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By the window, Ma tends to my wheelchair-bound father who we picked up earlier from the assisted living facility.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to the crowd.

“Where are you going?” Ewan asks me, getting to his feet.

“To see Ava.”

“You can’t see the bride before the ceremony.” Darcy stands up and her dress falls in a way that shows a baby bump.

Is she expecting?Again?

“Bleedin’ hell. Are you two going for some kind of record?” I whisper to Ewan.

Ewan gripes at me. “Ma and Da had six kids. So what?”

“Will you and Ava start a family soon?” Darcy asks, tucked under Ewan’s arm.

I resist an eye roll and part of me wants to shock them that I will be getting a divorce in six months. But I think that’s bad luck on a wedding day.

“Sure,” I say with a grin instead. “Tons. I’m thinking eight, nine, maybe ten.”

“You’re a dosser,” Ewan says, waving me off.

“And if I want that many, I should probably start right now.”

“Griffin!” Ma hollers at me.

“Kidding, Ma.” I shake my head and hike into the hallway.

Sabine gave us the entire floor of villas, a tradition for all family weddings. I’m the second Quinlan to be included in that. Sabine and Grayson were married here two years ago, but Ewan and Darcy married at the town council office in Astoria a few months later.

I knock on the door to Ava’s villa next to mine.

It swings open, and Lola stands there in a peach satin dress with a black ribbon around her waist. Lucia paces in front of the window, talking on her phone wearing the same dress.

Bridesmaids.

Only then does it hit me, this is a real fucking wedding. Unlike other arranged marriages where people show up knowing it’s a sham and they just want some free food and booze, Lola and Lucia think this marriage will be real.

Real as inforever.

Fuck, that makes me feel guilty. But Ava wants out, too.

“I’d like to see Ava.” I hold up my hand when Lola’s mouth opens to object. “Don’t give me theI can’t see the bride before the ceremonyshite. Where is she?”

Aunt Helena stands up and shushes her daughter. She knows enough about our world not to cross me. “In the bedroom, dear.”

“Appreciate it,” I say and strut past her.

If this marriage were to last, she and I would get along. I would enjoy having her as a pseudo mother-in-law since Ava’s mother isn’t in the picture.

After a soft knock with my knuckles, I step into the bedroom and hang the garment bag on the back of the door.

Ava sits on the floor in the ball gown I chose for her. The raw silk skirt fans out all around her. She looks miserable, and I see her in that cage. My fury deepens and the feelings I’ve been holding back for her come crashing down on top of my head.

Fuck.

Her palpable sadness reminds me that we’re both hostages to this deal made by people who are now dead. Looking up at me, I expect the tears of a pouty bride who didn’t get her way. Oh no, not my Ava.