“If I were getting married,” she tells me in that pretty drawl of hers, “this is the one that I’d pick.” Her eyes flick back to the three men still watching us from the other end of the bridal shop. “Do you see the way they’re staring at you?” she hisses quietly, making a tsking sound with her tongue.
“I’m still fucking all of them,” I whisper back, and I can see in the mirror that the blood drains from her face, turning it the same color as the dress.
“Gidget Liberty Kesselring,” Reba scolds, reaching up to clutch at her imaginary pearls. “You are not.”
“I am so,” I repeat, turning slightly to study the extraordinary amount of tulle bunched up around my ass. “And I intend to keep on doing it with Beast’s blessing.”
Reba lets out an exasperated sigh as I move back into the dressing room. I cannot strip the princess dress quickly enough. I also can’t strip away the fact that Beast and I have yet to finalize this conversation, to come to a conclusion that we both find acceptable.
I should rightfully bring it up, ask him what he wants, tell him what I want.
But then, I’m terrified of what his answer might be.
I try another five dresses before I start to realize that I’m not going to find one that I like. They’re all pretty. All expensive. All very nice. Instead, I exhale and put a hand over my belly.
If I’m going to do this, I may as well just go all the way.
“Hey Nellie,” I say, turning to the side and studying myself in the newest floor-length gown I’ve got on. With my dark hair, my nearly red eyes, and all of that white, I look like a vampire bride getting ready to walk down the aisle with Dracula. I mean, my life might fit inside a horror novel in a similar fashion, so it isn’t much of a stretch. “Do you still have the dress you married Cat in?”
The day before the wedding is moving day.
Not that I have a lot to move. A duffel bag full of Posey’s clothes. A dog. Reba.
We meet Crown and Sin downstairs in the living room, and I’m struck by how good they look together. Like a president and his VP. Only instead of Cat and Crown, it’s Crown and Sin. One day maybe. One day.
“You ready?” Crown asks, glancing over at Reba with a sigh. He would prefer she wasn’t here at all, but I’m not getting married without her. That, and she isn’t ready to leave yet. Because leaving this compound means facing up to the fact that her entire life is different. Her parents are dead. School is no longer an option. The mafia will be looking for her.
Besides that, Reba wants to be a part of the wedding. I want her to be a part of the wedding. Nellie has taken Reba on as a stand-in for her dead daughters. Vice versa for Reba; Nellie is a replacement for her mom. They need each other, and it wouldn’t be fair to separate them just yet.
“Ready,” I say, allowing Sin to take my bag when he offers.
“What a gentleman, Colton,” Reba says, and he gives her a look.
“You wouldn’t think that if you saw me and Gidget on the balcony the other day,” he starts, and Reba shakes her head sharply, lifting a finger in warning. She scolds him like, well a nun, I guess. She’ll make a good one—assassin nun or not. Although I think it’d be pretty dope. She could garrote enemies in the name of her Lord and Savior.
The thought makes me smile.
“Don’t be crude,” she warns him as we follow the guys outside. “I am not a fan of your arrangement, not at all. What are the five of you planning on doing? Shacking up together and sharing babies?”
I cringe a little at that. Grainger had a point. I sort of do need to take another pregnancy test.
Why the fuck does passion have to make a person act so goddamn dumb? I’m the queen of sex ed. I know how things work. I know that birth control pills take about seven days to be effective, and I was having plenty of unprotected sex prior to that.
That’s after-the-wedding Gidget’s problem, I guess.
“Is there anyone that doesn’t know about us at this point?” Crown asks sarcastically, giving me a harsh look to accompany his words. I shrug.
“Cat?” I query, and he shakes his head. I can’t decide if that’s a yes or a no. Either way, I don’t care. Once I’m married to Beast, I’m ‘his problem’ rather than my father’s. After that, we’ll figure things out. Cat won’t have a say in who I’m fucking or why; it won’t be his business at all. Not that it ever was, but that’s good ol’ misogynist, sexist Cat for ya.
