Rosa
“Stop fidgeting,” Alejandro reprimands with a scowl.
“I’m not,” I murmur in annoyance, mostly because he’s right.
I am fidgeting.
But what does my brother expect?
He’s about to lead me into a church where I’ll have to vow, before God and half of the city of Boston, to love and obey a man I have never laid eyes on.
As much as I didn’t want it to upset me, my fiancé not even bothering to come pick me up from the airport yesterday was a slap in the face. Tiernan made time to see my brother and go over business last night but didn’t see the point of meeting his bride. If this was his not-so-subtle way of sending me the message that he didn’t care about me in any way, shape, or form, I heard it loud and clear.
I’m not sure if I should be disappointed, angry, or relieved that Tiernan has so little interest in who he is about to marry. But then again, he’s a man. The boss of a crime family at that. Why should I expect him to act any differently in regards to who he is about to start a life with when my own father never cared about me or my brothers? I just pray I’m not about to walk down the aisle and say I do to a man that bears any likeness to my father whatsoever. I don’t care if Tiernan’s life revolves around the bloodshed of mob business—it’s the cruelty in his own home that I’m not thrilled to experience again.
“How do I look?” I ask, putting on a brave face, hoping the classic Vera Wang wedding dress is to my brother’s liking. “Not too flashy, is it?”
“It will do. Are you ready?” Alejandro asks, his cool, stern mask perfectly in place.
Feeling defeated, I offer him a curt nod and school my facial features to the same nonchalant expression he has stitched on his face. With my spine ramrod straight and my head held high, I let Alejandro lead me out of the limo and begin to walk up the stairs towards the church’s wide oak doors.
Once we reach the entrance, the wedding song immediately commences, as if anxious to announce to the world that my impending doom is on the horizon. I try my best not to look at my surroundings and just stare at the large golden cross that hangs proudly behind the priest who is about to marry me off to one of my family’s greatest enemies.
I go to great lengths not to look at the groom waiting for me at the altar, though. If Tiernan isn’t one bit curious about me, then why should I act like I care one iota about him?
No.
Let him know that his disinterest is mutual.
It’s with this thought that my brother’s words from the day before come to the forefront of my mind.
All I have to do is give the Irish king an heir, and he’ll discard me like yesterday’s newspaper.
To most women, that bleak thought would have them running for the hills, but to a cartel princess like me, one who has already been sold and paid for, it’s the only thread of hope I have to hold on to.
Bear a child and be free.
I can do that.
I have to do that.
It’s the only way I’ll be able to survive in this foreign land filled with people who hate me just on mere principle alone.
With new resolve, my hesitant steps, leading me to a fate I never asked for, become steadier. Surer. And as the wedding guests sitting in their pews gawk and whisper while I walk down the aisle, my determination only grows.
I may not like my father, but I have his blood running through my veins, which means I can be just as calculating and manipulative. Or at least in theory, I should be. I just have to find a way to tap into these unpracticed traits if I’m to endure my hellish existence with these savages.
Unsurprisingly, Alejandro’s holier than thou demeanor never falters as he leads me to the altar. When we reach our mark, he pulls me to face him one last time as a Hernandez.
“Remember what I said,” he whispers in my ear, before placing a tender kiss on the top of my head, over my veil.
I nod, taking his advice and words of caution to heart before turning around and stretching my hand to the man who is about to become the instrument that decides if there will be happiness or only misery in my future.
Although I refuse to look at his face, the first thing I notice about my soon-to-be husband is that his hands are huge compared to mine. The rough calluses on them tell me that he’s not afraid of a hard day’s work and takes matters into his own hands should the situation call for it.
How many men has he killed with those hands, I wonder?
Or, more importantly, how many of them were my brethren?
I feel the weight of his stare on me as if reading the thoughts in my head. But like a stubborn child, I continue not to look at him, turning my full attention from his hand and on to the priest so we can get this show on the road.
