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Allie
I pause at the bottom of the stone church steps. Perhaps, that isn’t the best description. Stop dead is a better term. Seamus stands at the very top, laughing and joking with his brothers. They’re all in pinstriped gray pants with a hint of a dark silver sheen. Tails adorn their black jackets, while dark gray vests cover their pristine white shirts and the base of their dark silver ties, except for Evan, whose tie is white. They look great. All of them. But it’s Seamus I can’t take my eyes off.
I took an Uber to the church since Seamus’s duty as a friend and groomsman compelled him to arrive early to stand with Evan as part of his family. “It’s gonna suck if God strikes me down or sends a nun to beat my ass with a ruler,” he said, when he admitted he hadn’t attended confession since his confirmation.
“You survived Finn’s wedding,” I remind him.
“I think the Benjamin I dropped in the donation bin helped. But Benjamins only get you so far with God,” he reasoned.
It was great to hear him laugh and catch his grin. The other week, before my mother and aunts called, I thought we were taking that step that extended past the close friendship we share. But although we’ve continued to spend time together and pose as a couple in front of his family, it’s like the opportunity was lost. There have been no more kisses, nothing more than hand holding and hugs, even in the company of his family. I hated him seeing me so angry and, in a way, so weak. It’s altered the direction I thought we were taking.
Still, he insisted I obtain a ride here so he could take me home after the reception.
“You’re my date, remember?” he said with a wink. “The least I can do is take you home.”
I wouldn’t say no to Seamus if it means spending time with him, especially when he looks as good as he does now.
Seamus doesn’t see me watching him. Perhaps it’s better. More than once he’s caught me taking in his face, his hearty laugh, and, more often than not, his terrible inappropriateness. My man is not really my man, no matter how well we’ve pulled off this masquerade. But with every day that passes, I wish that he was.
Seamus is a sweetheart and a loudmouth. Someone whose politically incorrect persona has earned him death glares everywhere we go. That doesn’t mean I’ve regretted our time together. Even if it’s just for pretend, I’m honored to call him mine.
As much as Seamus and his brothers complain and made fun of the British style tuxedos they’d wear on Wren and Evan’s wedding day, I’ve never seen a more stunning bridal party and Finn and Sol’s party was unbelievably spectacular.
“Fuck you, Angus,” my English gentleman calls out, nailing his eldest brother on his shoulder. “You passed out in front of the Virgin Mary that night.”
“That was Finnie,” Angus insists.
“It was not,” Finnie argues. “I fell asleep in the manger and all youz damn well know it!”
“Then who the hell stole the camel?” Declan asks.
Everyone looks at Seamus when Curran hooks a thumb in his direction. “What?” he snaps, growing defensive. “I had him back by New Year’s.”
My smile widens. I love Seamus. I wasn’t supposed to, but here I am wishing he would love me in return.
Finn, his face still beaming from his romantic honeymoon in the Swiss Alps, nudges Seamus a millisecond before he sees me.
Seamus’ eyes widen at the sight of me in my turquoise cocktail dress before a big grin lights up his face and he hops down the steps.
“Hey, Alz, I didn’t see you there, baby.”
He lifts me into an embrace, making me laugh. Perhaps he’s overdoing the girlfriend/boyfriend project in front of his family. I don’t mind. It’s more than he’s done these past few weeks, and I welcome his touch like I do my next breath.
Seamus lowers me carefully, lifting my arms and making a show of taking me in. “You look beautiful,” he says, keeping his voice low so I only hear him.
“And you look amazing,” I say, meaning my words and desire for his kiss.
“I clean up good, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do, my love.”
The last part was a bit much based on how he guarded he becomes. He gathers me to him, whispering low. “That was pretty good.”
I want to tell him how much I mean it, but the distance he’s kept as of late reminds me I can’t. I wait for him to say something, anything that may give me an indication he’s willing to give us a chance. “You look nice,” he says, instead.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Curran yells from the top of the stairs. “Either get a room or get inside. It’s getting close to go-time and we’re going to have half the city to seat.” He’s holding his daughter Clodagh, the skirt of her pretty flower girl dress draped over his arm. She tucks a small rose from her basket behind her daddy’s ear, earning her a kiss on the cheek that makes her giggle.
Seamus makes a face. “I have to do my job. But before I forget, could you give Evan’s ring to Sofia? Sol is the matron of honor, but she has a lot to do back there. Sofia is in charge of handing the ring to Father Flanagan to bless. Wren forgot the ring at the house and I had to drive back and get it.”
He holds out a square velvet ring box and opens it. “Nice, huh?” he asks. “It’s platinum with gold mixed in.”
