Page 112 of Diary of a Biker Queen

The lace itched.

It scratched at my skin, and despite the rushed alterations my mother’s tailor had made to the dress, it still clung too tightly across my belly. Proof the baby inside me got bigger by the day.

I shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of my father’s limo, and my mother slapped my arm.

“Stop fidgeting! You’re getting creases everywhere!”

I didn’t bother arguing or telling her I didn’t care. It had been her who shoved me into a shower this morning, so I was ready for the army of hairdressers and makeup artists who had descended on her house before the sun had properly risen. I’d just been shuttled along from station to station, letting my mother respond when I’d been asked if I wanted my hair up or down, my makeup dramatic or natural.

I was completely numb to it all and that was how I wanted to stay until it was over.

The limousine stopped in front of the church, the grand staircase leading up to the doors looking more like the steps to Hell. But I’d made my decision. And there was no backing out now.

My father’s driver got out and opened the door for us. My father got out next, offering his hand to help me out.

Excitement radiated from my mother. She tucked her hand into my arm and squeezed it. “This is what I always dreamed for you, Nyah. A big, grand wedding to a rich man.”

I stared at her. “That was your dream for me? Not that I get to study? Or have a career I was passionate about? Or that I marry for love?”

Her sharp fingernails pinched my arm. “Don’t be such a fool. Marrying for love is for idiots. Fictional fairy tales they tell little girls. There’s a reason I never read those to you when you were a child.”

The thought of Constance Matish curling up on a bed and reading any type of story was laughable. It would be like hoping for affection but then snuggling up against a cactus.

“Let’s just get on with it,” my father interrupted. “There’s a church full of people up there, waiting to see Carlos Guerra take a bride, and the sooner that happens, the sooner we can all breathe easily.”

I stared at him. The father who was supposed to love me. But all I saw was the businessman who had deals to make and places to be.

I wouldn’t breathe easily once I was married. But I doubted my body knew what breathing easily was anymore. It hadn’t taken an easy breath since Dax had left, and it had only gotten harder with the loss of Luca and then Lynx.

I glanced around me, still hoping one of them would pop out of thin air and rescue me.

But there was no one coming, and I knew what I needed to do.

I put my heeled foot on the bottom step and then the next and the next, until I was at the church doors.

My mother hurried ahead and pulled open the door a few inches. She spoke with someone inside then waved my father and me over.

Her eyes gleamed. “The wedding planner says the church is full. Every seat! This is going to be the event of the decade, Nyah. Every woman in there is going to be staring at you with envy.”

I doubted that. They were all in there, summoned at the last minute by a Mafia don they were scared of. But there was no point arguing with her. She lived in her own dream world.

I lived in mine. I hadn’t invited Violet or anyone from the clubhouse. I hadn’t even told Violet I was going through with marrying Carlos. She would have tried to talk me out of it. Would have promised she and her family would be there for me and the baby.

But a supportive friend didn’t make up for not having a family of my own. So I’d made my peace with knowing there would be no friendly faces inside, smiling at me proudly as I walked down the aisle.

I hoped Violet would forgive me when she found out. I hoped she would know, if I had been marrying for love, I would have had her standing right next to me in a pretty dress and clutching a bouquet of flowers. I hoped she knew how much her friendship had meant to me.

We entered the church, into a little foyer. The roof was high above my head, stained-glass windows casting rainbows on the walls that were entirely too cheerful for the mood I was in.

The wedding planner rushed up to me and fussed around, talking a million miles a minute, my mother questioning everything she said, the two of them debating over how fast we should walk down the aisle.

As if it mattered.

I strode toward the door that led into the main body of the church. The chatter of the hundreds of people inside echoed back, and my stomach flipped in anticipation of going out there and having all of them stare at me.

I blew out a long breath. “Let’s just get on with it. Someone play the music.”

The planner nodded, and the traditional wedding march filled the air.