“I can’t get that freaking song out of my head,” I mumbled, disappearing into our closet. It didn’t help that I’d caught Finnegan whistling it to himself several times since Wednesday. Then tonight, at the rehearsal dinner, he and Patrick had performed it for approximately eighty of their closest family and associates.

It was one thing if it’d been a cheerful song, but this was some haunting, solemn crap that tightened a knot in my stomach. Everyone who worked with Finnegan and Patrick had stood up and bowed their heads.

It’d completely thrown me, even though the moment had lasted only two minutes, because I didn’t think it’d been in celebration of the wedding. The rehearsal dinner had been over shortly after, and everyone had seemed eager to shake hands with Finnegan to exchange words.

“Did you say something, princess?” Finnegan asked from the bedroom.

“Yeah.” I threw some underwear and pajamas into a bag. “The song you played on the tin whistle tonight, wouldn’t it have been more fitting for a funeral?” Even Patrick had been atypically solemn on his guitar.

Finnegan chuckled quietly, and when I exited the closet, I found him lying on the bed, hands underneath his head, suit still on. Tie loosened, shirt untucked, shoes on the floor.

He’d been…a bit different since his meeting with John. More introspective, yet his spirits seemed to be at their normal high setting. Every time I asked if something had happened—if something was wrong—he shook his head and hugged me close.

“No…everything is perfect. It’s exactly how it should be.”

“I don’t want you to go.” He sat up and motioned for me to come to him. “It’s a stupid fucking tradition that the bride and groom don’t spend the last night together.”

His feet hit the floor by the foot of the bed, and I stepped between his legs and threaded my fingers through his hair. My overnight bag landed on the bed.

He’d shaved yesterday, but he hadn’t lost an ounce of his chiseled looks. I found myself touching his jaw often, feeling the shadow of his dark stubble.

“Are you nervous?” I asked softly.

He shook his head and pressed his face to my stomach. “It’ll hit me tomorrow, I reckon.” His hands came up my thighs and snuck under my dress. “What would I do without you, Emilia?”

“Find another butt to grope?”

I felt his smile rather than saw it, and he pinched one of my butt cheeks.

“Look at me,” I murmured. He looked up, resting his chin on the belt that went around my dress. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I could see he was okay. Perfectly at ease and relaxed. Yet, there was that new air around him.

“My dreams are coming true. I’m fucking fantastic.”

“But something did happen with John, didn’t it?” I didn’t know what to make of the Murrays. I freaking adored Alec and Nessa, and I knew both Finnegan and Patrick were close with Liam Murray. Then there were John and Anne. John had been perfectly charming and polite, his accent as noticeable as his kids’. Anne was…colder. Formal. And seemed to have very little interest in the kids she called her own.

“Good things,” Finnegan promised. “Well, on our end.”

That was almost as ominous as the song they’d played tonight.

“Whistler.” I poked his nose.

His mouth twisted up. “Did you know people called my grandfather that sometimes?”

I shook my head.

“He was the one who gave me my first tin whistle,” he murmured. I remembered that part from the photo of Finnegan and Ronan in our house at the compound. “He told me whistlers were always bearers of news, and the music could convey exactly what kind of news it was.”

The knot in my stomach grew heavier, and it hit me that I was worried. For Finnegan. No one could forget that John had supposedly slain his own father and Finnegan’s grandpa. And now I was afraid. On the evening before my wedding to a mobster. Christ almighty.

“Did you convey any news tonight with that song?” I wondered.

He narrowed his eyes with a pinch of amusement. “Maybe.” He squeezed my butt. “You don’t have to worry, though. Our safety is my top priority.”

I did trust him on that. If there was one thing he’d proven, it was how protective he was of me.

“Goddamn mobsters,” I sighed.

That earned me another pinch. “Alleged.”

I snorted a soft laugh. “I think we’re well past that, hon.”