Crown escorts us down the hill to his bike—his new bike—and I can’t help but wonder how he explained away the other one, what story he told Cat. The new bike is a bit different than the previous model. The old one was white and teal, an Indian Chieftain Classic. This one’s a Super Chief in teal and black with a backrest pad for passengers.
I give him a look.
“Get on,” he says, shoving my duffel bag into one of the leather saddlebags on the side. “We won’t go fast; the dog can run with us.”
“His name is Feminist,” I remind Crown as Reba balks at the idea of climbing onto Sin’s bike.
“No, I won’t do it,” she says, stumbling back like the motorcycle has teeth. “I won’t. I’ll walk.”
“It’s five miles up the road,” Crown tells her as Sin gives him a look. “But if you want to walk, be my guest.”
“Bless your heart, Calder,” Reba replies which is Southern for ‘fuck you’. She lifts her nose up in the air. “I wouldn’t mind a long, leisurely walk this time of day.”
“It’s not so bad,” Sin assures her, patting the seat behind him. “Just hop on and wrap your arms around my waist. We’ll go slow—like your cousin, Ryan.” This last part is said with no small amount of sarcasm.
“Ryan?” Reba queries back, giving me a look. I lift a single finger to my lips, so she doesn’t spill the beans. If she tells Sin that her cousin wears a promise ring and is ‘waiting until marriage’ then I won’t hear the end of it. “Well, shoot. You’re gonna go real slow, right? Slow enough for Fem?”
“Slow enough for Fem,” Sin promises, and I watch with a huge grin as my best friend climbs onto Sin’s bike, throws her arms around his waist, and squeezes her eyes shut so tight that her entire face wrinkles up. He revs the engine once and she shrieks while he chuckles. “Okay, sorry. I won’t do that again.”
Sin takes off at as slow a pace as he can manage, winding up the road that leads deeper into the compound, one that I’ve never been on before.
“Technically, you shouldn’t be riding with me,” Crown says, watching as they disappear into the trees. Fem is still hanging out with us, reluctant to leave me but also desperate to follow after Reba. I stroke one of his triangular ears as I watch the play of emotions on the VP’s face.
“Technically, I shouldn’t have stolen your last bike and crashed it. Life doesn’t run on technicalities, Calder.” I climb on behind him, but the way I wrap my arms around his waist isn’t chaste and routine the way it was with Reba and Sin. No, this is more. A hug. A caress. A melding of bodies. “Thank you again, by the way,” I add before he can say anything to ruin this moment (which he’s certainly wont to do). “This is therapeutic for me, seeing your new bike. Letting you take me for a ride.”
Crown says nothing, but I can feel his body expand with a deep breath before he hits the kickstand and off we go.
Fem enjoys the journey, jogging alongside the road with his three legs and still somehow managing to keep up with us. The road is winding, but Fem cuts through the trees, running in more or less a straight line.
I inhale deeply, breathing in the scent of the woods, Crown’s suede and violet musk, and the grittiness of leather and motor oil. My most favorite scents. My most hated scents. All at the same time.
I’m not expecting to see a yellow farmhouse with a wraparound porch waiting for us at the end of the road. Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting, but this … isn’t it.
As soon as I see it, I know I’m going to have problems here.
Crown parks his bike next to Sin�
�s, waiting for me to climb off before he joins me. Fem hops up to us, panting happily until he gets close to Crown. He bares his teeth and I snap my fingers to shut him down.
“What is this?” I choke out and Crown pauses, glancing back at me with a concerned expression on his handsome face.
“Well, the yard was overgrown with blackberries; I took a Bobcat and cleared it out.” He gestures to the raw dirt around the house. We’re bordered by woods on all sides, but there’s a nice sized yard, empty and ready for plants or grass.
That’s not what I meant when I asked that question. Maybe Crown knows that, maybe not.
“Did you really buy this house for me?” I whisper, and he turns away, looking up toward the front porch where Sin is waiting with Reba.
“I bought it for my future wife,” is the answer that I get.
The house is … well, it’s disturbingly cute. I mean, like sickeningly cute. The paint is fresh; I bet he had hang-arounds do most of the work. The deck has been repaired in several places, and the white railing is crisp and clean. There’s even a pair of rocking chairs out front.
