I stare at myself in the floor length mirror hanging on the back of Clay’s bathroom door. I smooth down the silk dress, my hands clammy from nerves. I shouldn’t be nervous, this was a shotgun wedding, a means to an end, and of course, I had feelings for Clay. He had become my saviour in such a short period of time. He’d held my hand when everyone else had written me off. He’d given me a reason to live, and I was so grateful for that, so why was I so worried? He didn’t need to save me, he didn’t need to still be helping me, but he was. He really was my Knight.
The gown clings to me, the delicate white fabric skimming across my skin. I smooth my palms over my stomach, the proof of my boys still etched there in soft folds and scars. The satin hugs every curve and flaw, and self-consciousness prickles beneath my skin. There hadn’t been much choice, not with how fast everything was happening. Drifter had booked us a priestwithin days. Misty had pulled strings to get us a court date. It’s all moving so quickly, too quickly, but I know why I’m doing this.
I need to walk into that courtroom looking like stability. Like home. Like a woman who can keep her boys safe.
Red walks in, stopping in her tracks as I turn to face her. “Wow, you look beautiful.”
I let out a nervous breath and turn back to the mirror. “I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I?”
She steps behind me, and I watch her reflection in the mirror. “Yes, you are. Trust the process,” she smiles, grabbing a hair pin off the drawers.
“It all just feels too much, too soon.”
“Are you in love with Clay?” I swallow hard, I haven’t openly admitted my feelings for Clay, not even to him. “I can see it in your eyes,” she says, taking a small strand of my hair and pinning it into place.
“Ugh, I’m not sure. Of course, I have feelings for him. He’s invested more in my life than anyone ever has.” I grab the small locket that I’m wearing, holding it in between my fingers.
“Okay . . .” She grabs the hairspray and sprays the section into place. “Compare what you feel for Clay to how you felt about Liam.”
I pause for a moment, staring at my reflection. He would be disgusted with my body right now, he would find my jelly belly grotesque, and he wouldn’t be ashamed to tell me either. I close my eyes remembering all the times he took great satisfaction in making me feel less of a woman, less of a mum. Clay had never once made me think any less of myself. If anything, he’d made me feel like a queen, he’d made me fall in love with me again. He’d given me space to find myself. I open my eyes and smile at myself.
“You’re right, I’m ready.”
“Way to go, girl,” she says, giving me a small peck on the cheek and leading me to the door. I slide on my white pumps with small diamontes.
Red pauses at the top of the stairs, straightening some tendrils to my hair.
“You’ve got this,” she says, letting go of my hand, allowing me to descend the stairs. She follows close behind, like my guardian angel. It’s crazy how not so long ago, these people were complete strangers, and yet now, I consider them family.
I reach the bottom of the stairs, pausing at the door before pushing on the entrance. Everyone turns to face me, the room falling silent. There’s nothing fancy, just a priest waiting for us, with a few chairs and a few of the bikers mulling around. I blow out a breath, reminding myself that this didn’t have to be some extravagant wedding, it was a means to an end. This was nothing like the show Liam had put on for our wedding day, he had spent a small fortune, but it was only to make a show for everyone else. Today felt different, there was no facade, no one to impress, just me, Clay, and a few witnesses. It’s then my eyes land on Clay, standing next to the priest. His kutte firmly in place, he wears a black shirt underneath, turned up at his elbows and his cap. I smile warmly, longing to feel his arms wrapped around me like a protective shield.
His mouth hangs open as I approach him. I lean in to give him a tender kiss on the lips.
“You’re catching flies,” I whisper.
“You look fucking incredible.” He grins, grabbing hold of my hand and leading me to a table where the priest has the paperwork set up.
“I don’t feel it. This dress is clinging in all the wrong places.”
“It’s perfection, just like every inch of you,” he says, letting go of my hand and placing his in the small of my back. The smallestof touches from him, giving me all the feels. “Let’s get this show on the road, brother Vex.”
The priest stands in his own leathers, and I laugh at how crazy this all must look from the outside. His patch has Priest written in white embroidered letters underneath, like Clay’s ‘Vice President’ patch.
“You sure this is all legal,” I snigger.
“I’ll have you know ma’am I am a fully fledged priest.” He has a very strong London accent, which sets off a fit of giggles.
“God,” I say, which sets off another round of giggles, and I bring my hand to cover my mouth. “Shit, I’m so sorry.” I feel my cheeks redden.
“Not to worry, ma’am. I get it a lot. I am not your traditional priest.” He winks, and the embarrassment from moments ago subsides.
“Relax, beaut,” Clay whispers. “Ready to become Mrs. Stryker?”
The ceremony was fast, the relief after the paperwork was signed and all attention was off me was just what I needed. The club quickly went back to normality, and we all sat in the bar drinking. Clay brings a round of drinks over to us, setting the tray on the table. Rochelle and Drifter sit snuggled up on the bench beside us, and Red is perched on Rock’s knee. Mumma bear has put their daughter to bed, giving them a well-deserved night off to celebrate. Clay sits on the stool next to me resting his hand on my thigh, the jukebox plays ‘young and beautiful’ softly in the background, and I watch as the couples talk between themselves. Clay rubs circles on the inside of my thigh, a simple touch but one that almost burns. There’s this overwhelming need to be held by him.
“You okay, beaut?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “Mmhmm.”