“Maybe you’re right. Gimme a kiss.” He waited expectantly until I dipped down and kissed him silly. That drew a smile from him. “Don’t stand me up tomorrow. I’ll be the one in the penguin suit holding a ring box I can’t open.”

I laughed and pecked him a couple more times, then straightened and grabbed my bag. “I was wondering when you were going to bring that up.”

I had to give him some credit for not opening it. I had no doubt he could.

“I finally saw the note underneath the safe,” he mentioned, following me down the stairs. “‘From your favorite thief?’”

“That’s me,” I sang. “Consider it your only hint.”

“So basically, you’re putting a new Aston key ring on my finger?”

“Ha! You wish.” I gave my surroundings a glance, wondering if I’d forgotten anything. It was just one night, and Grace had my wedding dress and shoes, Sarah had my lingerie, and the stylist would have all the beauty products I could need.

We’d be back here tomorrow after the reception…no, I didn’t think I had to bring anything else.

Finnegan insisted on escorting me to the garage. Apparently, the security I saw everywhere just didn’t cut it.

“Have I mentioned the tradition where we spend tonight separated sucks?” he asked in the elevator.

“A few times.” I smirked up at him. “But you love your traditions.”

“Not this one.”

I shook my head, pretending to be concerned. “Say we skip it and spend tonight together. Where does it end? Before you know it, we’re smoking crack.”

He let out a loud laugh and squeezed me to him. “Fuck, how I adore you.”

“Can I return that sentiment, or are you gonna bitch about that too?”

He bit my nose, eyes glittering with warmth and humor. “You can return it if it’s legit.”

I popped a kiss to his chin. “It’s so legit. I adore you.”

And I’ll tell you tomorrow…that I love you too.

* * *

“No, Emilia!” Vivian gasped.

I froze. With my fork in midair.

I wanted to whine because I was starving. This morning had been busy as hell, and there was no breakfast. There was, however, a big brunch set up in my suite, and right now Vivian was in the way.

“No carbs,” she said, walking over to snatch the fork out of my hand. “You need better food than that if you want to make it through the day.”

I sulked and said buh-bye to my delicious fries.

Instead, I was given a bowl of strawberries, a plate of scrambled eggs, another plate with vegetables and a damn steak, and lastly a smoothie and a glass of orange juice.

“I’ll barf if I eat all this,” I said frankly.

Sarah and Grace laughed at me.

“Eat until you’re full, dear.” Vivian patted me on the head.

I had curlers in my hair and looked like a dork.

“Picture time!” Nessa barged into the suite, and I could only grin. She and Alec were giving us the coolest wedding gift. They’d set up a private Instagram account where the guests could follow our big day. More than that, it connected Finnegan and me because we got glimpses of each other.

When today was over, the twins were going to put it all together in a photo book for us, including captions and some of the funnier comments from the guests.

Alec had posted most recently, and it’d been one of those funny videos that’d been sped up on a loop. It was Finnegan pacing quickly in our living room, wearing only a towel, ending with him taking a shot of what looked like whiskey. In the background, Kellan had been holding up two ties. Alec had written a short description, saying the groom was nervous and pissed because some people—Alec—were allowed to text the bride, while Finnegan had been banned.

“Make sure the dress isn’t in the shot, please,” she said. “Let’s make it funny!”

Grace wheeled away the luggage cart on which the dress hung, and I was joined on the couch by Sarah and Vivian.

“Does it get funnier than PJs and curlers?” Sarah asked.

“Uh, shyeah.” I snorted and stuffed my cheeks with food. “Watch and learn.”

By the time Nessa took the picture, I looked like a hamster in the face, if they crossed their eyes, and I was doing the West Coast gang sign to get a laugh from Finnegan.

What a way to show off my freshly and Frenchly manicured nails.

“Now I just gotta swallow,” I said around a mouthful of strawberries.

“Struggle with that a lot, do ya?” Sarah teased.

I waggled my eyebrows. “No, it’s gotten so much easier.”

“That’s my son you’re talking about.” Grace stuck her fingers in her ears.