“I see.”
“Gidge,” Crown starts, but I’m already walking past him. Fem slips nicely in between us so that when Crown goes to grab my arm, he’s got a snarly, toothy barrier to stop him. I pound up the front steps in my riding boots and reach for the handle on the screen door.
“This sure is cute,” Reba is saying, but I breeze right past her. Past Sin. I storm inside to find a short hallway with an entrance to the right that leads into the kitchen, one on the left that leads to a sitting room area. The kitchen itself is in bad need of some updates, but there’s a huge farmhouse sink and a brand-new refrigerator, a small table with mismatched chairs.
“Gidget.” It’s Crown, chasing after me. I ignore him, moving deeper into the house to find a larger living room area with an empty spot that’s probably supposed to house a dining table. The place is comfortable and homey, but clearly it isn’t very well lived-in. “Stop.”
I whirl around on him, emotions tumbling through me that I don’t understand.
What is this place? Why do I like it? Why do I hate it? Why do I feel simultaneously devastated because this can’t be mine and also like I’m trapped here?
Should I … should I really be marrying Beast? Should I run away to some random country and start a new life without any of these men?
I feel like pulling my hair out.
“Where is my room?” I grind out, and Crown hesitates, pointing up the stairs.
I stomp up them, biting back my feelings until I can get a moment of privacy. I’m not sure if I’ll cry or scream or break something when the full force of them hits me.
“Four bedrooms upstairs; two downstairs,” Crown tells me as I open a door to find a bathroom. “You can pick whichever one you like with the exception of the master.”
I ignore him, searching through the rooms one after the other until my hand reaches for the knob of the last.
“Not that one,” he says, but I turn the knob anyway and shove my shoulder into it.
The master bedroom is huge and airy with a four-poster bed, neatly made-up with white linens. The window is closed—it’s still pretty smoky outside—but the sunshine peeking through doesn’t seem quite as sickly as it was the other day.
There’s a chaise at the foot of the bed, a pair of armchairs with a table between them in the corner, and a nook with a bench seat on the far wall. An armoire, a dresser, and two nightstands take up the remaining space.
I stare at the room, and I think about another woman sleeping here. Fucking Crown here. Decorating the space. Loving it. Smiling at him from her reading nook beneath the window.
Pure, unfiltered rage swarms over me.
“Get out,” I tell him without bothering to look back. “You can leave my bag outside the door.”
“Gidget, this is my room—”
“Get out!” I yell, spinning on him, hating him, hating the choice I really don’t want to have to make. Marriage is fucking stupid; it’s paper. I want a commitment made up of blood and lies and truths and fucking and feeling and passion and loyalty. That’s what I want. Why does he have to be such a friggin’ stick in the mud all the time? Who cares about the ring?
This is my house.
“Get out, Crown,” I hiss, and, because he’s not a stupid man, he listens.
I am not in the mood for lectures today.
Crown retreats and I end up sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the old hardwood floor. It’s stupid, but something about this house reminds me of the one we lived in before Cat bought the blood-soaked mini-mansion he has now. That house, the old one, was an ugly ranch home with orange linoleum counters and an avocado fridge that froze things on the bottom shelf and let things on the top shelf go bad.
I drop my face to my hands, but I don’t cry.
A few minutes later, a soft knock on the door precedes Reba’s entrance. She brings my duffel bag and my dog in with her, carefully closing and locking the door behind her. Fem wastes no time jumping on the bed, and I hope he just fucking sheds all over Crown’s perfect white blanket.
“Are you okay, darlin’?” she asks me quietly which really isn’t fair at all, considering what she just went through. Because of me. I lift my head up, and Reba’s already soft expression softens even further. “It’s a nice house,” she offers, and I shake my head.
“I hate it.”
“Don’t be like that,” she scolds, because momming me is easier than dealing with her own trauma, and I’m totally okay with that. I’m used to being mommed by girls my own age, like Queenie. Nellie just freaks me out when she tries.
