by Carina Adams
I inhaled sharply, closed my eyes, and spun my chair. When I opened them, I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me from the mirror. My typical frizzy reddish brown mop had been styled in a sleek, soft wave, lengthened with the help of dozens of dark extensions. The smoky eye and contouring powder, added to the layers of foundation and creams, had transformed my face.
I might have looked like someone else on the outside, but I was still me. The awkward and introverted geek who hated to be the center of attention, yet had done whatever it took to finish school and get her degree. It didn’t matter what the men in the other room thought or what they said to, or about, me. This was all an illusion; the woman in the reflection had never really existed.
I was okay with that. Because I was enough just the way I was. Ruffles was fun, a good shield when I’d needed one, but she wasn’t real. I’d done this. Me.
“Fuck it.” I stood, smoothed my hands over the dark silver corset that hugged my curves, cinched my waist, and matched the pale gray sheer-strapped bra that both pushed my breasts together and gave them a lift. I fluffed the soft fabric of the layered navy blue and brown skirt that circled my hips, and straightened the cascading ruffles of my hooded cape that fell to the floor behind me before I adjusted the leather cuffs around my wrists. With a deep breath, I turned to Frankie, as pure determination pumped through my veins. “Let’s go kick some ass.”
She reached for me as I approached and looped her arm through mine. Our steps synced as we made our way down the hall, stopping on the large bright neon green X marked the spot in the wing. Violet worked the audience to a lighthearted beat, garnering loud hoots and obnoxious applause as she finished her routine.
Lost in memories of Roman, I hardly noticed Frankie nod to someone at the edge of the curtain, and I didn’t hear one word the announcer uttered. When the lights faded and a staccato guitar and drum riff began to repeat, the entire room quieted.
Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” wasn’t part of my usual routine. It mattered too much to me, but tonight it only made sense. The moment Frankie recognized the tune, her face paled. I could almost hear her worried thoughts as her gaze lingered on my meticulously planned outfit and the fabric from the much-too-big-on-purpose ‘honorary bridesmaid’ gown Brooke had sent me. Randy had worked tirelessly to make it perfect for me, and I loved it.
My lips twisted into a sarcastic smirk as she shook her head, horrified. I lifted a shoulder. I loved two very different men. The song was a reflection of two very different places and cultures and the person who wanted to possess them both. It was perfect.
I ignored the sneer she gave my Nordic warrior goddess-like costume, complete with knee-high fur boots, and tugged the hood over my head. As the distinctive wail flew from the speakers, I strutted out onto the stage with a swing of my hips, threw my arms into the air, and forced my thoughts away from him and the nuptials being celebrated on the other side of town. I refused to picture Roman, but I knew he looked dashing in his tux as he spun Brooke in her flowing white wedding dress around the ballroom.
He might not be there to see my performance, but I carried him with me everywhere. I always would. I closed my eyes and envisioned the smile he gave only to me, and moved to the sound of his favorite song. The one he said would always remind him of me.
The beat transported me away and I got lost in the energy of the audience. As my hands caressed my sides and hips, and each piece of costume dropped to the floor behind me, memories of how I’d gotten to that stage assaulted me. Even with the heartbreak, the happiest highs and the darkest lows, if I had the chance to do it all over, I wouldn’t change a thing.
I turned my back to the audience, pulled open the last clip on my corset and glanced over my shoulder flirtatiously before I spun the piece of fabric on a fingertip and tossed it to no one in particular. Whistles pierced the air, cheers of people who appreciated burlesque made me smile. I shimmied my shoulders and bumped my hips before I covered my breasts playfully and spun, a wicked grin tugged at my lips. My gaze drifted around the room, looking for a man who needed a little extra attention.
A familiar face jumped out at me and I almost missed my step. Brooke shouldn’t be there. She should be at her reception. Her dark eyes widened when I met them, then narrowed, filled with unbridled anger and resentment.
