Illicit Temptation (Astoria Royals #3)

EPILOGUE TWO

Shea

A few hours later, under the mid-afternoon sun, nestled in the Cloisters and high up on a cliff, I look out at all of Manhattan, waiting to get married. Not waiting for Trace, who’s inside the small chapel — I’m waiting for me.

I’m waiting for some kind of sign that this isn’t right. Not that marrying Trace isn’t right. It’s the rightest thing in the world. We’re fated mates, I know this. A Quinlan and an O’Rourke were destined to be together, somehow, someway.

And it’s us.

There was no stopping us from being together forever or undoing that sketchy Vegas wedding once it happened. I’m swamped with guilt for putting myself second once again and not taking advantage of this one special day. A day where every single woman gets to be a princess and bask in the limelight. For not giving Trace any consideration in the planning to see what he might have wanted.

I urged Trace to reconsider what he’s giving up by marrying a woman who can’t have children. He never wavered. I’m the one wavering. I’ve been denied the one thing nearly every woman is blessed with, and I’m about to throw away the one thing I can have!

Nope. I’m calling this off. We’ll do something bigger. When everyone is available. Trace will understand. It’s not like everyone took a day off from their schedules to be here on a Wednesday.

Sniffing, I hurry down to the chapel. Getting closer, I hear soft music playing. A cello and violin sweetly hum together typical pre-wedding melodies.

I stop. “I didn’t request music. ”

Larke!

At the historic chapel on the grounds, covered in vines and lattice laced with roses, I open the arched mahogany door and step inside the vestibule. An easy chill from the original smooth natural stone tiles cools my heated skin and the scent of candles fills my nose.

The doors to the nave with several rows of original Flemish oak pews are closed. As I reach for the handle, someone tugs on my dress. A dress I let Trace pick out.

“Hi, Aunt Shea.” Sophie stares up at me with a basket of rose petals.

“Um.” I’m speechless, thinking I’m seeing things.

“Go ahead, sweetie.” Larke hands me a beautiful white lily bouquet before guiding Sophie inside the nave. “Walk right to the front on the runner and drop the petals like we practiced, okay?”

“My niece is here?” Stunned, I watch her toss a handful of red rose petals into the air and spin adorably letting them fall all around her.

“Can’t have a wedding without a flower girl,” Larke replies wryly. “And before you ask, you were right. Your family had something urgent to attend to. This is still small, and we have just enough witnesses.”

“Ready, love?” Kieran’s voice sounds out over my shoulder.

I stagger back and he’s holding out his arm, looking as dashing as ever. But he’s not in one of his usual savage suits. It’s a...tux. “What the heck are you doing here?”

My brother, who found his smile when he found Isabella, says, “ I’m giving you away.”

I gape at Larke.

She shrugs innocently. “You needed someone to give you away.”

I take a deep breath, calming myself. Kieran and Sophie are here, which probably means Darragh is here. Ana must be busy. That’s fine. Kieran is the boss and makes his own schedule.

“Sorry, we’re late, lass,” Rhys says, squeezing by to head inside.

“Trace’s best man,” Larke explains. “He needs one.”

“Did you pick up your parents, you git?” Kieran calls out to Rhys, who smiles and jogs inside.

Parents?

I spin around and have to scrape my jaw off the stone floor. “Mrs.... Mrs. Quinlan?”

Beaming in a pink floral dress, a straw hat with an audacious bow, white gloves, and a corsage, she’s more dressed up than me.

Already teary, she hugs me. “You call me Freye. We’re both Mrs. Quinlan.” Her hug weakens me, but her husband cuts in.

“Let the lass get married, Freye.” Patrick Quinlan peels his wife off me.

Wiping her eyes, she disappears into the nave.

Breathing heavily, I turn to Kieran, who’s smiling. I’m guessing he’s glad the families are finally joined together.

I’m forging the most important alliance an O’Rourke can make. And I did it by mistake at first.

“Hold the door!” Jillian says, running after Rhys. “I have your boutonniere!”

“Let me guess, I needed a matron of honor?” I ask.

“Catching on, are you?” Larke says with a chuckle.

I narrow my eyes at her, wondering what else she’s pulled.

“Get back here, you brats!” Eoghan yells, chasing Kieran’s twin boys as they race past me and, yup, inside the nave they go, the door now propped open since it appears to be rush hour.

“I got the easy job today,” Kieran announces, proud he’s not the one chasing his kids but instead dumped that job on Eoghan.

I cut my gaze to Larke.

“Ring bearers,” she scoffs. “Although they weren’t holding the pillows I gave them earlier, so I think I need to go track those down.”

