A bit late to follow traditions by my account, but the joy of lying in bed, picturing what my fiancée might be up to right now, makes my heart swell.
My dark grey morning suit is at the head of my rack, the main concession I’ve made to show this day isn’t like any other.
That and I’ve opened my home to my father and father-in-law. Thank goodness my mother was happy to stick to her place or I might have had to spring for a hotel room away from the chaos.
When I try to push open the door to the kitchen, Agnes and Crimson yell in unison for me to get out. A man could be forgiven for feeling a tad unappreciated. Something I might have to bring up with my fiancée when she finally becomes my wife.
I haven’t planned a honeymoon—there’s no way I can spend time away from the business right now—but that doesn’t mean we can’t spend at least part of our days over the next few weeks pursuing the same endeavours we would in a hotel room next to a tropical beach. Get to learn each other’s bodies in ever more intimate ways and explore every g-spot we find in our hunt.
Since I’m not welcome in my own home, I retreat to the safety of my bedroom and promptly lose track of time checking messages on my phone.
“You’re not dressed, yet?” my mother asks five minutes later when she bursts in without knocking. “What’s happened to your sense of urgency?”
“Yesterday, you spent a good half hour bemoaning the fact I was getting married far too soon. You can’t have it both ways.”
She makes a dismissive noise. “That’s what people say when they can’t be bothered working out the logistics to get everything they want. Put some effort in and you might be surprised.”
“Can’t you go help Crimson get into her dress or something? It’ll take a lot longer for me to get dressed if you insist on staying in the room.”
In honour of the day, she’s wound her argumentative dial down to a cool level two or three. It only takes a few pointed words—from her, not me—before she leaves the room.
It’s seven-thirty. By eleven, we’ll have signed the marriage licence, and everything will legally be done.
I shower and get changed, adjusting the suit repeatedly, unused to the added weight of the longer jacket. My phone buzzes with one message after another. The gangs are pushing back against our increased presence along the Northern distributions route, even though their repeated attacks on our line warranted the response.
The rumblings now will soon turn into outright attacks. We’re prepared but there’ll still be more serious confrontations in our future. Even keeping the actual casualties to a minimum, we’ll lose men as they drift away, sizing up the fight and deciding—wisely—on a change of career.
Good riddance but any losses are hard to weather, even from men who aren’t committed to the cause. My mind sorts through the ramifications, poking and prodding at the scenarios, trying to find flaws I can patch over. Trying to push aside the unanswerable question of whether this action is the right decision.
Right or wrong, it’s done. Better to offset the potential outcomes than ponder the choices that are already behind me.
A knock at the door startles me back to the present. I’ve lost an hour of time and got nothing sorted, made nothing better. Busywork that despite my mother’s horror I should delegate more effectively than I do now.
I tuck the phone into my inside pocket and answer the door, surprised to see Ciprian standing outside.
“Got a minute?” he asks, pushing inside without waiting for an answer. It’s a typical display of old school swagger that’s always set my teeth on edge. Thaddius does it too, though, like every action performed by my father, it’s a watered-down version that doesn’t have anywhere near the same effect.
“Come in,” I say superfluously, wondering what traits of his have made their way into Crimson. None yet that I’ve seen but we don’t know each other well enough to make that the final verdict. She’s already revealed layers hiding under layers and I can’t imagine we’ll get to the end of each other anytime soon.
“Got you a wedding present.”
I take hold of the clumsily tied box, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Thank you,” I say pulling the string of the bow and lifting off the lid of the box. A wallet. I take it out and toss the wrappings on the bed to deal with later.
The bifold leather opens, revealing a badge and identification card. Aaron Seward is the name on the ID. The badge shows the designation of Detective on the top line, New Zealand Police in curved type underneath that.
“Thought you might appreciate this more than a traditional gift.”
I tear my eyes away from the wallet to stare at Ciprian in amazement. Losing my heaviest worry makes me feel lightheaded. “You had him killed?”
The man smirks and shakes his head. “A friend laid out the facts of life in great detail and he decided to pursue a job opportunity overseas. He might be some Aussie mobster’s nemesis in the future, but he won’t be back to bother you and yours.”
“I… Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
He walks out of the room, and I follow beside him, pausing on the edge of the living room when I see a group clustered near the enormous window.
“Thank Crimson. It’s the wedding gift she asked for.”
The words whirr inside my head, triggering such a surge of emotions that I’m caught in their waves and dragged under, a riot of joy, gratitude, and unbridled love spilling inside me until my chest pulls so tight, I can’t speak.
