Oh. Dear. God.
Do they all think this?
We live in a biker club and yet these people for all their stick-it-to-society ways have some awfully old-fashioned views. Since when do you need to be married to have a baby?
Then again, Logan is old-fashioned in many ways. He would want his kid—and me—to have his name. If I were pregnant, this is exactly the type of thing he would insist on doing.
“I mean, if you are, darling, it’s wonderful news, but you don’t have to get married like the clappers. This is the twenty-first century. No one is going to think anything less of you and Logan if you have a baby and you’re not—”
I cut her off, glad that my initial thoughts about the lack of progressive views in the Club were wrong. “I’m not pregnant.”
Jesus.
This time it’s Mary’s brow that draws together. “You’re not?”
“No.”
“So why the shotgun wedding?”
I can understand why she might think me and Logan are rushing down the aisle because I’m knocked up, but boy, does she have the wrong end of the stick.
“Because the Club needs something good to look forward to.”
She stares at me for a long moment, then she says, “You must be like her.”
“Like who?”
“Your grandmother, Marie, because you sure as hell didn’t get your good heart from your father or Jimmy. Those two men are grumpy bastards.”
I notice she doesn’t bring up Gina’s input into my personality, mostly because my mother was never around long enough to have any input into anything. She spent the majority of my life so addled by drink and drugs that she didn’t know I existed unless she needed money.
It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about my mother—longer still since I’ve heard from her, in fact. Moving to London put me out of her reach and I have no idea what happened to her in the ten years I’ve been gone. Did she ever get off the drugs and drink? Did they finally take their toll and claim her life? Is she even still in town?
I try to push her out of my head because thinking about Gina is a good way to ruin my entire day, but I can’t say I’m not curious. Gina might be a waste of space, but she is still my mum.
I try to focus on the woman in front of me, the woman who has been more of a mother than Gina ever was.
“Don’t let them hear you say that; they think they’re saints.”
Mary makes a snorting sound. “I’m not scared of either of them.”
And that I can believe. Mary Harlow has been around this Club and the men in it for so long, I doubt there is much that does scare her about them.
For a moment, she stares down at the magazine spread in front of her before her eyes come up to me. “You’re really not pregnant?”
“No, Mary, I’m not.”
I don’t miss her disappointment. I’m sure now all her kids are grown up, Mary would love nothing more than a gaggle of grandkids, but I’m not ready to deliver that to her yet. My business is barely up and running. I want to get that off the ground. More importantly, Logan and I have a lot of missed time to make up. For ten years, we were apart. We can’t claw that time back, but I want to enjoy him and me for a while. Rushing into starting a family is not something I’m ready for. Honestly, it’s not something I’ve even considered yet.
“And you’re sure you want to give up your big day for this?”
“I’m not giving up anything.”
“But the church and the—”
“Can you see Logan wanting all that pomp and ceremony?”
Her mouth quirks a little at the corners as she thinks about her eldest boy. “Well, no, but weddings aren’t about men, darling.”
Hmm.
“It’s his day too, Mary, and I want him to be comfortable with what we do. I don’t want him to feel like he’s being paraded around. I did enough of that over the years myself. I know how it feels.”
And I do. Galas, dinners, black tie events…
I hated every moment of them. I’m not going to do that to Logan. He’s not a suit and tie guy, and while he would do it for me if I asked, I won’t, because I won’t ever ask him to be something he’s not.
“I want our wedding to be a day Logan enjoys, too.”
“Then get a ton of beer, buy him a new pair of jeans and you’re done.”
I smile at her and her expression morphs into one of abject horror.
“Oh my God, please tell me that isn’t your plan.”
Well, not exactly that, but not far off.
“I want the ceremony and party at the clubhouse.”
Mary stares at me for the longest moment before she says, “We can set up seating on the grass. Were you thinking maybe an arch or something for you and Logan to stand under or a platform when you’re getting married?”
And this is why I love Mary. Even though she clearly thinks I’m batshit crazy, she still supports me. I reach across the table and grab her hand, giving it a squeeze.
“I love you,” I tell her, and I mean it from the depth of my soul. I do love this woman. She’s one of the few constants in my life, one of the few people who has never let me down. I feel terrible I left for so long, even though I had to do it for my own sanity.
“Oh, sweet girl, I love you too. And I’m so happy that you’re marrying my boy. You and Logan, you’re perfect for each other.”
Okay, and I’m going to cry if she keeps saying things like that. I flap a hand at my eyes, aware I’m wearing entirely too much mascara and eyeliner for that to happen.
“I promised myself I was not going to cry.”
“Darling, you’d better buckle up because before you set foot down that aisle, you’re going to cry a river. I think I cried at least three times an hour in the weeks before I married my Frank.”