“I thought they were talking about strawberries?” Nessa looked at us, confused, only to shake her head and find an empty spot on the coffee table to sit. “Look! The first comments have come in. I swear, Finn is waiting for you to post.”

“Let me see?” I was still chewing.

She showed me the post and Finnegan’s comment, and I got a giggle from his response.

You’re ready for the church already, and I haven’t gotten dressed yet. What the fuck?

Wouldn’t that be something, if I walked down the aisle in PJs.

* * *

“Breathe, honey.”

“I’m fucking trying.”

“Need a paper bag?”

“Give it to me.” I breathed like a pregnant lady. Holy shit, the nerves had hit hard. Like a cannonball in the gut the second we’d entered the church.

Sarah left to go hunt down a paper bag, and now it was just me in the small room behind the entrance of the church. A full-length mirror was making it impossible to forget what day it was.

I mean, I’d had butterflies for days, but this…this was something else. Dinosaur birds were flying around in my stomach.

The last picture I’d seen of Finnegan was him in his three-piece suit, standing before a mirror with a look of solemn concentration. He was so beautiful and handsome and about to become my husband.

Would we get three years or a lifetime?

Everything was coming down to this. In a few months, I’d gone from hating him to falling in love and fearing he was going to crush me.

“Oh God.” I caught another glimpse of my reflection, where I looked more perfect than I felt. My hair was down, teasing my chest in gorgeous waves. The bodice of my dress was like a crushing hug, and the rest was layers upon layers of silk and lace. Nothing puffy for me, although there was a top skirt that had an impressive train. Thankfully, with help, I’d have it detached before the reception.

Outside the heavy door, I could hear the guests arriving. Guests that would fill the church on both sides of the aisle, not one of them here for me. Or rather, from my side. I brought nothing to this family, and a small, wounded part of me struggled to get past that. I hadn’t heard from my dad in months, and the main reason I hadn’t extended an invitation was because I knew he’d throw it away.

I was stupid for thinking about it, I knew that.

Sarah reentered, raising the volume of the guests trying to get into the church.

“I didn’t find a paper bag,” she said, and Grace appeared next to her. “I found something better.”

“My beautiful girl.” Grace was already tearing up. She walked up to me and dug out a flask from her purple clutch. It matched her dress. “All you need is this, dearie.”

“Alcohol,” I stated.

“Mmhm.” She nodded encouragingly. “Have a sip or two.”

I removed the cap and took a whiff. Oof. “What is this? It’s strong.”

“Two parts vodka, one part vodka, two-thirds of a part vodka—and a splash of lemon syrup because we’re not animals.”

She drew the first laugh from me since I set foot in the church, and I took a tentative sip. Ugh, gross and perfect. I made a face and took another swig.

“Phew.” I scrunched my face together and handed back the flask. “Is Finnegan okay?”

“He’s so nervous, bless him.” Grace tucked away the booze and smiled fondly. “The boys are greeting the guests, and he keeps glancing this way and forgetting to respond to people.”

That made me feel better.

The door opened again, and Vivian snuck inside. “Time for last-minute preparations,” she sang. Her color for the wedding was yellow, and her silky dress was so pretty. “Grace, hon, you brought the ‘something old,’ yes?”

“Christ, you guys,” I complained. “You’re gonna make me cry already, aren’t you?”

“Shush, dearie.” Grace smirked and opened her clutch again.

Something old. A family heirloom from the Murrays. From Grace and John’s grandmother, to be exact, a lovely pearl brooch Grace attached to the satin ribbon under my chest.

Something new. A gift from Finnegan that Vivian brought me. It was a stunning necklace with a diamond-encrusted infinity symbol.

My eyes welled up. Three years didn’t mean infinity.

“Don’t you dare,” Sarah said.

I sucked in a breath and nodded jerkily. I could weep later, but God, the bastard better not break my heart. I wanted this so much.

