“You needed it.”
“Last night…”
He looked remorseful, so she put up her hand. “If you’re going to apologize, don’t. I don’t want it. Last night was what you needed, and I’m glad I could give it. Anyway, I loved it. Perhaps you noticed.”
At that, he smiled a little.
Lorraine had another question about the night before, however. “What you said last night—is that something you still want, now that you’ve had some rest and feel a little calmer?”
He considered her, his expression serious, then took a sip of his coffee. “About marrying you?”
“Yes. Is that something you really want?”
“You think I said that without meaning it?”
“I think you felt desperate and… I don’t know, lonely, maybe, last night. I’m giving you the chance to rethink things and be sure of what you want.”
“Told you last night I was sure. I’m sure. You asking—is that your way of looking for your out?”
She could see him putting guards up. They had to stop this loop right now. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked the question at all. But Ronin had not been constant during these months of their new relationship, and she’d felt the need to be sure. “No. Don’t get defensive, Roe. You know you’ve been having trouble being sure of what you want. But I want to marry you. As soon as we can. Two days from now.”
He gave her a rich, warm smile, and the tension was broken. “Good. I want to go away after. Just a couple of days.”
That was a slight problem. “Roe—I can’t go away right away. I can take a day, but this weekend I have a lot of work for that party next weekend.”
“What party?”
“The Winter party.”
“Winter?”
“You know, Donovan Winter. I know you know who he is. I’m catering his son’s engagement party. I’m sure I told you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember that. But I know Donovan and Tristan.”
If he’d said he had a regular golf date with the President of the United States, Lorraine couldn’t have been more stunned. Obviously, she had neglected to tell him about the party, because she would have remembered that he was on a first-name basis with Donovan Winter. “You do?”
“Yeah. He’s friends with Bart and Riley—” He cut off abruptly and looked down at his half-eaten slice of pineapple coconut bread. Then he cleared his throat and started again. “Tristan rides, and his daughter…she was with one of the Horde. He was with her when she died. Another funeral I’ve been to.” He sighed. “Donovan’s a friend of the club. Tris, too. They were at Riley’s funeral, but that was…things were…” He sighed again. “They didn’t stay around, far as I know.”
Still stunned, she stared while she tried to work out this new fact, that her outlaw biker was friends with a top-of-the-A-list celebrity. And that it was something he’d never mentioned.
Actually, that last bit was perfectly in line with who Ronin was. Unless he had, like now, cause to mention it, he simply would not have. She wondered what else lurked in that deep, solitary mind of his.
“Roe. We’re getting married. Does that mean you’re moving in here with me?”
He’d been reaching for a popover, but now he let his hand drop. He didn’t answer, so she tried again.
“What does our marriage look like? Is it like we’ve been, or does it change things?”
“I want to live with you.”
Her heart thudded with relief. “What does that mean for your other life?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what anything means for my other life.”
“What do you need so you can know?”
He made a frustrated sound that was probably meant to be a chuckle but didn’t quite make it. “I don’t know. I guess…I guess I need to talk it out.”
“I’ll help any way I can.”
He reached across the island and took her hand. “Thank you. But I need to talk to somebody different about this. Somebody in that life.”
Lorraine felt jealous that Ronin was planning to open up to anyone who wasn’t her, but she understood. “Okay. Whatever you need.”
~oOo~
Two days later, Lorraine and Ronin were married at the Los Angeles County Courthouse. Cameron and Mac were their only guests.
Ronin wore jeans and a white poplin button-down shirt. He offered to tuck it in, but he looked strange, too constrained, and she pulled the tails of his shirt free before he even had his belt buckled.
Lorraine wore a crème-colored lace dress, one she’d had in her closet for years. She left her hair loose and flowing, the way he liked it, and wore no jewelry but the ring he’d given her so many years before.
She hadn’t thought about flowers, but when Cameron and Mac met them at the courthouse, their son handed her a brilliant, elaborate bouquet of wildflowers.
There was a line of couples waiting to be wed. Some of them had dressed out, in tuxes and gowns, for the minutes-long event in the courtroom, and others were there in t-shirts and shorts. Lorraine sat between her men, holding Ronin’s hand, and felt connected to everyone around them. They were all sharing the same happy day. However they’d come to this moment, they were all sharing it.
When it was their turn, the judge asked if they had rings to exchange. They did. Ronin slid a thin, white-gold band on her finger, above the latticed antique he’d given her in their life before.
She had withheld his ring until this moment. It had taken her and all of her friends two days of frantic searching to find it in his size—which she’d used one of his heavy silver rings to determine. She’d seen something like it online years before, and the thought she’d had when she’d seen it was that it was the perfect ring for him, for them.