If she was there… was Roman there, too? Reid? I ignored the pure bitterness Brooke aimed my way and turned back to my adoring fans as my heart beat wildly. I needed to get off the damn stage and find out.
As soon as my song was over, I grabbed the robe Drake handed me with a quick mumble of thanks, ignored Frankie, and ran full tilt toward my dressing room. I skidded to a stop when I saw the door was open. Then, forced myself to put one foot in front of the other and walk.
They were both there. The two men I loved. The one who understood me. The one who owned my heart. Reid, in one of his tailor-made suits that fit him perfectly in all the right places. Roman, who could fill out a tux like no one I’d ever seen.
I swallowed when they both looked up and saw me. “Well, I feel a little underdressed.”
Rome’s eyes moved over me, and lingered on the sheer push-up just visible in the opening of my robe. He swallowed. “Nah, you’re perfect.” He stalked toward me, so slowly I questioned if he was real. “I’m sorry I’m so late. I was detoured. Then I took a wrong turn and got stuck in traffic. I’m here now.”
“Why not just ask for directions?”
He stepped close and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t know. But, this girl I love tells me that I’m a stubborn ass. She’s probably right, but I can’t tell her. It’ll go straight to her head.”
“Oh, yeah? She sounds like kind of a pain in the ass.”
“The worst,” he agreed. “Ask me why I’m here.”
I hesitated.
“Ask me.”
“Why are you here, Roman?”
“Despite how much she drives me crazy, she’s kind of amazing, too. She makes me laugh more than any one ever has. She’s odd, like really fucking weird, but her quirkiness is addictively adorable. She demands that I be the best version of me always. And when she’s not around, I feel like a piece of me is missing. And I’m a miserable prick to everyone.”
“So, what I think you’re trying to say is that half of you is a hopeless romantic. And the other is a complete and utter dick.”
He grinned. “Exactly. That, and I’m sorry. I thought...,” he sighed and shook his head. “I’m never leaving again, crazy girl, even if I think you want me to.”
I kissed him with everything I had. “I missed you.”
“Ruffles, you’re up in five,” Pippa, the tech, told me as she opened my door and walked in, head down as she stared at a list on a clipboard in front of her. “It’s the first group number.” She jumped slightly when she looked up and spotted the boys. She looked at me, appalled. “I’m sorry. You can’t have guests back here. We’re not that kind of club.”
I almost snorted. She apparently didn’t recognize her boss.
“Do we look like guests,” Reid spit out the last word like it was dirty. “We’re the beaus.”
“The beaus?” Pippa and I asked at the same time.
He smirked and nodded. “Yeah, two loops, two loose ends, one knot. We make sure everything is tied up neatly. The last piece to every package.”
“Yes. We fix,” Roman nodded as he waved a hand in front of me, “all that.”
She nodded, as if it was perfectly understandable. “Okay. Four minutes.” She stepped back outside, but left my door open.
“She had no idea who I was,” Roman mused.
Reid turned toward the rolling rack. “Which costume is next?”
I let my robe fall from my shoulders, unashamed. “It’s the pink one with the ha—,”
“Ma’am, you can’t be here.” Pippa’s yell cut me off.
Roman was closest to the door so he was the first to head toward the sound. He stopped d
ead in his tracks.
“IS she back there?” Brooke’s high-pitched voice echoed down the hall. “Is that nasty, husband stealing whore back here?”
I took two steps toward the door, ready to face her, but Roman stopped me with an arm around my waist. “Let them handle it.”
Pippa stayed so calm. “Ma’am, calm down. I need you to turn around.”
“I’m supposed to be at my reception right now. He is mine.” She screamed so loudly I was shocked the music was still playing out front.
“Brooke?” Grover asked. He must have gone out in the hall to see what was going on. “You can’t be here.”
“Where is he?” Brooke hissed.
Roman swore under his breath and started to leave, but Reid stopped him. “I’ll go. You’ll make it worse.” With a small smile toward me, he disappeared.