Something borrowed. A hairpin that Shan had given Viv after her First Communion. Little stones were embedded in the old silver, and I fastened it to my hair carefully.

Something blue. I could finally relax. This was a gift from Sarah. A bridal garter. Light blue lace. I grinned as I slid it onto my thigh, and I couldn’t wait for Finnegan’s expression.

“Thank—”

“Oh, we’re not done, sweets.” Viv produced what looked like a small coin.

“Because we’re Irish,” Grace said with a twinkle in her eye. “An old penny in your shoe. It’s for good luck.”

I laughed softly and dropped the penny into one of my heels.

We hugged it out, and I thanked them over and over for being here for me before it was time for Grace and Vivian to go take their seats. It gave me a moment alone with Sarah, my one link from the past.

“Are you ready?”

I took a trembling breath and nodded once. “I’m ready.”

We could convey enough by looking at each other. In a month, it would be her. We were nervous as hell and had two uncertain futures ahead of us, and it was something we had to accept. There was nothing we could do to secure any part of the years to come.

“We’re better off now,” she whispered, resting her forehead to mine. “We did the right thing.”

When thinking of Finnegan, my heart was in charge. I could only agree and admit the defeat of my logical mind.

“We’re gonna be sisters.” I smiled and did my best not to get weepy.

Sarah beamed at me, her eyes glistening. “I’m gonna need a sister to lean on when Patrick drives me crazy.”

I laughed and nodded, feeling for her—a little. Patrick, it seemed, was dead set on winning Sarah over by being as open as he could. He was essentially doing what Finnegan had done, with the exception that Patrick was trying to get all this accomplished in a few weeks. It’d led to some interesting mishaps and fights. But it was going in the right direction, and Sarah was a lot more relaxed around Patrick these days. More often than not, I’d go up to their penthouse and find them bantering and laughing.

It gave me hope.

A knock on the door made everything ten times more real. It was Shan, and he snuck in, holding my flowers. A bouquet of roses in light shades of pink, yellow, white, and purple.

Luna followed and offered a grin and a wave.

This was it.

Sarah and Luna helped me with the veil and reminded me that Finnegan would meet Shan and me before we reached the altar. It was something about the Catholics and that the bride wasn’t given away but entered the marriage voluntarily and walked the last bit to the altar with her groom. I nodded and took deep breaths at each instruction. In case I forgot, the prayer Finnegan and I were reading together was tucked into the bottom of my bouquet. Father O’Malley would be there to guide us too.

“Let’s not overwhelm her, girls,” Shan said kindly yet pointedly. He smiled warmly and walked over to me while the ladies excused themselves to wait outside. “You look lovely, Emilia.”

“Thank you.” I wasn’t going to hyperventilate, I wasn’t going to hyperventilate. “And thank you for doing this, for walking me down the aisle.”

“Are you kidding me? Greatest honor I’ve had in years.” He was trying to make me relax, and it worked to an extent. “Are you ready to make my son the luckiest man on the planet?”

I grinned, so fucking nervous I could cry, and nodded a final time. Gripping the flowers tightly, I took his proffered arm and let him guide me out of the room. The music was starting, soft sounds of violins and piano, and the wedding coordinator had just given Alec and Nessa their cue to walk.

“Knock ’em dead, darlin.” Kellan flashed me a wink before it was his turn to go, and Luna followed a couple seconds later.

Knock ’em dead.

Right. Possibly literally, if I fell on my ass.

When Sarah had gone, it was only Shan and me left.

“You’ll be fine, hon.” Shan patted my arm soothingly.

“I need more vodka,” I whispered.

He coughed on a chuckle, and then it was time to go. I didn’t look very far down the aisle because I couldn’t. The low whoosh that traveled through the pews was enough to know I had everyone’s attention. Don’t trip, don’t trip. I focused solely on Shan’s steps. Slow, measured steps. Wow, he truly did walk slowly. Or perhaps it was me who felt the need to rush.

