Текст книги "She: Part 2"
Автор книги: Annabel Fanning
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
Ah!
We shake it out together, my scream drowning out the sound of Logan’s loud growl, before our voices go quiet and the only sound is our heavy panting. I reach my arms behind me, cradling Logan’s head.
“That’s was amazing,” I breathe into his mouth.
“Agreed,” he says, kissing my lips, his hands caressing my tummy. He pulls out of me and we both lie on the sofa once more, feeling spent. “This can be our sex sofa,” Logan tells me. “We’ll keep the other one clean for guests,” he adds with a grin.
“What guests?” I ask him. “I’m starting to think that you had the right idea about being finicky about having people in your home. If it’s just you and I, we’ll be all naked, all the time,” I point out.
“You sure know how to paint a nice picture, Samuels,” Logan chuckles.
I grin at what he calls me, a sudden notion coming to me. “I know what we can call our puppy,” I tell him.
“What?”
“Samuels,” I laugh. “Or maybe just Samuel would sound better?”
“After your surname?” he makes sure.
I nod. “Somehow I suspect that I won’t be needing it anymore,” I tell him with immense satisfaction.
Logan’s eyes widen happily. “You’re going to change your name to mine?”
We haven’t discussed me changing my name, and now we don’t have to.
I nod again, surely. “I want to,” I tell him honestly. “And every second that ticks by brings us closer to that moment.”
Logan looks impassive for a moment before abruptly getting to his feet and pulling me onto mine as well.
“We’re going to bed,” he says, taking my hand and heading towards the bedroom.
“We’ve already christened the sofa, why not stay there?” I giggle, my body feeling loose and limber.
“We’re going to sleep,” Logan clarifies. “Time passes quicker that way, and the sooner it passes, the sooner you’ll be my wife.”
I smile at the back of his head. Oh, Logan, I like the way you think.
10. Sex On Fire
Saturday morning at last brings a reprieve from our recent sleeplessness, and we stay in bed until well past eleven. Logan seems oddly resistant to leave our warm cocoon, and I’m quick to realise that he wants to stay put in way of denying what’s coming tonight. His dreaded, very formal and very public night of appreciation.
“What exactly are you afraid of?” I ask him, full of humour as he lies on top of me to prevent me from leaving the bed.
“The unknown, mostly.”
“A wise answer, and yet, also very dumb,” I giggle.
“Dumb?” he asks, the shocked look on his face making me giggle even more.
I nod. “You don’t know what you don’t know, right? So why be afraid of it?”
Logan considers my words for a moment. “A wise response, and yet, also very annoying,” he says, grinning.
“Everyone telling you how great you are, what’s so bad about that?” I tease.
He groans predictably. “Can’t I just stay in denial and keep you in bed until it’s Segwaying time?”
“You can show me how to use your washing machine and then bring me back to bed?” I offer. My lack of clean clothes is a situation about to turn dire.
Logan’s expression is totally blank.
I crack up again as I realise, “You don’t know how to use it, do you?”
He smirks, looking completely gorgeous. “It can’t be that hard,” he says, rising off of me, suddenly determined to figure it out.
A few minutes later we stand huddled, naked and freezing, in front of the machine.
“I have no idea,” Logan says quietly, giving up at the mere sight of all of the various knobs and buttons.
Looking up at him, I jest, “It’s happened at last – I’ve found your one flaw. My mother will be pleased to know.” Logan laughs out loud, and I continue, “She’s suspicious of anyone who is too perfect.”
“Is that what you told her I am?” he beams at me.
“In a fashion,” I nod. “But, alas, I stand corrected. Logan Leary can’t operate his own washing machine,” I sigh, in faux disappointment.
After one look at it, I can already see how it works. It’s really very simple, but maybe that’s the issue? Maybe Logan thinks it’s a lot more insurmountable than it actually is, and I immediately suspect that his concerns about tonight are exactly the same.
The next few hours pass in a flurry of laundry, eating a leisurely breakfast outside on the sunlit terrace (not a cloud in sight, I note happily), selecting several dress choices for tonight, and then choosing an outfit that I deem appropriate for our Segway experience. Once I’m dressed I then join Logan at the dining table, where he is once again looking through his speech notes. Leaving him to it, I remain quiet as I fold my laundered clothes, until I have the distinct feeling of being watched.