“I need security by the dressing rooms,” Pippa called. “The white gown. She’s not a dancer.”
Seconds later, there was a scuffle. I didn’t know if it was my security or Sway’s, but someone was removing her against her will. “Call Roman MacGregor,” she screamed. “He’ll tell you who I am. Ruffles! Ruffles! You won’t get away with this.”
Once it was quiet, the doors to other dressing rooms opened and my friends stepped into the hall to investigate. One, I think it was Livie, asked Pippa what was going on.
“Another nut-so fan. Poor thing. She even came in costume. Bat shit, that one. Completely bat shit crazy. We have them every night.”
“Every night?” I whispered to Roman as he turned me toward him, his hands cradled my head, and he leaned down to kiss me. I held onto his wrists and stared up into his eyes. “Wow. It must get pretty wild down here. I can see why you’d want to work here instead of Soiree.”
“I don’t. I hate it here. I want to come home.”
“Lucky for you, I know the woman who runs Soiree. I bet I can get you a job. Maybe security.”
“Yeah?”
I shrugged. “I’ll try. She’s been kind of a hag lately.”
“She probably needs to get laid.”
I snorted. I’d expected something so crass from Reid, never Roman.
“You’re up soon, Cady.” Reid closed the door behind him. “Wait, what did I miss?”
“Cady was just telling me she needs sex.”
My face heated as Reid’s eyebrows rose and his face fell. His eyes in on Rome and they did their ‘communicate without using words’ thing. I wondered how many more decisions about me were being made without my consent.
Then Reid threw his hands in the air. “I’m out.” He turned with a loud laugh. “Love you.”
I didn’t know if he was talking to Roman or me. It didn’t matter. What the three of us had was a strong bond, built on friendship and our mutual love for each other. There was no more room for secrets or lies between us, only love.
I’d learned a lot since I’d strapped myself into my first corset. Love doesn't fit into a neat little box. It doesn't have rules that we all have to follow. It doesn't make sense. It isn't perfect. And it hurts like hell. But, damn, it's worth it all in the end.
Epilogue
Roman
“You ready?”
I turned toward my best friend. “Yes.” I shook my head. “No.” I lapped my lips and dragged my teeth over my bottom lip. “I don’t know.”
He rubbed the skin under his nose, probably to hide his smile. “You gotta relax, man.”
Relax? He had no idea. “Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “I’ve done this twice before. I don’t know if you remember, but they didn’t go well.”
“That’s because you tried to marry the wrong girl twice. Now, you’re marrying the right woman.”
“How is she?”
“Do you really want to know?”
I did. In my mind, she paced, panicked, just like she used to do before every show. She was probably a bucket of nerves and I only hoped that she wasn’t having second thoughts.
“Yeah.”
“Well, Grannie is explaining to her the… ugh…,” he cleared his throat, then tried again, “the toll that the vigorous MacGregor sexual requirements will take on her body.”
My shoulders dropped. “She’s what now?”
“Oh, yeah,” my best friend hooted with laughter.
“That’s not funny.” I looked at the door and then back to him. “Should I go get her? Before Grannie makes her run away?”
He shook his head. “No.” He poured us each a shot and handed me one. “She has it under control. I left when she asked Gran position advice. And Livie started chiming in.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “There’s no way in hell she’s going to marry me now.”
“Rome, you’ve been together almost a year-and-a-half. You’ve lived with her almost that entire time. I think she can handle you.” He downed his drink. “Don’t forget, I was stuck with your sorry asses for three months, and half the time I needed a cigarette when you were done. Nothing your grandmother is going to say will scare her away.”
“Why are they even talking about that shit? Shouldn’t she be, I don’t know, in hair and makeup?”
He howled again. “It’s not a performance, you asshole. And, she’s all ready. They’ve been ready for a while.”
I stood up and headed for the door.
“Whoa,” he called as he ran after me, “where are you going?”
