Read Online The Wedding of Molly O'Flaherty by Sierra Simone - Free Book Online

Cunningham had been so foolish, so caught up in his perversion that he sought out a girl so powerfully connected, but I supposed it was a mixture of overconfidence and lust.
    And if I had my way, the man would be murdered in jail for what he did to Molly, but I wouldn’t worry about that right now. Right now, I could only think about preventing this terrible marriage from moving forward.
    “Unfortunately, the board of O’Flaherty Shipping has not changed its position on Miss O’Flaherty’s marriage. However,” he said, leaning forward, “as this matter with their leader grows inevitably more sordid, I believe that several of the members will be more interested in selling their shares.”
    “To distance themselves from the scandal,” I said. “Let’s hope that happens, and if it does, I want to be there to buy them immediately.”
    Kestwick nodded. “It will be so.”
    “Good.” I got out of the chair and we shook hands once again. “Don’t forget—the minute you hear the confirmation.”
    “Yes. You’ll be notified as quickly as humanly possible.”
    And with that paltry assurance, I left the solicitor’s and went to pick out a suit to wear to a ball celebrating the engagement of the woman I loved to another man.

Dresses get their magic from different places. Some dresses are magic because of where they are worn, a place that holds romance and potential and happiness. Some dresses are magic because of the people they affect—a bridal gown that brings a bridegroom to tears, for example.
    And some dresses are magic simply because of the dress they are. The magic is in the fabric and the pleats themselves, the tiny stitches and even seams.
    Tonight my dress was magic, even though I felt like I was wearing it to my doom. It was a bold choice for a soon-to-be bride, but I didn’t care. I wanted bold, I wanted it to scream Molly O’Flaherty . I wanted the eyes of the ballroom on me one last time before I tumbled headlong into this terrible marriage.
    It was red, the kind of red that poets write about, a red that was bright and vivid and deep all at once, a red that brought to mind blood and roses and cherries hanging ripe on a tree. The silk glistened like scarlet water in the light, clinging to my curves and spilling out behind me in a glorious bustle with a small train. Coupled with my hair piled high with curls gracefully draped over one shoulder and a sheer red shawl hanging from my arms, there would be no mistaking me. No opportunity to paint me as some meek blushing bride. My last act of defiance to Hugh and my last chance to feel beautiful on my own terms.
    I went to find a necklace to pair with it, settling on a small gold chain with a ruby cross. Though I’d purchased it in Rome with my own money, something about it always reminded me of my aunt back in Ennis. Maybe it was the cross—despite her aberrant views on pregnancy and fertility, she’d been quite religious. Or maybe it was the rubies, which reminded me of the dark red helleborine flowers that grew around her house. Either way, I pressed my hand against the cross, missing her cottage, missing her , the woman that was so like her sister, my mother.
    And then, shit , the realization that I hadn’t drank my tea today, the tea that my aunt had taught me how to prepare in order to avoid pregnancy. I drank it every morning, and had since I was a girl, but I’d been so exhausted from the week’s events that I’d slept clean through breakfast, and pushed away lunch when it was brought to me.
    It’s fine. You weren’t planning on sleeping with Hugh tonight anyway. He’d have to wait until we were actually married for that, and when that happened, I’d make sure to drink the tea every day. Twice a day, maybe.
    It would be fine.
    With a final glance at the mirror, I went downstairs to meet my fiancé.

    The ball was absolutely the largest party I’d ever been to, including the one hosted by the Prince of Orange that Julian and I had attended