Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Shea

H eart pounding, I sit next to Trace in the taxi. When I gave the driver the address, he turned around and looked at us. Every driver in this town knows every wedding chapel and has probably driven hundreds of people there.

Drunk. Like we were that night. Or I was. Was he?

Trace keeps quiet on the schlep across town and doesn’t touch me. I don’t touch him either. God, this feels like a real divorce. Like, after today, we’ll be officially detached. We won’t have anything to keep us together if Lachlan reassigns him to a new position. Sobs fill my throat, and I turn away, tears bursting from my eyes.

“Shea, what’s wrong?” Trace asks, cupping my shoulder.

It burns because I worry that he won’t touch me again after this. He’s been all over me because he says as my husband, he has the right to my body. What if I’m not his wife anymore after today?

“We’re getting a divorce. Even though I want it, it’s still kind of...sad.”

He pulls me in close, seizing my moment of weakness. “Then let’s not get a divorce.”

“But we agreed.”

His eyes devour me. “I agreed in principle. Only because you were drunk, and I’d like to know that you would have said I do because...”

My pulse thickens. “Yeah?”

He sighs. “Nothing.”

“Logan Street Wedding Chapel,” the driver says.

Trace takes out a few twenties from his wallet and pays the driver. “Keep the change.”

We get out and my ankle wobbles. Trace catches me, but his hands on me hurt so much now. I’m losing him. This is a loss in some way.

“Any memory of coming here with me?” he says, pushing the hair from my eyes.

“It sort of looks familiar, but I wish I remembered more. I really do. I get to remember the sad divorce. And not the fun wedding.”

“And the wedding night.”

I sniff. “We’ve made up for that.”

“Last chance. We don’t have to do this.” He squeezes my hand.

“You probably think you’ll get my father’s permission and then we’ll live happily ever after. There’s still the matter of my not being able to give you children. That’s the dealbreaker for me, Trace.”

“It’s not a dealbreaker for me ,” he sounds angry.

“Let’s just go in and see what’s involved.” I admit he’s wearing me down.

There’s no mystery how we found this place, it’s in the shape of a church, painted bright white with balloons everywhere. My event planning cred alone would take a hit if it came out that this was where I got married.

“This place looks a whole lot different during the day,” Trace jokes, breaking the tension.

A few couples are waiting in the vestibule, women in nice dresses and men in suits, some in shirts and trousers. I guess Trace meant after dark when hot messes in miniskirts and shorts or torn jeans flood these chapels.

“Can I help you?” a woman behind a counter filled with personalized wedding merch greets us.

Silence.

Trace and I stare at each other, then her. Finally, I step forward. Me. It’s always me.

Reaching into my purse, I say, “We were here three and a half years ago and got...married. ”

She takes the marriage certificate, scans it, and says, “And?”

“I read online that couples who are both present...” I point from me to Trace, who gives a wave with no expression on his face. “That the marriage can be canceled. If it’s within three years, not sure if that’s calendar years like the end of this year?” I blabber.

The woman first looks at Trace, her jaw dropping. Then at me like I’m crazy for wanting to end the marriage. Shaking her head, she doesn’t even bother to check the marriage license’s date. “That got repealed by the state legislature last month.”

I grip the side of the counter, a strange mix of tension and relief storming through me. The air feels breathable again, but this is a blow. Now we’ll have to figure out a legal way to do this. All without my brothers finding out.

“Okay. And no grandfathering or exceptions?”

“What kind of exception?” she asks.

My heart races. I was drunk and unable to consent. Trace can say it, too. He can tell her I was shitfaced. But he doesn’t.

And neither do I.

LIKE ZOMBIES, TRACE and I walk a few blocks before he starts looking for another cab. The sound of whooshing water and a faint mist hitting my skin steals my sad focus.

The Bellagio Fountains.

We give into the touristy allure and amble that way. Breathing in the chlorine scent, I lean against the railing, loving the large display of shooting water and synchronized music.

“I remember being here with you,” I say about that afternoon. “And the pretzel.”

“We’ll figure something out, Shea,” Trace says and turns away from the fountain .

“I’m telling Kieran when I get home,” I say after I can’t take it anymore. “And I’m telling him about my fertility issue.”

“Oh my fucking God.” Trace shoves me behind him.

“What?” I cry out. “This solves nothing, we—”

“My parents are here.”

I freeze. “Your parents ? In Vegas? Now?” A memory flashes to him telling me how they love it here and come all the time.

He exhales, and his ribs contract. “Oh shite, they spotted me. Here they come.”

“What, what do we say?”

“About what?” He smooths his hair and checks his jacket. “You’re visiting Vegas with your sister-in-law, and I’m your bodyguard.”

Right. Only this doesn’t feel anything like that.

“Trace!” a woman with an Irish accent shrieks. “Is that you?”

“It’s me, mum.” Trace opens his arms, and a sweet, squat woman dives into them.

“I can’t believe it.” She looks at him then me. “Patrick, did you know he’d be here?”

“Had no idea.” Patrick Quinlan hugs his son.

He’s not as tall, but for sixty-something, he’s very handsome. Trace and Rhys are drop-dead gorgeous. So are his cousins. Those Quinlans have some good genes.

“And who’s this? A girlfriend?” his mother squeaks, taking me in.

“Mum, I’m in a suit. I’m working. This is Shea O’Rourke.”

“O’Rourke,” she says with a twinge of fear, or maybe it’s respect. “I heard your dad and your mum are back in Waterford.”

“Aye. They’re living at my maimeó’s farm now.” I spare Trace’s mum the sad news that it’s Ma’s wish to die in Ireland. Don’t want to ruin her vacation. “It’s right on the outskirts.”