Her eyes go a little distant, as if she’s disappeared into a memory, and my chest feels suddenly heavy. Frank Harlow was killed by a drunk-driver years ago. Logan was maybe eleven or twelve and was in the car at the time. He was messed up badly after the crash, the scar running through his eyebrow a constant reminder of the day that took his father from him. The phoenix tattoo on his arm and part of his shoulder is a tribute to Frank, and is my favourite piece of ink on him, but it’s also the worst, because it reminds me of what we all lost that day. Logan had to grow up fast, step up and become the man in his household. Mary never asked it of him. She had plenty of support from the brothers and old ladies in the Club, but Logan saw it as his duty to take care of his Mum and siblings.
I squeeze Mary’s hand again. “He would be proud of the boys and the girls. You raised wonderful children, Mary.”
Her smile is sad. “He would have ruined Mackenzie and Sofia, spoilt them both rotten.”
Sofia was still in nappies when Frank died. Her and Adam, as the two youngest, can’t have many—if any—memories of their father. I have a few, but they’re hazy at best.
“What was he like?”
Mary rubs a finger through the hair at the nape of her neck as her eyes soften and then shift to the picture hanging on the wall of her, Frank and all the kids. The backdrop puts them at the seaside, and the kids range in age from Logan coming up to pre-pubescent to Sofia as a tiny baby in Frank’s arms. They look happy, smiling, normal. It must have been just before Frank died for Sofe to be that small. It’s probably one of the last photographs of them all together as a family.
“He was a lot like Jeremy. I know we joke often that we have no idea where he came from, but he’s his father’s son in many ways. Frank wasn’t quite as laid back as Jem is, but he was funny. That was what attracted me to him in the first place.” She lets out a wobbly breath, and I feel guilty for bringing up a painful memory. “Logan’s lucky to have you and I hope you remind him of that fact every moment of the day.”
“I think it’s the other way around.”
“Darling, you’re a catch, and don’t you ever forget it.”
Mary is a catch too, and
I wish she’d realise it. With five grown up children, she should be out there, living life. I wish she would meet a man and find her happily ever after as well. Twenty years is too long to stay married to a ghost.
My phone buzzes on the table before it jingles to indicate I have a message.
I swipe the screen and see it’s a text from Logan.
LOGAN: I’m not rushing you, take as much time as you need with Mum, but when you finish, I’m taking you out for dinner. Love you.
“I’m guessing by the grin that’s from my son.”
My gaze snaps up from my phone to Mary. “Uh… well, yeah. He wants to take me out for dinner.”
Considering it’s only two in the afternoon, we have plenty of time, but I love that he’s thinking that far ahead, planning our evening together. I’ve never had that before with any other bloke. Well, except Alistair, although he was usually planning social events, not dinner dates for us.
“I taught him well.”
“You did.”
It’s funny really because the Club is a male-dominated atmosphere, but most of the lads who were raised in it were influenced heavily by women. All three Harlow boys didn’t have their father in their lives and Dean’s dad was locked up from the time he was seven. Don’t get me wrong, there wasn’t exactly a shortage of men knocking around to show them the ropes, but at home the Harlow boys had Mary, and Dean had his grandmother, Dorothy. That definitely had an impact on how they treat women.
We continue to discuss details for the wedding, including what I would like for the ceremony and some other bits and pieces. I want to find out some things from Logan before I commit to anything. Mary makes a list of what we need to do, and agrees to arrange the outdoor marquee, in case the weather is bad, which, given it will be the end of November when the wedding takes place, will be likely.
She also says she’ll talk to Paige about ordering in booze for the day, even though Jem is managing Venom at the moment and could help out. Paige is probably the safer bet on that front.
“What about your dress, darling? Are you going full skirt, train, veil? Or something simpler?”
This is the million-pound question.
“I don’t know.”
It seems overkill to wear that sort of thing in the clubhouse, but I haven’t really thought about what I do want to wear instead.
“Well, why don’t I make some appointments at bridal stores and we can go down and do some fittings? They have a range of dresses, not just the big poofy types, so you can try on different ones, see what suits you.”
I nod. “That sounds good.”
She jots it down on her ‘to-do’ list.
“Do you want me to invite all the girls?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. I want this to be an inclusive thing. No one should be left out.
“Are you having bridesmaids?”
I hadn’t even thought about that. “Do I need them?”
“It’s up to you, darling.”
I don’t have sisters and Dean is my best friend. He can’t really be my bridesmaid, although he would look stunning in tulle with his beard…
“I think I’d like them. Do you think Mackenzie and Sofia would do it?”
Her eyes glisten. “I think they’d love to.”
“I’ll ask Liv too. I know she’s out here what with being pregnant—” I indicate my hands a foot out from my stomach, “—but she still feels so much guilt over this whole Simon Wilson thing. I think it’ll be good for her to be included.”
Mary stares at me for the longest moment. So long in fact, I say, “What?”
“Darling, I have to ask—and please don’t take this the wrong way—but who are you doing this wedding for?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, so far, I’ve heard a lot of talk about bringing the Club together and including people to make them feel better, but this is your wedding. You don’t have to sacrifice your happiness to fix the rest of us.”
Oh.
Hell’s bells.