At the time, it had been a melancholy thought, a remembrance of what she’d lost—what she’d thrown away.
Now, reclaiming all of it, she’d known that he had to have that ring.
Tillie had found it in Venice Beach. It wasn’t an expensive ring. The metal wasn’t even gold or silver.
When it was time for Lorraine to say her vows, she slid a tungsten ring with a redwood inlay over his finger. A metal known for its strength, a wood known for its endurance. The little Oregon logging town of their births. All of it in a band around his finger.
She wore the ring he’d given her in those days; now he wore their history, too.
~oOo~
As Ronin went to the back of the Mythic van, Lorraine headed to Donovan Winter’s front door. As both previous times she’d been here, he’d been alerted by the gate guard and, expecting her, opened the door as soon as she arrived at it.
She had three servers coming later to work the party, but for now, during her prep, somehow, her assistant would be Ronin.
The ‘somehow’ was their son. At their wedding dinner, just them and Cameron and Mac, she’d mentioned that Ronin knew the Winters. Cameron had suggested that Ronin attend the party with her. When she’d demurred, saying it wasn’t her place to bring a guest, she’d thought that would put an end to the idea. Instead, by the time the topic of conversation was exhausted, Ronin had agreed to work with her. More than agreed—he’d seemed to want to.
As Donovan opened the door now, he smiled warmly. “Lorraine! Welcome!”
“Good morning, Donovan.” It was almost noon, but close enough. She held out her hand, but he ignored it and hugged her instead.
She had lived and worked among the upper echelons of Hollywood society for almost six years, and she had been married into the world of the superrich for almost two decades, but that hadn’t inured her to the heady rush of being hugged by Donovan Winter.
Wow, what a distance she’d traveled from Myrtlevale, Oregon.
As he stepped back, he looked over her shoulder. “Roe! It’s good to see you! Congratulations!” She had told him that Ronin would be with her. She’d also told him that they’d gotten married the week before.
Lorraine turned and saw Ronin set down the box he’d
picked up. He walked over and met Donovan halfway. “Donovan.”
Lorraine’s jaw dropped when Donovan hugged Ronin, too—the shock there, however, was more about seeing Ronin hug Donovan than the reverse—and honestly, she did notice that he flinched at first as Donovan came in. But the two men embraced for a few seconds, long enough for Lorraine to realize that there was more than a greeting between casual friends going on.
They had shared losses, too. Ronin had told her that the biker family had stayed separate from the Hollywood contingent at Riley Chase’s funeral, and that Riley’s husband hadn’t greeted or even acknowledged any of the mourners, which had put an even heavier pall over the proceedings than one might expect.
It occurred to Lorraine that these two men were sharing the loss of a friend now, weeks after her funeral. When she saw Ronin nod as they stepped back from each other, she knew she was right.
Despite her protests, Donovan Winter actually helped them bring her supplies into his kitchen.
Once they had the van unpacked, she lost her assistant. Donovan and Ronin most of the afternoon sitting on his beachfront terrace, drinking imported beer. When she had need of extra hands or muscle, she had to call Ronin in. He’d become a guest after all.
Ronin came in occasionally to see if she needed help, and he inevitably stood and watched for a while, a quiet smile lifting a corner of his mouth, as she created each canapé batch. Donovan wanted passing service, not a buffet or a meal, so Lorraine had created only canapés, making the selections range from light and simple to complicated and filling.
Marica, the Winters’ cook and housekeeper, had made herself scarce, which Lorraine had expected. They’d had a civil email exchange, with Lorraine asking for insights and tips and Marica offering condescending, passive-aggressive instructions. A few times, Lorraine had gotten a twinge of hurt feelings, but when Marica wrote this morning to wish her well, Lorraine knew that she’d taken the right approach to keep the housekeeper from feeling threatened and thus possibly sabotaging the event.
The party went smoothly. All of her servers were on time, their uniforms neat. She’d had a small panic when it became apparent that the passed wine wouldn’t hold out, but Donovan had a case of a similar vintage in his cellar, and he happily offered it up. Tristan and Colette, the couple of the night, were adorable, two blonde peas in an elegant pod.
They’d met at a rock-climbing event and were, in Donovan’s words, ‘psychotically athletic and healthy,’ so she’d created a healthy menu for a party with an athletic theme—Donovan had rented a climbing wall and had it installed on the beach, along with a beach volleyball net and an array of smaller beach games.
It had turned out to be a fascinating challenge—how to make health and fitness appealing to a guest list of more than a hundred people. Even in health-crazed Southern California, even among a crowd like this, people wanted to indulge at a party. A party was a ‘cheat’ event for even the most stalwart healthy eater.