I was of two minds if I should have worn the traditional veil to cover my face while getting married this morning, but now, I’m thankful I have the heavy garment to shield and protect me a little while longer, since Tiernan isn’t the only one who is staring me down.
Although the air inside the church is crisp and cool, a trickle of sweat slithers down my back from the heat of everyone’s eyes on us, making me feel like I’m some trapped exotic fish in a bowl for everyone to admire—or in my case, scrutinize. My entire body feels itchy and hot as the Irish priest commences his spiel about holy matrimony.
Once I’ve gathered my wits, the priest’s words become clearer to me. I shift my fixed gaze from the cross behind him and, for the first time since I’ve reached the altar, stare at the priest who is about to bind me to this stranger forever.
Just like with every man I’ve encountered in my life, his eyes hold no warmth, no sympathy for my circumstances—even when the words he’s uttering are all about the sanctity of marriage, love, and family. My stomach churns with the knowledge that even this man of the cloth looks down in disdain at me. Like I’m the enemy that dared to enter his sacred domain, a serpent that should have never crawled into his holy temple and should be cast out from paradise by force if need be.
Logic tells me that I can’t fault him for his blatant dislike of me.
My family has done enough damage over the years in the U.S. to warrant such contempt. But can the Kelly family say they are clean of the same sins my family has committed in the past? Don’t they also have the same blood-soaked hands? I guess it’s easier for this priest to ignore their crimes when his church benefits from their generosity. I doubt the Vatican is the benefactor of all the gold and jewels encrusted on the cross I’ve been admiring for the past half hour.
When the priest throws me another disparaging look, my eyes narrow at him through my veil, and though it is thick enough for him not to be able to see my glower, his face still pales. He then clears his throat,momentarily forgetting his next words.
Shame should accost me now that I’ve made a man of God tremble from just one look, but the affliction never comes. When you are born into one of the most notorious crime families like I have been, such a sentiment holds no weight.
Almost as if the priest has had enough of prolonging this ceremony, his next words chill the base of my spine and accelerate my heartbeat.
“Have you come here to enter into marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?”
“I have,” Tiernan and I reply in unison, the lie feeling bitter on the tip of my tongue.
“And are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?”
“I am.”
Another lie.
God, please have mercy on my soul.
“Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the laws of Christ and his Church?”
“I am,” I’m quick to reply, knowing that bearing children is the only light at the end of this dark tunnel.
However, in my haste to respond, it takes me a few seconds to realize that the groom has yet to open his mouth. This time it’s Tiernan who is on the receiving end of the priest’s scornful frown.
“Are you prepared to accept children lovingly from God and to bring them up according to the laws of Christ and his Church?” the priest irksomely repeats, directing the question solely at Tiernan.
“I am,” he finally concedes.
Sensing that the groom isn’t as keen to be here as his steadfast demeanor might have misled us to believe, the priest dives right into the vows, before the Irish mobster’s cold feet start another Mafia War in front of the parishioners in attendance.
“Do you, Tiernan Francis Kelly, take Rosa Maria Hernandez, to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to be true to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health? And will you love and honor her for all the days of your life?”
You can hear a pin drop in the church, everyone holding their breath, thinking the mighty mob boss will back out at the last moment.
But I know he won’t.
Even if he’s reluctant to marry me, his honor in keeping his father’s vow to the other families prevents him from turning back now.
“I do.” Unlike his rough hand, his voice comes out smooth like expensive velvet.
“And do you, Rosa Maria Hernandez, take Tiernan Francis Kelly, to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to be true to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health? And will you love, honor, and obey him for all the days of your life?”
“I do,” I reply, grateful that my voice is just as strong as Tiernan’s was.
“Do you have the rings?” the priest asks, his full attention on the man standing beside me.
Tiernan retrieves a simple gold band from his pocket and pulls my clammy hand in his, before the priest instructs him to say the words that will forever bind us to one another.
“Rosa, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
I swallow dryly when it’s my turn to reciprocate the vow.