I lower the pen I’m holding onto my pad and cross my hands on top of each other and say softly, “I’m not sacrificing anything. I love Logan. I would marry him in the car park of Lace, if that’s what was available to us. I don’t need a fancy dress or a party or bridesmaids or anything else, but what I do need is my family. And right now, my family is fractured and hurting. My father is in Germany. He won’t even come home. Slade and Derek are barely talking to the rest of the lads, and everything is horrible.”
I stare down at my hands. “I’m not stupid, Mary, I know a wedding won’t miraculously fix everything, but it might just make everyone look around on our wedding day and remember what’s important, and that’s the people inside that clubhouse.”
She doesn’t speak for the longest moment and I wonder what she’s thinking, wonder if she thinks I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have, but I need this shit sorted. I know the Club isn’t exactly sweetness and light. I’m not naïve, but it’s not this either—infighting and hating. At some point, they will need to face Dylan, and they can’t face what is coming externally if they’re fighting internally. I won’t lose anyone else. I can’t. I love them too much.
Mary lets out a long breath. “I just don’t want you to look back in a couple of years’ time and regret it. I don’t want you to feel like you sacrificed your special day.”
“I won’t and I don’t feel like that now.” I soften my face. “I want to marry Logan with every fibre of my being. I want to do it in front of my friends and my family and I’ll do it in five weeks, in five months, in five years—I don’t care. I’ll do it in a five-grand dress, I’ll do it in my pyjamas. All I care about is him, but I also care about my family and I care about making things right between us all. If this can help bridge some gaps then that’s a bonus.”
Mary scans my face, her eyes wet. Then she swallows hard and clears her throat.
“Then let’s plan the best wedding we can.”
I grin.
Chapter Six
Logan takes me to Satchi’s for dinner. It’s a cute Italian restaurant in town that makes the most delicious meatballs on the planet. How did I survive a decade without this place? I have no idea because it is divine.
I have it with spaghetti because I’m with Logan and he doesn’t care if I get sauce all over my face, which is definitely going to happen. There is no way to eat this without making a mess.
He orders a pizza for himself that comes out on a huge slate board; I steal a small slice of that too, because come on, it looks amazing and variety is the spice of life. This earns me a chuckle from my man, but my grudging offer of a meatball back in compensation is refused. Just as well. I’m not sure I could have shared it.
When we’ve finished eating, Logan holds my hand on the tabletop and smiles at me.
“What? Have I got sauce on my face?” I reach for my napkin, and he laughs.
“No, I was just thinking you look beautiful.”
Oh, he’s such a smooth talker. I flush with pleasure at his words, never tiring of hearing him tell me these things. “Compliments will get you everywhere, honey.”
“I know.”
“I’m that easy, am I?”
He grins. “You’re not easy, love. Not by a long shot.”
My eyes roll. “I’m one hundred percent easy.”
“If you say so.”
I pull away and feign irritation. “You’re about to see how easy I’m not.”
Logan captures my hand again and kisses my knuckles and yeah, I melt. How can I not? This huge hulking bear of a man is so gentle, so soft and his love for me shines through his eyes. It’s hard to imagine someone as big as him, as scary looking as him can be this gooey.
“I love you.” The words come out breathy.
Everything disappears but him—the noise around us, the other patrons in the restaurant, the waiting on staff. There is just me and him and our little table—our little corner of paradise. It’s always this way. He is m
y world and I get lost in his orbit so often, dragged into his gravitational pull. Everything ceases to exist for me but him. It doesn’t help that he looks so handsome tonight. He’s wearing all black—black jeans that hug his hips and bum in all the right places, and a black tee that accentuates his pectorals and thick biceps in ways that has my mouth watering and wanting to trace the outlines of the muscles with my tongue. He’s pushed his hair back off his forehead, but it keeps falling into his eyes and I want to run my fingers through it. He’s too sexy for his own good.
He gives me a lopsided grin. “You love me?”
“You know I do,” I tell him.
“How much do you love me?”
I consider this question for a moment, trying to think how to put a response into words that tells him just how much I love him without letting his head swell too much.
“I love you more than meatballs.”
He guffaws at that. “You’re a fucking loon.”
This time, I smile. I love making him laugh. He’s so serious at times. “Yeah, but you’re stuck with me now. You can’t take back the ring or the property patch.”
“I wouldn’t want to.”
How in the hell did I get so lucky? I mean, okay, realistically it hasn’t been easy getting here. There was that whole ten-year period where I had to move across the country to avoid the soul deep pain that even looking at Logan dredged up, not to mention the near-death experience I had when I first came home, but apart from that, things have been swell.
I push all that down because thinking about Simon Wilson and Tap’s death and Dylan still being on the lam is a sure-fire way to ruin my good mood and I don’t want anything to spoil my happy glow. The past is the past; the only way to have a future is to leave it there and that is what I—what we all—have to do: look to the future.
“Are you happy?” I ask him.
He jolts slightly at my question and his heavy brow knits together, the scar there more pronounced in the soft lighting in the restaurant.
“B, yeah, I’m happy. Are you?”
Renewed Rider: A Lost Saxons Novel #4 Page 6