Sure enough when I lift my head, I see him surveying me.
“The cameras are going to love you,” he says.
Cameras? It takes me a moment to understand what he’s talking about. My stomach drops, and I gape at him in horror. “There’s…there’s going to be a red carpet tonight?” I ask, suddenly dreading his answer.
“Uh-huh,” he laughs.
“Fuck,” I say, sounding the word out very slowly. How did I miss that detail?
Logan laughs again and though I’m happy his mood is lighter, I’m not overly thrilled by the reason why. He tells me, “You’re so good in front of cameras. You start radiating, remember?” he says, referring to my photo shoot with Claude.
“That was different, I was looking at you.”
“And now you’ll be standing next to me,” he smiles, taking my hand over the table. Repeating last nights actions I move to sit on his lap. I look into his light-green eyes and see in them the same love for me, that I feel for him. “Isn’t that even better?” he asks me.
“You’ve got a point, Leary,” I allow.
“Yes, I do,” he smiles against my lips. “All we have to do is walk slowly past the cameras and then it’s over. When we’re inside you can get as drunk as you like,” he jokes.
I laugh at the thought of it. “I’ll start wolf whistling during your speech,” I threaten playfully.
He sighs looking down at his notes, “At least that would make it more interesting.” He’s clearly still unsure of it. “Cameras or no cameras, it’s impossible for you to be dreading tonight more than I am, baby.”
“Why?” I press. Once again I say, “I’d love a whole room full of people telling me how fabulous I am.”
He looks affronted by the thought.
“I have an idea,” I say to him calmly, spying his mobile phone lying on the table. I pick it up and hold it close to my chest so that Logan won’t see what I’m doing. I open up the internet browser and type into Google: jokes about the construction industry. Several promising sites pop up in an instant. Excellent, I think, clicking on one of the links and finally showing Logan what I’ve found. “Maybe using one or two of these will help you to feel better about your speech?” I ask him.
He looks at the screen, registers my idea, and then he smiles at me and leans forward to kiss me before even reading any of the jokes. “That’s very thoughtful.”
I grin back at him and then jerk my head towards the screen because he won’t stop looking at me. Still smiling, Logan begins reading through the first joke and then abruptly bursts into laughter. That’s a good start, I note. I read the same joke and get to the end of it without cracking a smile; I don’t get it at all. It goes way over my head, but I’m not involved in the construction industry; however, I assume that most of the people in attendance tonight will be, making this idea of mine a potential laughter-goldmine.
Confirming this, Logan takes his phone in his own hand, flicking through several more, saying, “These are hilarious. The guys at work would love them.”
The jokes may not make me smile but the sight of his happiness certainly does. “Good,” I say, kissing his temple.
“Where’d you find these?”
“My friend Google,” I tell him.
His eyes are on the screen, reading another joke, but his mouth makes an O of understanding at my words. A second later he erupts into laughter again, before eagerly showing me the cause. I read it through once without any reaction, then making sure that I didn’t miss something, I read it again. Nope, still nothing.
Confessing my ignorance, I say, “I don’t understand.”
“What about this?” Logan shows me another one which completely floored him, but I fail to grasp it.
I shake my head. Then with a mischievous smile, I assure him, “But I promise you, I’ll laugh when you say it tonight.”
* * *
My afternoon is full of learning more about Logan’s family. We meet them at a place called Segway Central, where our tour will begin from. Mary-Gene and Rupert say a flustered hello, shoving droves of shopping bags into the lockers provided. Clearly their morning involved retail therapy. Taylor hangs back raising a hand to say hello, as Karen and Abigail bound towards us. Abigail soon releases her mother’s hand and breaks into a run, jumping into Logan’s arms. He catches her easily and lifts her up.
“Abby, this is Gemima,” he introduces us.
The gorgeous blonde-haired five-and-a-half year old, may have been excited to meet me, but she suddenly becomes adorably shy now that she is.
“Hello, Abby,” I smile.