Kieran pats his inner pocket. “Don’t worry, love. I got your wedding rings right here. I’m not fool enough to entrust them to unruly toddlers. Or Eoghan.”

“You’re punishing Eoghan for something, aren’t you?” I ask.

“Killing Lazaro Scava and putting me in his brother’s debt.” He kisses my cheek. “Don’t worry, we’re square now.”

“How?”

Kieran grins.

“Coming through.” Cormac’s voice startles me as Kieran tugs me out of the way.

I gasp seeing my mother. “Ma!”

Looking healthy in a pale-yellow dress, she’s being wheeled in by one of her handsome twin sons like it’s a chariot.

Turns out she never wanted to move back to Ireland. That was a product of my father’s lies, manipulation, and gaslighting. She’s surrounded by guards in the hospital. With seven sons, one daughter, and six daughters-in-law, we rotate daily visits with her.

And all the little ones...they’re giving her new life.

I think that little one she’s holding is her favorite. JP.

For a moment, I wonder how she took the news of how that wee one came to be. I don’t have time to think further because here comes Darragh. On his arm, is his stunning wife Ana, the Bratva underboss.

“I hope someone saved us a seat,” Darragh says, following Cormac and sends me a wink.

“Isabella?” I ask Kieran, knowing she’s here somewhere.

“Putting flowers on the pews with Priscilla and Ella.”

“Katya?” A smile builds on my mouth.

He nods to the nave. “Would she be anywhere else, love?”

“Balor?” I ask, looking around.

“On the roof. With his drone.” Kieran smiles.

“I think that’s everybody,” Larke says, looking smug. “Like you said, only family.”

“Wait, we’re missing—”

Just then, Riordan bursts through the door from the nave, Saoirse-Rose crying and little Matteo clutched to his leg. Behind him, another baby cries. Lachlan appears holding his fussing newborn daughter with Cillian beside him, jumping up and down.

“I want to hold the little doll,” he cries out.

“Where are you all going?” I ask, loosening Matteo from Riordan’s leg, who then starts picking the flowers off my bouquet.

“It’s a wedding, not daycare,” Lachlan quips at me. “Katya’s inside. I don’t want to ruin—”

“Don’t you dare take these precious baby girls away,” I threaten him. “I want them here. Every last one of them. Even these rambunctious and fussy little brats. They’re all mine.”

Speaking of mine... Trace appears in the vestibule. “Bleedin’ hell, I thought you took off. What’s the hold-up?”

“Waiting for my family.” I lean against Kieran’s arm.

“In case you lost count, there’s a lot of us,” Kieran says, head tilted to the crowd that is my family.

I’m the only sister, Trace will always be scrutinized, but I know he can handle it. And with grace.

“Are you sure you want to be tied to all of them?” I ask Trace, pointing at the people stuffed into pews, and even those standing making a tight protective circle for my nuptials.

“With coarse rope that’s on fire,” Trace says, looking down at me, and then nods to Kieran.

“Please, everyone take your seats,” Larke says.

I smile, watching Trace trek back to the altar with a grin splitting his face like he won some major prize.

That prize is me.

I glance inside and see my family sitting, waiting for me to walk down the aisle. It’s hard to believe a couple of weeks ago we were trapped in my grandparents’ house waiting to die. Because of me.

And now we’re all together. Smiling. Because of me.

Tears well up, and I get why brides cry. Looking at all the people who put aside their lives to give me these precious hours overwhelms me.

Here Comes the Bride plays and Kieran steers me down the aisle. I forget what I’m wearing. It doesn’t matter. I’ll pull an old-world tradition and wear a white ballgown at the next charity event.

It all happens so fast, the priest says a quick mass, and next, I’m wearing that same ring from three years ago. It sits next to a large diamond Trace carefully sourced to make sure it has no ties to Archer. All my brothers have replaced their wives’ jewelry.

Trace kisses me when the priest pronounces us married. We turn to face everyone and they’re all smiling brightly they clap, cheer, and whistle.

“I kind of imagined them all in the Vegas chapel when I whisked you out of there. In my mind, I knew we’d be accepted and everyone would be happy for us.” Trace leans his head against mine. “I couldn’t believe it was you I had to convince the most.”

“Just playing hard to get,” I joke and gasp hearing a haunting rendition of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March on the violin and cello in the back corner.

To the lovely music, we strut back down the aisle.

Outside, I get my breath, but Trace is kissing me.

“You see the problem, don’t you?” I murmur against his mouth.