“You said she was ready.” I yanked open the door to the guest house and hurried over the path to the main house. “Let’s get’s the show on the road.”
“All the guests aren’t here,” he argued as he caught up with me.
“I don’t give a fuck. Is the pastor here?”
He nodded. “And everything you need for the ceremony.”
“Then we’re good to go.” I walked faster.
Andy stood on the steps to the terrace—protecting my bride and her ladies, who were in my Gran’s room—arms over his chest as he glared down at me. “You’re not going in there.”
“You know, you’re awfully brave for a man in a wee skirt.”
“Fuck off, ya cunt.” The bastard laughed. “Nice legs.”
I glanced down at my black kilt hose that stopped just below my knee. “I think I would’ve looked better in the white.”
“What was that, boy?” The MacGregor came out of Grannie’s room, tugging on the lapels of his Prince Charlie jacket. Then he paused and looked between Andy, Reid, and me with a grin. The traditional dress had been his idea, but none of us had argued. In reality, I hadn’t wanted Cady seeing Reid in a tux. “We look like a proper clan.”
We did. Or insane. Which fit, since it was my wedding day.
“I’d like to start now.”
“We still have a half hour,” my grandfather frowned.
“I know. But, she’s ready now. I’m ready. I can’t wait any longer.”
He nodded once and went back inside. I turned to Reid. “You’ve got her?”
“I’ve got her.”
Andy and I walked over the lawn toward the spot we’d chosen. It was a beautiful fall day, and from where the guests sat in their chairs, they could see the ocean as well as a patchwork quilt of leaves. I greeted guests, then took my spot at the front next to the minister.
One by one, people filtered in. Our friends from Soiree. The few family members who were willing to attempt another one of my weddings. Cady’s family and close friends. Then my groomsmen escorted the important people; Nana and Gran, my mom and aunts.
Peaches, Violet, Liv, Frankie. All of them looked stunning, I was sure. I didn’t notice, because my eyes were drawn to the man and woman behind them.
Reid—dressed just like the rest of us in the MacGregor plaid traditional Scottish dress—beamed as he walked her down the aisle. He snuck a glance at her and she grinned up at him. Their bond, the love they shared, couldn’t be hidden. Sometimes it was too much to handle and I had to step back, remember our history, recall what we were now.
Her cream corseted organza ball gown with sweetheart neckline had the look of a traditional wedding gown, yet the ruffled skirt gave it a modern twist that was perfect. The front of her hair was pulled back, but the rest hung loose around her shoulders and waved in the breeze. As they got closer, I could see the two red bows that hung out of her bouquet of wild flowers.
Once Reid passed me her hand, we started with the traditional caim—which we’d practiced for weeks—and drew a circle around us as we said, “The Mighty Three, my protection be, encircle me. You are around my life, my love, my home. Encircle me. O’ sacred three, the Mighty Thee.”
As soon as we were done, Cady leaned in to my ear. “You didn’t mess up.” Then she winked and the ceremony flashed by.
I wasn’t even sure I’d said the right vows when we were handed the Oathing Stone. Cady’s eyes filled with tears as I spoke, and she didn’t hit me, so I must have said something right. I slipped her ring on and she fought to get mine over my knuckle. Then, we were pronounced husband and wife and the crowd cheered as I captured her lips, but all I saw was her.
When the MacGregor and Grannie stepped up to us, our guests went quiet. My grandfather draped a clan tartan around her shoulders, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. Gran then stepped in, pinning it in place with a rosette from her own wedding day, before she kissed us both.
Bagpipes played as we ran toward the house to snag a few minutes of privacy before the party. People clapped. Some hollered. All I could hear was the way my wife said my name and all I felt was her fingers in mine.
I pulled her up the back stairs and down the hall as fast as we could go. As soon as we were in our room, with the lights on and the heavy door locked safely behind us, I pushed her back against the door. It had been the first place I’d kissed her. I wanted it to be the first place I made love to my wife.
“Don’t move,” I growled.