I start to tell him how lovely it is when his brothers break out laughing. “Oh, man, Seamus,” Killian hollers from the steps. “I thought you were proposing.”
Angus laughs, his entire chest shaking. “We all did. Don’t be giving me the big one this early in the day. I’m already going to lose my shit when I walk Wren down the aisle.”
Molly, Angus’s fiancée for the past twenty years, appears out of nowhere, the skirt of her beautiful silver bridesmaid dress flowing as she smacks Angus’s arm. “What’s wrong with youz?” she asks, her shrill voice sending the brothers scattering. She adjusts her large breasts beneath her “V” neck bodice. “I can hear you cursing all the way to the altar. Calm down before I send your mother out here.”
An obedient silence befalls the entire area, giving our faces a moment to cool. Out of all the things his brothers could assume, why in the world would they jump to a proposal? I have this awful feeling we’ve played our roles too well, and worry what’s going to happen when he tells them we’re only friends even though I’ve dreamed of becoming more.
Seamus is worried, too. “I’m sorry,” he says. “They shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay,” I insist. I want to tell him I don’t mind, but that doesn’t sound right either.
He sighs. “They shouldn’t make assumptions, you know?”
“I know,” I say, growing a little sad.
Seamus closes the lid to the ring box and sets it in my palm, placing my other hand over it. His gaze shimmers with sadness, in spite of his small smile. “Will you take it back for me?” he asks. “And tell Wren I love her?”
The devotion that reflects in his features melts my heart and brings me back to the moment. “Don’t you think it would be more appropriate if Molly does this for you?” I ask. I motion to where she’s standing at the top of the steps arguing with Angus.
Seamus shakes his head slowly. “No, I want you to do it.”
I nod, keeping my mouth shut so I don’t admit that I would do anything for him. “Okay. I’ll take good care of it,” I say, instead.
He presses a kiss to my cheek, allowing it to linger before stepping back. “Hey, Mol,” he yells without looking at her. “Could you take Allie back to see Wren? There’s something she needs to tell her for me.”
I expect Molly to offer her services on my behalf. She’s an official bridesmaid. I’m merely the “girlfriend” to one of the groomsmen. For some reason, Molly doesn’t bat an eye at the request. “Sure thing, Seamus. Come on, dolly,” she says, motioning to me to follow.
My small purse smacks against my hip as I hurry up the steps. I don’t want to anger Molly any more than I want to feel the wrath of Mama O’Brien. Molly is a woman capable of snapping me in half with as much effort as she’s walking in those heels.
“I have to warn you,” Molly says. “Wren isn’t in the best mood on account of Mary Therese still isn’t here yet.”
Mary Therese is an O’Brien. I went to school with Mary Therese. She’s very . . . nice . . . and as tough as the O’Briens come. I still remember her beating up a girl from my chemistry class who was twice her size after the girl accused her of sleeping with our teacher. “We’ve only made out like six times,” Mary Therese screamed at her. “You trying to call me a slut?”
“I didn’t realize Mary Therese was in the wedding,” I say to Molly.
Molly rolls her eyes. “That’s ‘cause Mary Therese missed everything she was supposed to show for. But what can you do? Wren didn’t have enough girlfriends and Mary Therese was the only woman she didn’t have to worry about banging Seamus.”
“What?” I ask.
Molly puts her arm around me and gives me an arm hug that shakes me to my core and makes me lose my balance. The fact that Molly could probably press two-hundred pounds is the only thing that prevents me from landing on my face.
“That was before, sweetie. Or like Wren and the rest of us call it, BSWU. Before Seamus Wised Up,” Molly explains. “Dear God and every virgin on the planet, you wouldn’t believe what it was like before you came along. It’s like Seamus lost a bet with a higher power and all Cupid could do was launch arrows into skanks and prison escapees. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes?” I say, too scared to argue.
“Anyway, no one can find Mary Therese, not even Uncle Abner and she’s his daughter. I think Aunt Ruthie is really going to kill her this time, but hopefully she’ll wait till after Wren’s honeymoon, otherwise I think it’ll be bad Karma.”
“I can see that,” I say, realizing Molly expects me to agree with her.
Molly half grunts, half growls. “I told Wren she never should have picked Mary Therese. But Wren was desperate to have a bridesmaid accompany Seamus. She would’ve been better off hiring a prostitute, but then we had to still worry about Seamus, you know?”
“Ah . . .”
“Come on, Allie,” she says. “We better hurry before we give Wren another reason to lose it in front of the priest.”
