud. I feel it hammering in my chest. A heat is blooming across my body, burning my cheeks.

All I can think of is Sofia Morello.

The ballroom is plunged into sudden darkness, and it startles me back to life. One beam of light picks out the happy couple as they step out – Declan leading now, Casey following nervously behind.

I move through the crowd. I’m being drawn by something: an urge; a need. It’s ridiculous, and I know it. There are dozens of women, hundreds, maybe thousands in Boston who would be happy to share a bed with me tonight. But I don’t want any of them. Maybe I haven’t for some time now, but I’m only just figuring that out.

Sofia is still sitting at the same table, all alone. She’s sipping from her champagne flute. It’s almost empty. I grab a fresh bottle from a server passing through the room, and slip the kid a few bucks.

“Need a refill?” I growl, from just over her shoulder. Her silk dress plunges down her back. It’s open. It takes everything I have to resist caressing it as I lean forward.

“I thought you would never ask,” Sofia says without bothering to turn round. I don’t know whether she knows who I am, or if she just thinks I’m a server. An irritation bubbles up inside me. I want her to look at me, to acknowledge me. It’s a childish reaction, but Sofia’s patrician coolness is infuriating.

The bubbles fizz up the side of her champagne flute as I pour. “My lady,” I say sarcastically, resisting the urge to tap the side of my head in a mock salute. “Mind if I sit?”

“I suppose,” Sofia replies enigmatically. I don’t know whether that means she minds, or doesn’t, but I decide to take a chance. When she doesn’t protest, I figure I made the right choice. I top up my own glass and lift it to my lips to fill the silence.

“Nice speech,” Sofia finally remarks, glancing at me after a long pause. She lifts her glass to her own lips, and drains half of it in one long gulp.

“Stiff drink for a little girl,” I say, looking at Sofia with interest. She repays it, and I notice that the alcohol has done nothing to dim the intelligence behind her eyes.

“Sober for an Irishman, aren’t you?” Sofia replies, looking away and staring towards the dance floor. Her voice is cool, and so far she’s done nothing to indicate she has the slightest bit of interest in me. I don’t know if she’s playing it cool, or whether she really doesn’t care.

I glance up into the crowd. I see none other than Mickey Morello, cheeks red, stumbling through the crowd.

“Two can play at that game,” I grin. “Had a little bit too much to drink, has he?”

Sofia’s lips tighten, going white with irritation. “Stronzo,” she mutters in accented Italian, gesturing out into the crowd with disgust. She turns her head, and clicks her fingers. Seconds later, a man is by her side, dipping his head to her lips. I’m consumed by the heat of jealousy. I want to push this man away, whoever he is. He’s dressed in an ill-fitting suit. She jerks her head at her brother, and the man nods, and strides into the crowd.

“It’s handled,” Sofia says, grimacing, but in a tone of voice that indicates that the matter is closed.

I glance up at her brother with interest. After Declan’s troubles a few months ago, I knew that Mickey Morello was a shadow of his late father. His sister Sofia, on the other hand…

She gets to her feet, lightly caressing a handful of silk by her thigh to pull the train of her dress away from her heels. I get a glimpse of one long, tanned leg. I can’t stop looking at it. I have to force myself to tear my eyes away. What’s this girl doing to me?

“Come,” she says, gesturing at me like she did her bodyguard. “You can buy me a drink.”

I resist the urge to remind Sofia that it’s a free bar. If this is what it takes to get her on her own, I can play her game. I follow a couple of paces behind her. I think she probably likes that – it makes her feel important. I’m just checking out her thick, perfect ass.

“Yes ma’am,” I growl. This time I really do give a mock salute. Sofia turns and almost catches me, but my face is a picture of innocence. Whatever’s about to happen, I’m looking forward to it…