She grins back and mumbles a responding hello as she buries her face into Logan’s shoulder. The sight of them is too much for me. Be still my beating heart, I think dramatically. In the back of my mind I’m reminded of Mary-Gene’s comment – there really is something sexy about men and kids. Sure enough when I look at Logan’s mother again she gives me a knowing wink which makes me giggle.
I turn my attention to Karen, a thin, willowy brunette with hair that comes down to her midriff and dark brown eyes. It wasn’t evident in the photo that I’ve seen of her, but up close she has a definite Native American bloodline. She smiles, immediately giving off warmer vibes than her husband.
“Gemima, it’s so wonderful to meet you,” she says, striding forward to hug me.
“You too,” I smile back at her. I know instantly that we’ll get along. There is a mutual interest, curiosity, kinship in the way we greet each other. It’s similar to how I felt when I first met Amber, and I suddenly realise that romantic relationships aren’t the only ones that spark instantly.
With his niece in his arms, Logan walks over to his brother.
Taylor greets him by saying, “You messed up the booking for this, Logan. She’s too small to go on one of these,” he says, referring to Abby and the Segways.
Oh, shit! Her age never even occurred to me! “I’m so sorry,” I say, hurrying forward. “I, uh, booked it,” I explain. A flicker of annoyance towards Taylor courses through me – that shouldn’t be the first thing that you say to your brother, I think.
Taylor looks taken aback, before his expression changes to one of annoyance as well. It’s as though he wants Logan to be the one to blame for the cock-up. It abruptly occurs to me that that’s exactly what he wants. It’s very telling of his character.
“Oh, I thought—” Taylor begins.
Joining us, Karen cuts her husband off, saying, “Why would you even bring that up? It’s already been sorted,” she reveals.
Phew.
“The company does bike tours as well,” Rupert tells us. “So I’m going to cycle along side you, with Abigail on the back,” he explains.
Logan claps Taylor’s shoulder. “See, absolutely no need to get your panties in a twist,” he teases him. Then giving me a reassuring smile he leaves our little circle to go over and say hello to his mom.
“Could you try not to be a dick today,” Karen mumbles to Taylor, who’s eyes are on Logan’s back, his contempt obvious.
My American Mouth rises so fast that I simply cannot hold it back. “Do you automatically assume that everything is Logan’s fault?” I ask. Internally, I shudder at my own brazenness. I don’t usually say things like that! I think them, sure, but I’m not one for open confrontation. Taylor’s eyes narrow infinitesimally, and he and I have a stare-off. Albeit one that lasts only a second, but it’s plenty of time for the equal dislike to cement between us.
Karen sighs and answers, “Yes, unfortunately. Just have a nice day, baby,” she coos to him, kissing his cheek.
“Sure,” Taylor nods, and it would seem that his mood is changed.
* * *
Standing on the Segway proves far easier than I anticipated. Operating it, however, leaves something to be desired. After five strained minutes in the practise ring, I’m already mentally preparing the angry email that I’ll send the designers, listing several flaws. But when I look up and see everyone else moving smoothly along the ground, I realise that it’s me, not the machine. Of course, I think. I relax a little and study Logan’s body, his posture and small movements, as he moves in circles around me. I’m not perving, I’m simply watching to see how better I can operate this thing, I think slyly. Five minutes later and my imagined email has somewhat calmed as I begin to get to grips with how to move fluidly, turn successfully, and come to a stop without my heart pounding manically as I fear for my life. I remind myself, several times, that I booked this; it’s supposed to be fun, something that we can all enjoy together.
Mercifully, that’s exactly what we do. Karen, Mary-Gene, and I spend the afternoon zooming around side-by-side, talking amongst ourselves. Rupert cycles ahead of us, with Abigail on a child’s bike which is attached to the back of his, and Logan and Taylor lead the pack, racing each other, fooling around much to the annoyance of our tour guide, and behaving for all intents and purposes how I expect brothers to be with one another.
Why can’t they always be like that, I wonder. Why does every interaction have to be marred by Taylor’s bad attitude? His smiles and laughter certainly seem evidential of his happiness right now. Why can’t he stay in that mindset? What makes him always revert back to his old begrudging ways?
