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Mark was a constant figure in our house. He was there for dinner when we ordered-in. He was there for game nights. Sometimes, he was just there. I learned fast to accept the invasion like Shane did, without anger or annoyance. Because, quite frankly, Mark was an ever-amusing presence, forever picking at Shane or me, trying to get a rise out of us.
Eli was always the first to call or text on holidays and birthdays. He was who I confided in when I was worried about Shane in the aftermath of Ross’ death. He was just a tad softer, more understanding, at the ready with great advice.
And Hunt, well, he was equal parts crazy Mallick and settled down family man.
Also, with the Mallick brothers, I got Fee.
I think our friendship comforted and shocked the both of us, not because we weren’t similar in temperament, but because we had never found it easy to connect with other women before. But we connected. I couldn’t count how many afternoons I had spent in her house, drinking coffee, bullshitting, then spending time with the girls. And, when Hunt and Fee needed a break, they would show up at the warehouse with the girls and a bag, and leave them with us.
My entire life got beautifully rebuilt out of the shambles of my ugly past, leaving me feeling almost thankful that I had gone through what I had gone through.
So it felt wrong to sit and tell my story when I felt that way.
But because it was an issue for Shane, I did.
And, to maybe my surprise, but not Shane’s, my dreams slowly became less wild, made me less volatile.
While I never became a completely still sleeper who cuddled her man the whole night, I stopped giving him bruises to laugh over every morning.Lea - 1 yearWhat does a Mallick wedding look like, you might wonder.
Chaos.
It looked like chaos.
We had tried to keep it small and casual. Really, we had.
That was until Helen and Fee got wind of that idea.
Suddenly, I found myself going from an easy trip to the Justice of the Peace in whatever the hell I felt like wearing, to a specific date with very definite cream-colored invitations and a black and white theme in a hall one town over from Navesink Bank in fall because, apparently, no one got married in the summer anymore.
“What, so you can sweat through your makeup?” Fee had asked, brow raised like I was out of my mind.
See I think it went without saying that because the Mallick family had a reach in both legitimate and illegal business ventures, that the guests they invited came from both worlds as well. Some I recognized, Shooter wearing a shirt with a tux design printed on it and black skinny jeans, giving me a wink when I peeked into the hall in my robe before I slipped into my dress. Reign, the biker who had tried to save me during the hurricane, was there with a pretty little redhead I knew nothing about as well as his brother and some giant lumberjack biker with a great beard and haunted eyes. I think every single employee that worked at all the different Mallick businesses was also in attendance, rubbing shoulders with the Grassi family, impeccably dressed in their suits, looking both refined and dangerous, as they actually were.
Oh, and did I mention that Mark and Ryan both had dates?
And that they weren’t of the fake variety?
Yeah, true story.
But not mine to tell.
No, mine was about my simple A-line dress that had fit perfectly three weeks before at my final fitting.
“Does Shane know yet?” Helen asked, standing behind me, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Really, the change was almost unnoticeable, the material just a tad tighter across the belly and bust. But Helen had the eyes of a hawk, I swear, and the wisdom of a woman who had been knocked up five times.
I looked at my reflection again, eyes going down to my stomach. “I think he suspects,” I said honestly.
Shane was never the subtle type and, usually, he blurted shit out when he thought it, or demanded answers when he suspected things. But this was one area where he had been unusually staid. But he did things that made me think he knew.
After sex that had been the third sweeter, gentler type of sex that week, instead of hauling me up against his side or over his chest like he usually did, he slid down my body and rested his head on my belly. In the early afternoons when I woke up, I did so to cold coffee, not fresh like he usually made it, like he knew I shouldn’t be drinking it.
“Charlie knew it every time I was pregnant too,” she said. “Sometimes before I even knew. I apparently looked green,” she said with an eye-roll. “You know, that’s just what a young bride wanted to hear, that her husband thought she was less than her usual gorgeousness.”