She’s already half-dragging me down the aisle, and I almost break my ankle when she hauls me up and behind the altar. Bless Molly’s heart. For a curvaceous woman, she has the agility and speed of a stallion. “I’m surprised Wren didn’t prefer to dress at her new house. She and Evan were over the moon when Angus’s crew finished construction ahead of schedule.”
“Yeah, she was real happy about it,” Molly says, her long red curls bouncing along her back with how fast she’s moving. “But she wanted to spend her last night at Grammie’s with us girls. She thought it would be a nice tribute, kind of like how Seamus made the statue of her and Evan from Grammie’s dead tree.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, remembering said statue.
“Not to mention Wren’s real superstitious about her and Evan seeing each other before the wedding. It was nice. We watched movies and looked through pictures of the family.” She slows as we reach the long corridor. Even from this end, I could hear the chatter of women’s voices further down the hall. “Hey, why weren’t you there? You disappeared before the rehearsal dinner wrapped up.”
I don’t want to talk about the meeting I had with my mother and aunts. Valentina didn’t attend. Something about visiting a producer she knew in New York. It was better, though. Like Seamus suggested, I saved the voicemail and played it back to family. They seemed shocked by how hateful and crazed they sounded. There were a lot of tears, but more understanding than I expected.
As a compromise, I promised to attend Valentina’s wedding. In turn, they promised not to badger me if I left early or to expect my presence at any other Valentina event. I phoned Seamus when I arrived home. He wasn’t happy, but he listened, making me smile and laugh until it was time for both of us to say goodnight.
“I had a family function to attend,” I explain.
“That’s right, your sister’s getting married at the end of the month.” She frowns. “I saw a write-up about it in the paper. Valentina was . . . never mind.”
“What, Molly?” I say, clasping her arm before she reaches the door.
“It’s nothing,” she says.
Like everyone else I’ve ever met in my life, I was expecting to hear a comment about Valentina’s superb intellect, charm, or sophistication. I don’t have that impression from Molly. She seems hurt.
“You were going to say something about Valentina,” I say, watching how she quiets. “It’s okay, you can tell me. I won’t be upset or judge you.”
The term judge seems to bother her more than anything I say. Molly watches me closely. I almost expect her to gloss over things, but she doesn’t. “Valentina was never nice. Not to me. Even then I was a big girl, and she reminded me every chance she got.”
“That’s awful,” I say. “I never knew she was like that.” Was I used to Valentina’s pettiness first hand? My goodness, yes. But I always envisioned her driven to win everyone over to her side. I didn’t realize she only sought the approval of those she deemed worthy of her time.
I want to hug Molly. Out of all the O’Briens, she and Angus were the first to invite me to dinner at their home. The first to say welcome, you’re one of us now. I’ll never forget either of them for that. “I’m sorry for how she made you feel,” I say. “You didn’t deserve that.”
Molly smiles and rubs my arm. “Don’t be, honey. You’re nice and you’re with our Seamus. That’s all that matters.”
Molly means to be kind, but I wish there was more truth to her statement.
She stops in front of a very dark and ornate door. I grew up in this church and like the O’Briens, I was baptized here and received my first communion and confirmation. I’d never visited this part of the building before. But then, it does belong to the brides.
“Do me a favor,” Molly says. “Don’t say anything about Mary Therese. She’s a whore and a little bat shit crazy. But we love her.”
“I won’t say anything,” I assure her.
“Thank you, honey.” She pauses with her hand on the door and looks at me. “We haven’t had much time to talk, but I want to after all the festivities wrap up. I mean it when I say we’re all glad you and Seamus are together. You’re everything he never knew he needed.” Her smile fades a little bit. “I only hope good things for the both of youz.”
“Thank you, Molly,” I say, a pang of guilt hitting me hard. “I really hope things work out for us, too.”
Molly raps on the door. “Who is it?” Sofia asks gently.
“It’s me, Molly, and I got Allie with me.”
Sofia opens the door carefully, her body shadowed by the dimness of the hall. “Hi, Allie,” she says, tossing a nervous glance behind her.
“Is that fucking Mary Therese?” Wren yells from inside.
“Um,” Sofia says. “Wren is—”
“Pissed,” Molly finishes for her.
Sofia tries to smile. “She’s a little stressed,” she admits.
Molly walks in. “It’s just me. I have Allie with me.”
“Allie?” Wren asks.
Oh, no, perhaps I shouldn’t be here. “I’m sorry to intrude, Wren. I have a message from Seamus and—”
“You’re not intruding, Allie. Come on in,” Wren says.
I open my palm and whisper to Sofia. “I also have Evan’s ring.”