I’m tempted to quiz Karen about it. Undoubtedly she’s the one who knows him the best, and maybe she could offer an insight that would explain his behaviour and therefor result in me liking him a little bit more. But as we wheel our way around Paris, I don’t say a word on the subject. He and Logan are happy right now, I should just let that be, I think. I don’t want to pry or be a nuisance, and besides, us three ladies have much more interesting things to talk about than Taylor – shopping being at the forefront.
Two fast-moving hours later, the tour concludes where it started. I’ve been so engaged with our conversations that I couldn’t say with certainty which sights we’ve seen and which we haven’t. Despite this, I’ve had a wonderful time with Logan’s mother and sister-in-law. I’m delighted to know that whenever Logan and I use those plane tickets to Charleston, we’ll be received there warmly.
We travel back on the metro as a group and at the bottom of Logan’s apartment building, the seven of us go our separate ways, Logan and I upstairs, and his family across the road to the hotel. Checking the time on my phone I realise that we’ve only got forty-five minutes to primp and preen for our big evening out. That’s a tight turnaround! I grab Logan’s hand and pull him hastily towards the elevator, and once inside I study my reflection on the mirrored wall, determining how much work I’ve got to do to look presentable. Not a lot, I note, just a freshen up all over, I think.
Once upstairs, I hurry through to the bathroom to take a quick body shower. When I’m out Logan takes my place and as I stand in a bathrobe in front of the vanity mirror reapplying my makeup, making everything darker and more prominent, I watch him in the reflection.
His entire body is a work of art. Taut, with defined muscles, but not overly bulky. The water cascades over his silken skin and I watch it fall down, down. He doesn’t have to be hard to turn me on. The sight of his penis hanging loosely causes heat to rise in me, and distracts me so badly that I end up with very uneven eyeliner.
Focus, Gem, I scold myself.
Giving myself a less erotic distraction, I start whistling one of my favourite tunes as I finish my blush, apply my favourite red lip stain which stands out against my blue eyes, and fix my long, dark hair into a half up, half down arrangement. Logan steps out of the shower, whistling too, and walks to the dressing room next door, keeping beat with me. We’re so dorky right now, I can’t stop myself from thinking. I love it. Feeling inspired, I then break out into full singing voice, really going for it, high notes and all, and I can hear Logan laughing at my enthusiasm.
Several loudly sung songs later, I leave my post in front of the mirror and unexpectedly bump into him just outside of the door. Not anticipating the collision I rebound off of his solid chest and stumble backwards, but his hands quickly grip my upper arms to stop me from falling. We look at each other, slightly dazed.
I forget the surprise encounter at lightning speed, however, because the arm length distance between us gives me space enough to take in his impressive appearance. My mouth is slack as I ogle him for the second time in the last twenty minutes. He’s fully dressed, back into that light-grey suit which he wore last weekend. My reaction is exactly the same as it was then – I go weak at the knees and swoon on the spot. He is beyond gorgeous.
The only difference to his attire is that now he’s thoughtfully wearing a light-green tie which matches the colour of my dress from the weekend, and one of my choices for tonight. Oh, Logan! Excitement courses through me, my mind immediately made up – that’s the dress I’m wearing.
Watching me watching him, Logan starts laughing. Jeez, he’s just such a sexy man! Quietly he asks me, “Is this suit some sort of aphrodisiac for you?”
“Uh-huh,” I nod vehemently, my heart beating double what it was only a moment ago. I step eagerly closer to him, and wrap my arms around his waist, my hands settling on his backside, which I squeeze. It’s delicious, even fully clothed. I reach up and kiss him ardently. The first time I saw him in this suit I wanted desperately to undress him immediately, but I held back. No hold backs tonight, I think slyly, giving his ass another tight squeeze.
“Evening, Gemima,” Karen’s voice says loudly, making me jump in shock.
Fuck! I’m abruptly brought back down to earth. When did they arrive, my mind screams. I immediately release my hold of Logan’s backside and retreat my hands, resting my head defeatedly against Logan’s chest as he laughs heartily.
“We have company,” he tells me, too late.
“You think?” I say sarcastically, making him laugh even more.
Unbeknownst to me, Logan’s broad structure blocked from my view the sight of his entire family. I peer over his shoulder and see them all already dressed, sitting leisurely in the living room, with a perfect line of sight of my grabby hands. They must’ve arrived while I was singing my heart out. Dammit!