She did it with a host of decadently beautiful fruits and vegetables soaked in balsamic reduction or a light Thai basil sauce, and twisted with lace-thin slices of cheese or prosciutto from sustainably-farmed, locally-sourced pork, and with the freshest fish with tartar on handmade crackers.
A lot of making a menu appealing was the presentation. If you told someone they were eating healthy, then handed them a bland grey square and called it a buckwheat cracker, what they’d taste would be a bland grey square of buckwheat. If, on the other hand, you offered them party food, with a pretty pink piece of fresh-caught salmon nested on a handcrafted cracker lightly dusted with cornmeal and topped with a delicate swirl of mint tartar, what they would taste would be guilty pleasure.
If you gave them the right glass of wine with their guilty pleasure, they would ask for your card.
The little silver card case that Cameron had given her held twenty-five cards, and she’d filled it before they’d left the house that day. By the end of the evening, she was writing her contact information on napkins.
Lorraine thought that catering would turn into a bigger part of their business than they’d planned.
~oOo~
That night, Ronin slid into bed next to her, and she turned and snuggled close, taking what she called her ‘happy spot,’ with her head on his chest.
He settled in and began to stroke her hair. He’d been more quiet than usual since they’d left the party. It was late, but it didn’t seem to be fatigue pulling him inward.
While she’d been prepping the food, he’d all but abandoned her, sitting with Donovan instead. But once the party got started, he’d spent most of that time in her way. Though he’d been elevated to the position of guest, he hadn’t wanted that, and he’d been visibly uncomfortable all night. Finally, he’d found a place in a corner and spent the rest of the evening looking like a hired guard. The more vibrant the party had become, the more he seemed to want an exit.
“You’ve got something on your mind,” she said, knowing that asking if he was okay would get her nothing more than a shrug, if she were lucky.
He sighed. “I don’t fit here.”
“What?” She came up from his chest and stared down at him. “What do you mean?” But she knew what he meant. He’d gotten in his head at that stupid party and had felt out of place and alone.
“This life. I don’t fit.”
“Ronin, don’t be stupid.” He scowled at her and tried to push her away, but she pushed him right back. “I mean it. A party at Donovan Winter’s house is not ‘this life.’ That’s work. I was his employee tonight. Our life is here, in this house—the one you say you need. You called it a sanctuary once, remember? What we do out in the world—Mythic, catering fancy parties, your stunt work, your club—that’s out there. In here is where we are, this is where we fit. And baby, we are married now. I’m not letting you go. If standing silently in a corner with your thoughts gets you thinking you don’t fit with me, after everything, then you need to speak more and think less.”
“Watching you, all the weird things you made today, how happy you looked doing it. I can’t live fancy like that.”
They were having probably the dumbest argument she could have imagined. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes at him. “The fact that I can serve pretty food doesn’t make me fancy, it makes me talented.” She sat up and cradled his face in her hands. “I am your little hippie chick. I always will be. And I will make you bacon and eggs and biscuits and meatloaf and potatoes and whatever you want. Here, in our house, where we’re us.”
She settled back on his chest. “You’re stretching, Roe. Now you’re just looking for reasons not to settle in. What’s really going on in that head?”
He didn’t answer, and Lorraine decided not to push him. No amount of pushing would get him to say what he wasn’t ready to say.
When he did speak, his voice was so low that she didn’t make out his words clearly. She lay where she was and replayed them until she understood.
“I’m afraid,” he’d said.
Surprised—Ronin didn’t admit fear—she lifted up again so she could see his face. “Of what?”
His only answer was a shake of his head.
So she said the only thing she could think to say. “Do you love me?”
“Yes. Always.”
“I love you. I’m here, no matter what. I’m your wife, no matter what. We fit together, no matter what.”
He stared at her for a few seconds more; then, in lieu of speaking, he rolled her to her back and showed her that he knew exactly how they fit together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Connor sat in the President’s office. He’d worn the flash for nearly a month, but he hadn’t made a single change to the office that had been his father’s since the charter started.
The door was open when Ronin walked up to it, but Connor didn’t notice him there. He sat at the desk, his head propped on one hand. He looked like he was reading on his tablet, but he was so still, Ronin wondered if
he was seeing anything at all. He seemed lost in thought.
Ronin knocked on the open door, and Connor looked up. “Hey, brother. What’s up?”
“Got a minute?”
Connor cocked an eyebrow at the idea that Ronin wanted to have a talk, then turned in his chair and gestured toward the leather sofa with the Harley-Davidson logo stamped in the back. “Sure. Have a seat.”
Ronin came in and sat. Then he didn’t know what to say, how to start.
After a few seconds, Connor grinned. “Just here to take a load off, Roe?”
Returning the smile, Ronin shook his head. “No.” He sighed and just said it. “I think my time is done.”
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