Near Dunbar.

His mum starts fanning herself. “This heat.”

“Let’s get you into the casino, Freye,” Patrick says, steering his mum toward one of the entrances.

“Come have afternoon tea with us?” she says over her shoulder ambling that way.

“Ohmagod,” Trace mutters, collapsing all three syllables into an adorable groan.

“It’s okay. They seem lovely.” I take out my phone. “I’m going to call one of Jillian’s guards and—”

“No,” he bites out through clenched teeth.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.”

“I’m your boss, and I’m telling you take some time to be with your parents.”

“ You’re my wife, and I’m telling you to have tea with us,” he says loudly, and his parents stop.

Spinning around, his mum says, “What?”

“Oh, fuck.” Trace covers his mouth.

I go still, their shell-shocked expression has my legs shaking. “Just...just tell them they didn’t hear right.”

His mum creeps back toward us. Looking from me to him, she says, “That’s why you’re here? You flew to Las Vegas to get married and didn’t tell your mum ?”

“Trace!” Patrick scolds his son.

“Stop!” Trace cries out and pulls me close because I’m ready to bolt. “Let’s go inside. I’ll explain everything.”

Oh Christ, my life flashes before my eyes. His mum nods and Patrick continues steering her.

“And make that tea a whiskey,” I murmur.

“Doubles.”

Crammed into a very narrow booth in a café with Trace’s parents, we order teas, forgoing the whiskey. The ding ding ding of nearby slot machines has his mother’s eyes glued to the casino floor.

“What I’m about to tell you, stays right at this table.” Trace uses an authoritative voice that even makes me quiver. “Do you understand? You’d literally be putting my life in danger.”

Patrick looks from me to his son. “Let me guess. You two tipped back a few too many and got married. Now, you’re afraid her brothers will kill you.”

Patrick Quinlan knows exactly how it works with men like my brothers.

Trace exhales. “Aye.”

“We were drunk. But it was three and a half years ago,” I breathe out. “We thought we could get an annulment but just learned that’s not possible. Now we have to find a lawyer.”

“You’re not staying married?” his mum asks with sad eyes floating from me to her son.

“No,” I answer.

“Your brother’s a bloody playboy,” she huffs out. “And I thought you were studying to be a priest.”

I cough into my tea.

“Me?” Trace points to himself comically.

“Now, it’s clear.” Freye Quinlan gasps, holding her chest. “That’s why you’ve not had a girlfriend in all these years. You love her! ”

Trace dumps his head into his hands. “Mum, it’s complicated.”

She sits back and crosses her arms. “Does this mean I won’t be getting those grandkids I’ve been asking you for? I’ve been telling you I’m ready.”

My throat tightens to a painful level. Sure, a man will say it’s no big deal if you can’t have kids. Their mums are a different story. I can’t get caught up with this man. He deserves better .

This woman wants grandchildren.

Taking a deep breath, I pull out my phone and get to my feet from the booth. “Well, it was nice to meet you both. Have fun on your trip. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I stride several feet from the table, and when I look back, Trace is rushing toward me, looking like he’s about to tackle me.

“What are you doing?” he growls. “Do you seriously think you’re leaving this casino without me?”

“With a guard my brother hired to protect his wife in a town where the mafia don may or may not try to kill her. I’m safe .”

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight, you’re out of your mind.”

Hiding my sadness, I say, “Your mum will never accept me. Especially because—”

“Don’t say it.” His eyes flutter. “It’s none of her business.”

“Of course it is. She deserves grandchildren. Every mother does.” I think about my mother with five grandkids and more on the way. And she can’t hold any of them.

Trace’s mother can put those slot-playing arms to use and be a grandma. I won’t deny her that.

“Can we trust she won’t tell anyone?” Something I want to deck Trace for spilling.

“My dad will talk to her. He’s not na?ve about our world. He knows what my Uncle Aiden did for years. He knows about your da.”

“Okay.” I have to trust he knows his parents understand what’s at stake.

“Trace?” Freye calls out to us. “Everything all right?”

Strangely for a military man turned deadly bodyguard with a body covered in tattoos he can never show his mum, he blushes, and I feel sorry for him. But it’s best I let him have this time with his parents. “Enjoy your mum. You know mine is...”

“Fuck, princess, I’m sorry.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “I’ll text Ames to pick you up. I trust him the most.”

I nod, and we walk hand in hand back to the table. His mum’s worried eyes kill me. We sit back down, and I take a few gulps of the tea that’s gone cold while Trace was trying to convince me to stay with him. Damn, I love feeling his power. Love giving him control. He’s my peace of mind.

Like he heard my thoughts, Trace’s hand settles into my lap. It’s so warm, and I can’t help squeezing it.

“How long are you in town?” Trace asks his parents.

“Until Sunday,” his father answers, his voice somber.

“I still want to know what’s going on,” his mum needles us. “If you’re not really married, or didn’t mean to be, why are you bloody holding hands under the table?”

Saying I can’t have kids sits on the tip of my tongue. That will dial her back. She’ll leap over the table and snatch Trace away from me. God, the disappointment in a man’s mother’s eyes isn’t something I can bear.

“Ms. O’Rourke?” Ames, one of Jillian’s guards, appears at our table.

Saved by the guard.

“Give me a moment,” I say to him and finish my tea. When I reach for my purse to pay for everyone, Trace’s death stare pulls my hand away. “Again, it’s lovely to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan. I need to meet up with my sister-in-law who’s here doing some business. I’ll see you later, Trace.”

He just nods, eyes rolling behind his shades. Even if I don’t see them, I know every curve of his face.

“Thank you, Ames. I’m ready.” I slog to the exit of the Bellagio like the broken princess I am.