“Tiernan, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
It takes everything in me not to stare at my wedding ring and curse the damn thing.
“To make your relationship work will take love,” the priest commences, knowing full well his words of love will fall on deaf ears. “This is the core of your marriage and why you are here. It will take trust to know that in your hearts, you truly want what is best for each other. It will take dedication to stay open to one another and to learn and grow together. It will take faith to go forward together, without knowing exactly what the future brings. And it will take commitment to hold true to the journey you both have pledged here today.”
I’m not sure if I should laugh or weep at the beautifully spoken sentiment, so instead, I just stand there and count down the seconds until this charade is officially over.
“My dear friends, let us turn to the Lord and pray that he will bless this couple that has united in holy matrimony today. Father, you have made the union of husband and wife so holy as it symbolizes the marriage of two humans through Christ to God. Look with love upon this couple and fill them both with love for each other, both honoring and respecting each other, and always seeing their love as a gift to be treasured. May the commitment which they are making be sacred, not only for today, but for the rest of their lives. We ask this blessing for them in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” the priest ends his futile rant by making the sign of the cross on us both. “By the power vested in me by God and the Holy Mother Church, I pronounce you wife and husband. Those who God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may now kiss the bride.”
On a somber sigh, I turn to face my newly-wed husband so that he can lift my veil and kiss me to seal this twisted pact with the devil in God’s house. However, I’m at a loss when he takes longer to do it. I’m about to turn around to look at my brother for directions, when Tiernan stops me from moving an inch by grabbing hold of my hands in his. My heart does the unthinkable and flips of its own accord at the tenderness of his grip. I lick my dry lips and patiently wait while he lets go of my hands in favor of pulling back my veil. And as my veil lifts higher, so does my vision of him become clearer.
And what a vision it is.
The man is exquisite.
His hands now look tiny compared to the larger than life persona that stands before me. In all black, from top to bottom, he looks like Hades himself. Unfortunately for me, this Greek tragedy won’t allow me to return home come springtime. I’m to be his captive all year round.
My surprise at how handsome he is must amuse him because there is a little tug on his lips, a smirk at my stunned state. And what a pair of lips this man has. Full and perfectly drawn, like two soft pillows you would like nothing more than to lie your head on. With a strong, masculine square jaw and defined cheekbones, he has all the traits of a living, breathing Irish god. As my gaze continues to travel up his face, my chest tightens when I finally get a good look at his eyes. An unfamiliar warmth begins to trickle down my spine as I become mesmerized by them. One blue eye and one green eye stare back at me with the same unrestrained curiosity, making my cheeks flush crimson.
My lips part to say something, anything that will give me back the upper hand, but it all dissipates when Tiernan’s hand softly cups my left cheek and brings my lips to touch his. Without my consent, my lids close shut and I marvel how a man who has been groomed to take lives can breathe life into me with such soft, demanding lips. It’s only when my hand finds purchase on his chest to steady the unstable ground at my feet that Tiernan’s mouth pulls away from mine, leaving me oddly destitute and wanting.
I’m brought back to reality when loud cheers and applause break out, reminding me that the first time I ever set eyes on my husband—the first time he kissed me—was witnessed by a large audience of strangers.
I swallow my embarrassment down and take a step back to gather my composure. Tiernan offers me his arm, the little smug smile on his lips no longer visible; in its place is a no-nonsense expression. I take his lead and link my arm through his, making sure my own facial features have turned to stone. As we take our first steps as husband and wife, I can’t shake the ominous feeling that this man will be my ruin in more ways than one.
My lips still burn from his kiss, and I wonder if the people standing at their pews can see the imprint he left on them.
Inwardly, I curse my inexperience when it comes to the opposite sex. If I had spent my youth kissing a bunch of frogs, then when the Irish king laid a kiss on my lips, it wouldn’t have left such an impression on me.
Unfortunately, not many men were brave enough to kiss a cartel princess already promised to the Irish mob boss. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve kissed someone. I’m sure my husband hasn’t suffered the same affliction.