“This was supposed to be my house, Reba,” I tell her, and she lets out a soft sigh, putting her hand on my knee.
“Then why are you marrying Beast instead of Crown?”
“I want to marry Beast,” I tell her, knowing that it makes absolutely zero sense. “I also want to marry Crown. And Sin. And—”
“Do not say that man’s name or I swear to you, I will break somethin’ nice.” Reba points at a vase nearby, one with dandelions in it. Like, who picks dandelions and puts them in a vase? Someone like Crown, I guess. “See that right there? I will break that lovely vase.”
I laugh then because Reba says vahze and I say vayse, and it doesn’t matter because we love each other. I consider texting Grey, too, but I’m not sure I can deal with any mafia/club bullshit right this second. Personal bullshit is taking up all available headspace for me.
“Grainger,” I finish, and she sighs heavily.
“You are dead-set on annoying me …” she starts, huffing another sigh.
“I thought I hated it here,” I tell her, shaking my head and then laying back on the bed until I’m curled up against Fem’s side. He licks my hair before settling down, and Reba lies beside us. “Then I thought this is where I wanted to be. Now that I see this house, I can’t decide if I’m definitely making the right decision or if I should run—and not get caught by the mafia this time around.”
Reba stares up at the canopy above our heads, contemplating things.
“After the wedding,” she starts, her red hair as pretty as blood on the white surface of the comforter. “I want to go to the convent. Grey promised he’d find me a place.” She turns her head to look at me. “But I’m worried about you.”
“You’re worried about me?” I query back, reaching out to take her hand. We tangle our fingers together, and she smiles at me. “You just lost your parents, Reba. You … I’m the one who’s worried about you.”
“We’re worried about each other,” she agrees, nodding her head and sitting up suddenly. “We need a third opinion.”
“Oh no, please don’t,” I groan as she leans over me and digs my phone from the pocket of Beast’s jacket. I sigh heavily. I’d rather argue with Cat than Reba. He might kill ya, but at least the fight would be over. She, on the other hand, is stubborn beyond all reason. “I delete a
ll our conversations after we’re done. Let me give you his number.”
Rather than text Grey, Reba calls him.
She video calls him.
“Gidge,” he says, blinking in surprise and then smiling when he sees Reba on the screen as well. “Reba.”
“This is a personal call, not a business one,” she assures him, and he nods, settling back in a chair and looking beyond exhausted.
“Good. I don’t have any business-related information at the moment anyway.” His gray eyes flick past her to find me. “I hope you’re practicing self-care. It’s important, whether you believe it or not.”
“Go fuck yourself, Grey,” I tell him, playing with Fem’s fur. “I have better things to do than floss, moisturize, and starch my underwear.”
He laughs at that, but only part of that sentence is a joke. Grey doesn’t starch his underwear; servants starch his underwear for him. Whether that’s on Giulia’s instructions or his, I never did find out.
“Gidget’s worried about me travelin’ to the convent after the wedding, and I’m worried about her because she’s in love with four men.” Reba doesn’t mince words, leaning one palm back on the bed for balance and holding the phone just right so that Grey can see us both. “We wanted to get your opinion.”
“On which part? I love the idea of you becoming a nun,” he tells her honestly, glancing over at me as if for confirmation. “I want someone by my side who I can trust, a religious figure to guide my actions.”
“As what? A pseudo-prisoner in your own home?” I quip, and he laughs, that smoky, sexy laugh that never quite did for me what Sin’s chuckle does, or Grainger’s irritating guffaw. God, love sucks serious ass. It’s irrational and annoying, and it makes you act like a crazy person. I’m pissed off because a guy bought a house, and I can’t have it? That’s dumb as fuck.
“As the future Don of the Grey Wolfe Mafia,” he corrects, and a chill travels down my spine. When he says it like that, I almost believe him. “And you will be the liaison for the club, at the very least. Because I will not deal with anyone else in it. So however those knuckle-dragging barbarians want to cast your role, that’s fine. But it’s a non-negotiable point.”
I Am Dressed in Sin: A Reverse Harem Age Gap Romance (Death By Daybreak Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 35