“We’ve been married for two seconds, there’s a problem already?”

“We’ve been married for three and a half years, technically. But I don’t have any kind of party planned for after this.” I tug my hair, feeling anxious. “I wasn’t expecting seventeen additional people, two toddlers, and two infants to show up!”

“Ye of little faith,” Larke says, walking by. She knew everyone would be here.

“Where will we do the—”

“Hey, you’re the bride. Not the event planner this time, Missy. This is my rodeo.” She pats her chest proudly.

“Yee-haw,” Cormac mewls, passing her.

Oh no... I shake my head at him. “Keep walking, cowboy.”

“Trust the process, love.” Trace kisses the side of my head.

“Do you know what’s happening?” I ask him.

“Not at all,” he laughs.

“I have a table all set up in the back garden under a canopy.” Larke spins me around, and it’s a scene right out of a movie.

I smile and relax, seeing a long table with candles, flowers, and lights strung overhead. Waiters carry trays of food to the table. Further back is a three-tier wedding cake. But it’s nothing like I’ve seen before. I head over there and lose my breath. Cheesecake! Thank God.

Within minutes, everyone is milling about the garden, kids running around, soft music playing, Freye sitting with my ma. They’re smiling, holding hands, and wiping away happy tears.

“When the kids are older, let’s do a big trip to Ireland, so your ma can spoil some wee-ones.” I sip my flute of champagne.

Trace grabs his second. “No need. They’re bleedin’ moving here.”

I gulp my drink in response, not sure how to respond to that. But in-laws are a part of marriage. Trace got lucky, considering many of my brothers have horror shows for fathers-in-law. Trace would have been in the same boat, but Lachlan took care of that.

Trace goes to finish his drink, but stops, gazing over my shoulder. “What in the fuck’s sake?”

I look that way and hold my chest seeing Griffin hurry into the garden slipping a jacket over his broad shoulders. Looking closer, I see his nose is swollen, and a shiner blossoming under his right eye.

“What the heck?” I ask Trace. “Who would dare lay a hand on the new head of the Irish Mob in Lower Manhattan?”

“Those brats. Can’t resist a few rounds of rugby when they should have been here at my bleedin’ wedding.”

Hand in hand, Trace and I cut a path to Griffin. Shane and Connor follow behind him also pushing on suit jackets. They don’t look like they’ve been rolling in the grass, but they look...anxious.

Sweating, Griffin takes a flute from a passing server and downs it in one gulp. He spots us coming toward him.

Another server comes up to him with a whiskey. “Thanks, mate.” He drinks that and then waves to us. “I know we’re late. And I’m sorry we can’t stay.” Griffin kisses my cheek. “Congratulations, lass. And welcome to the family.”

“You can’t stay at my wedding?” Trace remarks, watching Griffin kiss me. “Why not? ”

“There’s a body in my trunk,” he deadpans.

“What? My trunk’s not good enough for you?” Rhys slinks over.

“What?” I shriek.

“Parked where?” Trace asks, folding his arms.

“That’s your question?” I push him.

“The car is parked under a tree,” Griffin says, downing the whiskey.

“Whose body is in your trunk?” Trace asks, finally looking worried.

You’d think I’d be used to this, but clearly, I’m not.

“Two bodies, really,” Griffin says, clearing his throat. “One alive, very much alive. The other...not so much.”

Trace looks at me like I should walk away and not hear anything that could get me into trouble. I shake my head no because now it’s getting good.

Holding me by the waist, he says to Griffin, “ Who exactly is in your trunk? My wife can handle it.”

“Brandon Keller.”

Trace sucks in a breath. “You found a way past all those guards outside that building?”

Clearly, they’ve discussed where Brandon Keller has been, and I’m just catching up.

“You can say that,” Connor says, pulling on his tie.

“Wait. Brandon is tied up in your trunk?” Trace cocks his head to the side. “Who else—”

“Brandon isn’t tied up.” Griffin’s voice gets low. “ He’s dead.”

“You killed him?” Trace asks.

“No,” Griffin scoffs. “Ava killed him.”

“She was there?”

Who’s Ava??

“Oh yeah.” Griffin rubs his jaw, shifting it back and forth like it might be broken.

“She gave him those bruises, that hellcat,” Connor adds, grinning.

“Where is Ava?” Trace asks and then looks at me. “That’s who he’s supposed to marry.”

I choke on my champagne.

“She’s also in the trunk,” Griffin says, gingerly touching his swollen lip. “Tied up and screaming her pretty head off.”

Thank you for reading Illicit Temptation, the final book in the Astoria Royals Series.