Husband.
The word lies heavy on my tongue.
More like a jailer.
Imprisoned to a life so far from the reality I’ve experienced.
My new home is cold and grey compared to the warmth Mexico provided. Even the air feels different here. Arctic. Much like the man leading me out of the church, I presume.
The limo I arrived in waits at the curb, and like the gentleman he’s not, Tiernan makes no move to open the door for me, but waits for the chauffeur to do it for him. My cheeks blaze in resentment as our wedding party witnesses the subtle insult, resulting in little snickers of amusement at my expense.
“Gracias ,” I thank the driver, keeping my wide smile front and center as he ushers and helps me into the backseat.
The minute I’m inside, my smile drops. I turn my head towards the window, not wanting to see the faces of our guests, much less the man I just married. The car door slams a few seconds later, resulting in Tiernan’s looming presence eating up the oxygen in the small confines. I shift closer to the window as he gives a little knock on the partition, his way of telling the driver to head to our reception.
I count the beats of my heart, willing it to slow down, and quell my unexpected rising temper. Compared to my brothers, I’ve never really been known to have a foul temper to speak of. Rationally, I shouldn’t even be mad at Tiernan for the minor snub. Maybe the real reason I’m aggravated is that in the few minutes I’ve known him, he has been able to stir up unfamiliar feelings in me that I’m not too comfortable with.
Resentment.
Anger.
Curiosity.
And dare I say it… even lust.
When the car starts, I push all those idiotic notions away and keep my gaze on the passing cold buildings on the sidewalk. Grey. Lifeless. Unbecoming. My gut twists, yearning to see some warmth in the architecture passing by.
‘It’s an omen,’ my subconscious whispers, and to my chagrin, I agree.
This city will offer me nothing but cold winds and dull, empty days.
Can a flower bloom under such dire conditions?
How will I be able to give this man an heir when he won’t even open a simple car door for me seconds after I had pledged to obey, love, and honor him?
I shake that thought away.
No matter the striking resemblance, Tiernan is not the ruler of the Underworld. Or at least not a mythical version of it. He’s not Hades—even if I do share some similarities with Persephone’s plight.
He’s a man.
Made of flesh and bone.
With worldly desires and basic urges.
I’m his now. To do with whatever he pleases. He’ll take me, willingly or not.
Can a woman get pregnant on her wedding night, I wonder? Will one time be enough to solidify our union? Or will I have to spend my honeymoon on my back as he ruts his seed into me?
How long do most honeymoons last, anyway?
A week?
Two maybe?
Surely not more than that.
My head is still working out the math when I feel a little tug on my dress. My gaze lands on Tiernan’s thumb and finger that are currently rubbing a small patch of my flowing skirt in between them.
“You wore white.”
It’s not a question. More like an accusation.
I nod, my throat suddenly too dry to utter a word.
“I wasn’t expecting white,” he utters under his breath.
My forehead wrinkles in confusion.
“Don’t most brides wear white on their wedding day?” I ask after a long, insufferable pause.
“Most brides, yes. But you’re not most brides, are you, Rosa?”
Heat fills my cheeks at the sound of my name coming from his lips. My name on his tongue sounds obscene to my ears. X-rated and salacious even.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you. I couldn’t find a blood-red dress that would do the occasion justice,” I reply with a bite to my tone, not wanting him to pick up on the dirty images the sound of his voice saying my name conjured up.
He lets go of the dress and swiftly captures my chin in his ruthless grasp, his gaze, filled with such hate, holds all the oxygen in my lungs captive.
“Black. That’s the color I was waiting for. It would have been less of a lie than the white you chose.” He lets go of my chin and then turns his head away from me to stare out his passenger window. “Lie to me again and I’ll make sure that black is all you know from here on out.”
The threat lies heavy in the air as I take in his black ensemble with fresh new eyes.
I came dressed for a wedding.
Tiernan came dressed for a funeral.