Halfway down the aisle, I had to look up.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

My throat closed up at the sight of Finnegan, and he instantly became blurry for me. He was waiting for me, a tic or two letting me know he wasn’t very patient. Hands clasped in front of him, feet shifting slightly because he was struggling to stand still. He swallowed hard and smiled crookedly.

I was reminded of Shan’s presence when we reached Finnegan. Words were exchanged, but I couldn’t for the life of me interpret them. My ears were ringing, and I wondered if a bomb was about to explode in my stomach. Then Finnegan lifted my veil, and I could see clearer. I could see he was as nervous as I was.

“You didn’t stand me up,” he whispered.

My smile was so wide it hurt my cheeks, and I shook my head.

“I have no words for how beautiful you are.” He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before taking my hand. Oh, clammy. We were both clammy. Shan was gone, I assumed. I only saw Finnegan, and we walked toward the altar together where Father O’Malley was waiting with bridesmaids, groomsman, maid of honor, and best man.

During the rehearsal, I’d paid more attention to the blessings, prayers, and readings from Father O’Malley. Today, I picked up a word here and there, that was it.

The women who spoke of their weddings online were right. It was a day to freaking forget. I’d been looking for tips and ideas, and I kept seeing wife after wife throwing out “LOLs” because they didn’t remember the actual wedding.

That was my cue to hand over the flowers to Sarah.

Father O’Malley spoke again, as both my hands found Finnegan’s. “In addition to their vows, Finnegan and Emilia have chosen to recite a lovely prayer that Shannon and Grace once read at their wedding. Ages and ages ago.” For a priest, he rocked. No one could withhold their chuckles at his little dig. “They bring you, The Irish Vow of Unity.”

I thought I was going to forget the words, but they flowed easily, and I never once looked away from Finnegan’s eyes.

“We swear by the peace and love to stand,” Finnegan murmured.

“Heart to heart and hand in hand,” I replied softly.

He squeezed my hands, his eyes becoming misty. “Mark, O Spirit, and hear us now.”

“Confirming this, our Sacred Vow,” I finished.

Father O’Malley presented a candle for us that we lit together, and then we went through the traditional vows. We got to say “I do,” and that was when the first tear rolled down my cheek. Finnegan kept me steady, my hands firmly in his, but it was his intense gaze that caused me to get emotional.

“Let us exchange rings,” Father O’Malley said with a smile, “and repeat after me.”

I released a pent-up breath and accepted the ring box from Patrick.

Finnegan didn’t have to struggle as much to get my ring from the little box.

I had a code to remember. Oh right, okay, good, I got it. Whew.

Finnegan went first, saying the words that’d been spoken millions of times before, yet always felt personal to the one who received them. His fingers shook slightly as he slid down the elegant ring to join my engagement ring.

I flexed my fingers and stared at the sparkly stuff happening on my ring finger, and there was a good dose of disbelief. I was getting married. I was eighteen years old and getting married, and that disbelief echoed in my head as I was the one who repeated after Father O’Malley.

Eighteen years old—holy shit. This wasn’t normal anymore—not today in this time and age—so why wasn’t I running for the hills? Why did I not even want to? It wasn’t a contract that held me in place. It hadn’t been for a while.

Before I slipped the platinum band onto his finger, I took a nervous step closer and looked up at him. Meanwhile, he was peering down at the ring between my fingers, or more correctly, the inscription inside of it.

Tá mo chroí istigh ionat. Yours, Emilia

I’d stolen the words from him. They were the same ones he’d written in one of his letters to me, and I could think of no better declaration to steal from my mobster. The literal translation, my heart is within you, beat the dozen meanings the English language gave the saying. It rang the truest.

Finnegan jumped the gun, cupped my face, and kissed me hard. “I don’t think I can believe it.”

“I’ll make you believe it,” I whispered back.

He exhaled a laugh and discreetly wiped his cheek, and I finally got the ring onto his finger.

A few nervous heartbeats later, we were declared husband and wife.