Sofia places her hand over her heart. “Wonderful. Thank you, Allie. Wren,” she says. “Allie has the ring.”
“Well, at least I can count on Seamus,” Wren grumbles.
Sofia opens the door, allowing us in and revealing the luminous gowns of the bridesmaids. Silver silk dresses alternate from sweet like Sofia’s beautiful strapless, A-line skirt design, to more elegant like Tess’s off the shoulder and straight skirt design, or as sensual as Melissa’s halter top and flowing skirt, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe. The material is the same, but it seems Wren took the time to select a style that matched her bridesmaids’ personalities. Yet as beautiful as these women look, no one quite compares to Wren.
A loose, large braid pulls Wren’s long ebony hair away from her face and gathers around the wave of neat, large, and graceful curls, cascading down the open back of her gown. A silver comb, adorned with diamonds and pearls fastens into the braid, holding the cathedral length veil everyone is doing their best not to step on.
Wren’s dress isn’t flashy or loud, but no one will miss her. The best way I can describe her dress is poured white silk. Sleeveless with a cowl neckline, the material gathers around Wren’s amazing figure, flaring out in a trumpet cut and into a train as long as her veil.
I think Wren was going for subtle. Instead, she became the bride for the ages. She epitomizes everything I would want to be, lovely, elegant, and unforgettable.
“Wren, you look incredible.”
“Thanks. Shaqwana did a nice job with my hair.”
I wave my arms. “I mean everything. You’re breathtaking.”
Wren isn’t shy or reserved, so it’s sweet how she glances down and smiles softly. “Thank you. I just want Evan to like it.”
“Oh, girl, you have nothing to worry about,” Sol says, making us laugh. She bounces around the room, the ruffles in the skirt of her spaghetti strap dress make wooshing sounds. She kneels down, handing Tess’s oldest daughter a teddy bear dressed in a flower girl dress. “This is from Auntie Wren and Uncle Evan,” she tells her.
“What did they get Mateo’s son as ring bearer?” Tess asks.
Sol laughs. “A stack of video games.”
I approach Wren carefully. “Seamus wanted me to tell you he loves you.”
Wren nods, again, glancing down and smiling softly. “I love him, too. I was going tell him when he walked me down the aisle. This was supposed to be the perfect day, you know? I can’t believe Mary Therese isn’t here.”
“Worst case scenario, Angus and Seamus can walk down the aisle with Molly,” Sofia suggests.
“We can’t have that. It will leave us with thirteen adults. That’s not a number I need on my wedding day. Bad omen, you feel me?”
As if in cue, we all cross ourselves. Call us crazy. Call us superstitious. Call us Catholic.
The clock strikes eleven thirty and we know time is running out. The tension shoots through the roof and everyone starts fussing over Wren, although she very much doesn’t appear like a bride to be fussed with. I start to leave when a cell phone rings.
Sol shoots across the room, everyone growing silent when she answers it. She waves frantically at Wren. “It’s Mary Therese... she says she wants to talk to you.”
"Sol practically trips over herself getting to Wren. Wren lifts the phone. “Where are you? Are you coming? . . . What? . . . What? . . .The hell? . . . Mary Therese, are you kidding me right now?”
Wren disconnects, flinging the phone across the room. “Mary Therese isn’t coming,” she announces to the room.
We all collectively gasp. “Where is she?” Tess asks, adjusting the silver sash around her daughter’s waist.
“Are you ready for this?” Wren asks. “In Vegas and apparently married. She thought the guy was a manager at CBS. Turns out he’s a manager at CVS. She’s freaking out, trying to get it annulled, even though they spent the night banging like grizzlies in the woods with cymbals.”
Wren looks at Sol. “I told you she’d pull something like this.” She points to the dress hanging in the corner. “Why do you think I wouldn’t let her hang onto the dress and the shoes? She’s so irresponsible I thought she’d damage the dress and lose the shoes.” She glances around. “But this . . . what the hell am I going to do with one less bridesmaid?”
“Maybe Evie would be willing to sub in?” Melissa offers.
Wren shakes her head. “Mary Therese is skinnier than an ostrich neck. Evie’s pregnant and her baby bump is twice as big as it was a few weeks ago. She can’t fit into that thing. It’s a size two and . . .”
Her voice fades and it’s as if she’s suddenly remembers I’m here. Like the domino effect, all eyes are suddenly on me. “What size do you wear Allie?” Wren asks.
“Ah, six. Four on a good day,” I say.
Sol leans into Wren. “That could work.”
A big smile forms across Wren’s face. “So, Allie. What are you doing for the next hour?”
