Page 76 of Bride By Initiation

He slowly rises and sternly gazes down at me. "It's part of your birthright to marry the redhead. And, yeah, your father knew about it. He set it all in motion, so don't fuck it up today," he threatens and then walks to the curtain and opens it.

My pulse pounds through my veins.

Is it true?

Did my father pick this redhead for me to marry?

Why would he do that?

It's not uncommon in crime families to have arranged marriages, but there's always a reason for it. So I want to know why.

Byrne turns. "Lad, are you coming, or are you going to sit there all day?"

I get up and follow him off the plane. Everything's dark. I can't tell if it's night or day. The flickering of candles against the wall is the only way to see. Once we're far from the flight attendant, I ask, "Why would my father arrange for me to marry this redhead?"

He stops walking and crosses his arms over his chest. "You ask a lot of questions."

"Should I not?"

He leers at me.

"I want to know," I insist.

"Alliances were made so everyone could live harmoniously."

I huff. "Jesus. Not more riddles."

"That's all you're getting from me now," he adds, continuing down the hall.

Frustrated, I follow him, not seeing any other choice.

Byrne finally opens a door, and when I step inside, I freeze.

It's a plush locker room. There's a shower and a bathroom, a vanity with toiletries, and some overstuffed furniture.

I ask, "Why am I here?"

"You have thirty minutes. Take a shower, shave, and put on the clothes in the closet. I'll meet you back here," he answers.

I don't move.

"You don't have time to dawdle," he instructs and then leaves.

I glance around the room, taking it in again, and for some reason, I do what he said. I get undressed and shower. I shave. I use the toiletries, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. Then, I pick up the same brand of cologne I normally wear, and spray it over me.

I step over to the closet, open it up, and the hairs on my neck rise. The only outfit in it is a black tuxedo. There's a white shirt, a black bow tie, cummerbund, underwear, socks, and shiny leather shoes.

A debate about whether to get dressed plays out in my head. I decide this is insane, and that it would be best if I don't put it on and give anyone the notion I'm getting married.

I turn to find my clothes but realize they're gone. Someone must have come in and taken them when I was in the shower.

"Fuck's sake," I mutter, and realize I have no option but to put the tuxedo on. I get dressed and pace the room, wondering what comes next.

Byrne walks in with a large wooden box. An image of the skull isburned into the lid, and I notice he has the brand with the same pink in it my father had. It's in the same spot as my father's and John's.

He beams at me. "Aye, look at you, lad. Your father would be proud."

"Stop talking about my father that way," I state, not wanting to feel the turmoil in my stomach. I don't think I'll ever get married. Like Zara stated, I get too bored with women. But the thought that my father would miss my wedding, should I have one, still stings after all these years.

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