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I felt like a princess when we went to these things. Most of the ladies complained about all the time and money they had to spend to go to an award ceremony, but for me, it was magical. I never got to do anything like this before I met Harris. I never had a reason to.
I reached into my closet and pulled on a short black overcoat that was hanging out of a box I hadn’t found time to unpack in two years. I yanked a little too hard and the box fell over. Out poured my high school yearbook, a debate team trophy, a photo album from college, and a snow globe with a motorcycle inside from someone I wished I could forget.
I wiped the dust off of it and tilted it up and let the pixie dust glitter drift all around the bike. It was swimming in vibrant colors, just as I was in this new life.
“You look stunning,” Harris complimented me as he took my hand, lifting me from the floor. I left the snow globe on my yearbook to get it away from me, but at the same time, it was never out of my view.
“I’m a little nervous,” I whispered as I placed my hands on Harris’ chest.
“You look exquisite in this. We should skip tonight,” he insisted, but I shook my head. “I don’t want to waste time in there when I can spend time in here,” his hands reached under my skirt, his fingers softly began rubbing against my sex through my panties.
“We need to go, we’ll be late,” I breathed into his ear as he kissed my neck and my breathing sped up. I couldn’t stop my reaction as my heart raced, I turned my head to give him more room. His soft caresses left me quietly moaning, but then that stupid snow globe caught my eye. It was a reminder of someone I used to be, a life I once escaped, and someone who had stolen my heart. I remembered what it was like to sit on the bike, to feel the vibrations, and the power between my legs.
I can still remember feeling the cool leather of his cut on my cheek when I would run into his arms or climb on the back of his bike. I would never forget the way he carried himself, the way he carried guilt for everything he did for the club, and the way he took my doubts away and tried to always let me know I would be safe. I loved the smell of cologne and leather as it mixed together to invade my senses. There was nothing I wanted more than to feel than his hardened chest against mine.
Daydreaming I was with the guy from my past, the one on the bike, I reflexively pushed Harris away in defense of my thoughts. He seemed confused by the move, but he didn’t say anything. He straightened his tie and waited for me to talk.
“I’m sorry,” my words were barely audible, but Harris had known I hadn’t been myself since I got the Kane case. I was moving towards my past and chasing people I wasn’t entirely comfortable pursuing.
“It’s nothing, babe. Let’s go,” he smiled as I left everything scattered on my floor, put on my coat, and Harris led me down the stairs. I took my holster and Velcroed it around my thigh. “I want to get in and get out, tonight,” he told me and the fairy dust on my magical night drifted off in the wind.
“Harris,” I spoke sweetly as he grabbed his keys and we headed out the door. “I was hoping we could stay, eat, dance, mingle, and have a normal night out without our guns.”
“Mia, you’re wearing your gun,” he corrected me.
“You know what I mean,” I tried to appeal to his feelings for me. Our entire relationship hadn’t been of wooing and courtship. It was more like a business deal. We merely merged our lives together.
“If you want a normal night, I will take you to McDonald’s after work, then come home and scratch my balls while we watch television and ignore the fact that we had the same work day,” his sarcasm left a lot to be desired.
“I’m being serious,” I explained as he opened my car door. I turned and looked him in the eye. “I know you hate these things, but I am asking you to let us stay even for an extra hour tonight, please.”
He gave me an impatient nod, and I sat down in my seat as he shut the door behind me. I felt proud of myself until I heard a rumble of a motorcycle coming toward us. My nerves were revved to life with the throttling of an engine. I was sure someone would know; I had everyone at work calling around getting names, dates, and locations for almost everyone I knew or had heard of in the biker world. I needed some reason to bring one of them in.
I believed in that moment, I had opened the door to hell by shaking the snow globe.
Harris climbed into his seat as I watched a motorcycle pass by the car. My heart raced, and I tightened the grip on my clutch until they drove off. I turned my attention to see Harris staring at me with concern on his face.
“My gun scraped my inner thigh,” I lied and pulled up my poofy skirt just enough to pretend to fix my holster. Then I got buckled and we headed downtown in silence as I stared at the new ring on my finger; I still hadn’t gotten used to it. The truth was, I hadn’t thought about marriage to Harris. I had talked about it, I entertained it, but I never actually put any real thought into it.
His proposal wasn’t a surprise, we had been together nearly four years. Even with that history, I had put him off for almost six months before he asked me in the office. I don’t know if it’s my maturity level or my age, but when he popped the question, everything inside me told me to tell him no. Every fiber in my being told me I wasn’t ready, that he wasn’t the one. It is such a huge commitment and I am still building this life I want. I still didn’t know who I was when I looked in the mirror. I wanted to find myself, before I found myself a husband.
I called my mom this morning and shared the news with her. It had been a week, so I felt it was time to start telling people. She was happy for me, but she told me that if he was the one for me, then I wouldn’t be hesitating like I am. She asked me if I could picture my life without him in it ten years from now and the truth was, I could. Then she reminded me of the things I would have to do prior to marrying him. Paperwork, moving, and giving up the identity I had created would just be the start.
Harris was always good to me. He’s been protective, sweet when he wants to be, and he never pushes my buttons. I can’t even remember the last time we had an actual argument. We have minor disagreements, but I can’t remember ever having an actual debate with him. We’ve never even had a reason for makeup sex.
Was I ready for this?
“We’re here,” Harris pulled me from my thoughts as the valet opened my door. The valet reached out and took my hand as I climbed out of the car. Harris exited the car, walked around to me, handed his keys to the valet, and then he crooked his elbow out so I could link my arm with his. Then we headed inside where people would spend time congratulating us, shaking Harris’ hand, and talking about their own initiatives they wanted him to back. He might have been my fiancé and boss, but here he was, the ever-growing politician.
An hour into the event, we had been rushed through dinner and Harris was getting ready to give his speech soon. I wanted to film it for him. At that moment, I realized I didn’t have my phone. I had left it in my clutch, which was still in the car. I excused myself from the table and headed out the door.
There was another valet there, and I explained I just needed to get something from the car. He reluctantly gave me the keys, and I walked into the parking garage just down the hill from the event center. The sound of my heels on the concrete echoing into the darkened parking lot reminded me of some horror flick where everything screamed out that there was trouble, but still you let your guard down just before those pivotal moments.
I made it to the car, climbed inside, and got my purse. I took a deep breath, looked in the rearview, and reminded myself that I wanted to be here. I exited the car in time to hear the rumble of an engine. With my heart racing, I looked everywhere, wanting to see a motorcycle cross my path again, but this time it was someone who had no clue how to treat a car or its exhaust system. On shaky legs, I walked back out of the parking garage and returned the keys to the valet.
The hairs on the back of my neck were still up when I walked back inside the event center. Harris was already mid-speech. I saw the news stations filming him, photographers were capturing photos, and journalists were writing notes as he continued to talk about our new anti-crime task force, which as promised was a blend of agents from multiple agencies. They had tried this once before and failed, but they had never attempted anything on the scale we were on now. Harris wouldn’t let our agency fail. It had been his baby since someone said let’s try again. The success of this make-shift group of agents was Harris’ ticket to D.C.
I was finally calming down, when I heard a phrase I never wanted anyone at a microphone to say.
