Sarah - The Wedding Night
These people actually thought I had done something to Cullen?
The absurdity of it almost made me laugh...almost. If I wasn’t two seconds away from wetting myself, I might have found this whole situation hilarious.
Me? Hurt him?
I sighed and shoved the door wide open, stepping aside and gesturing toward the bedroom like I was showcasing a murder scene.
“There. Go talk to him. Make sure he’s okay. Make sure I haven’t hurt his little feelings. Make sure I haven’t killed him.” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, do I look like someone who could take Cullen Cincinnati down?”
I didn’t want to say it. But the stress, the exhaustion, the constant ridiculousness..... I was up to my neck in it. And I was so tired.
The mean one muttered under his breath,
“You never know with the Irish.”
I froze. The Irish.
Of course. I wasn’t just a new bride, I was the Sullivan daughter. And to them, that meant danger.
I clenched my fists, jaw tight, and took a long breath. I didn’t have the energy to fight them. All I wanted was a bathroom.
The quieter one finally spoke.
“I’ll go inside and check on him. You stay here and keep guard.”
I blinked, stunned. This was really happening. On my wedding night. In the honeymoon suite. With my husband behind a locked door and two armed guards treating me like a threat.
This was my first real wake-up call.
It didn’t matter that I was married to the Cincinnati's now. It didn’t matter that I wore their name. To them, I would never be one of them. I was the Irish Mafia daughter. Always would be.
And no matter how much I wanted to push that thought aside, I couldn't.
I heard a knock from inside the room, followed by muffled voices. Then the quiet guard returned and nodded at his partner.
“Everything is okay,” he said simply, then turned to me. “I’ll escort you to the bathroom.”
A retort lined up on my tongue... sharp and bitter. But I swallowed them. I was tired. I didn’t have the strength to pick another fight.
“This way,” he said.
I followed in silence.
Down the hallway, at the far end, he opened a door. A bathroom. I slipped inside, finally able to breathe. I did what I came to do, relieved in more ways than one, and then moved to the sink to wash my hands.
When I looked up, I saw myself in the mirror. And I just stood there, staring.
The makeup was still intact, mostly. The dress still sparkled. But I saw the cracks beneath it all. The exhaustion. The confusion. The loneliness...
I’d taken a lot growing up rejection, blame, and silence. I had learned to survive. I hadn’t expected much from this marriage. Not love. Not tenderness. But… I had hoped to be acknowledged. To be seen. Not treated like a... Like I wasn't even there.
Instead, I was the enemy. The threat. The outsider. And then there were the last words my husband had said to me.... cold, dismissive, cruel.
I didn’t even realize the tears had started until my vision blurred.
I chose to remember myself, who I was, and who my father was. I am my father's daughter, after all. Even if he too... I stopped the words as I looked at myself
I was Ronan Sullivan’s daughter. A Sullivan. And even if he… even if he couldn’t look at me without remembering what he lost, I was still his daughter.
I stared at my reflection and said aloud, steady and sure,
"I am going to survive this wedding. I am going to survive this marriage. I am going to survive these people. I am strong, I won't break down and I won't let my father down."
These people I was married to would never accept me. Never see me as one of them. But I wasn’t here for their approval.
I was here to stay.
As we all know, marriage in the mafia is for life. The only way I get out of here..... is in a bloody bag.
I straightened, composed myself and walked out.
The bodyguard was still waiting for me outside. I passed by him and took my way back towards my suite. The other bodyguard was still there. The meaner one, still standing by the door.
I was going to just get in and close the door. But then now.... since I had already had a breakdown in the bathroom, my bladder was no longer killing me with pee, I decided I was going to have the last word.
I turned back around and watched the two of them. They immediately turned, their focus on me and I just have to ask.
" I just have a quick question..."
"How can we help you, 'Mrs Cincinnati'?" The meaner one said, putting a lot of energy into, Mrs. Cincinnati.
I decided to ignore it as I continued.
"Why are you so scared that I would hurt Cullen, I me my own husband? Why would you be scared that I hurt him?"
"Because you're Irish?" the meaner one scoffed.
He really didn't like me, this one at all.
"And why would I get married and have this whole charade of a wedding to kill the second son?" I asked narrowing my eyes at them,
" I mean, he's not even the heir to the empire. What I mean is.... killing him would be nothing. It wouldn't help the Irish in any way. But then think about it. If I were to kill your heir or your boss... now those you should be scared when I'm around them. But the second prince?"
I shook my head in disappointment.
I let that hang in the air. Their faces said it all-shock, confusion..... No one had trained them to handle a bride with a bite.
They looked at me in shock. Frozen, no idea how to react.
And that's when I slammed the door in their faces.
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