“Evening,” I call back.
Amusement is evident on every face except for Taylor’s. That man is such a mood-kill, I think instantly, beginning to get used it.
I half-giggle, half-grimace before hurrying into the dressing room, rolling my eyes at myself. Nice one, Gem! Logan follows me, closing the door and leaning against it, watching me. The grin that’s on his face turns from admiring to amorous when I let my bathrobe fall open. He looks at me with that mixture of love and desire that I revel in receiving.
“Weren’t you on the way to the bathroom?” I ask him, though I’m rather pleased by his detour.
“Yes,” he says, remaining motionless. “But this is a much better distraction.”
“From what?” I say, now naked and riffling through one of my bags for suitable underwear for under my dress.
“My nerves,” he reveals, though he looks far from nervous right now. His eyes are alight as he asks me, “Have I told you how beautiful your body is?”
“Yes,” I smile at him. “Once or twice.” That’s the understatement of the century. His free-flowing compliments thrill me every time. “Perhaps it’ll distract you even more if I tell you that Amber suggested that I go panty-less tonight, and instead shove my unmentionables into your jacket pocket.”
Chuckling, Logan says, “Your best friend has some very good ideas, doesn’t she?”
“Do you think?”
“The mirrors, and now this.”
“This is not a good idea, Logan,” I assure him, pulling my underwear very much on. “All I can see in my mind is you walking across a stage tonight to give your speech, and in front of however-many-people you put your hand into your jacket pocket to pull out your notes and instead my underwear falls out!”
Logan’s body is silently shaking as he laughs at my premonition.
“Buddy will shout: those are Gemima’s…and both you and I will die of embarrassment. Is that what you really want?” I ask, walking over to him and leaning against his body.
His arms encase me, his lips find mine, and he kisses me headily. It’s a kiss that makes me feel drunk, hazy, and completely intoxicated by him.
I’m breathless when we break apart. “Will you always laugh at my strange, silly quirks?” I ask him quietly.
He grins broadly and nods vehemently.
“Will you always kiss me like that?”
“Always, baby.”
“Will you marry me?” I smile.
“You stole my fucking line,” Logan laughs immediately. “But, yes, I will,” he says, his voice softer, before kissing me once more and my level of intoxication skyrockets.
“Your tablet thingy is ringing, Logan,” Karen shouts to us a moment later.
We break part, both breathing heavily.
“Alright,” Logan calls back.
Reluctantly I leave the retreat of his embrace and hurriedly step into my dress. Logan zips it up for me, as I flatten the front, giving myself a very hasty once over in the long mirror. Then I step into my heels, and my outfit is complete.
“Ready?” Logan asks me.
He holds out his hand and I take it without hesitation.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
* * *
Logan’s assurance proves true – the red carpet (which is actually blue) and its mere seven photographers from various media outlets, is no cause for concern. In fact, I find myself quite enjoying the experience of standing in front of an enormous Leary Constructions banner, having my photo taken with the man of the hour. We pose with his family, all of us unintentionally colour co-ordinated. Karen’s forest-green mini dress compliments my light-green one; Mary-Gene and Abigail have both opted for red, though Abby’s is slightly more tutu-esque than her grandmother’s conservative number; and all three men wear very similar grey-shaded suits.
Like Logan promised, we move quickly past the photographers, closer to the hotel lobby, beyond which the event will be taking place in the hotel’s ballroom. Before we make it inside, we’re set upon by a small bundle of journalists, seeking a few minutes of Logan’s time. While his family sidesteps the human obstruction, I stay with Logan as he graciously answers the questions they ask. Things like: did you ever image your company would be so successful? How do you respond to those who say your company should be more green? What advice would you give to young men and women who are just starting out? What do you say to those who are critical of the fact that one of Paris’s biggest companies is owned by an American? And my personal favourite: who are you? Which is addressed, almost disdainfully, towards me.
“The other love of my life,” Logan answers, schmoozing them all like a consummate professional.
Amongst their twitters of laughter we excuse ourselves and finally enter the privacy of the hotel. Logan’s family are nowhere in sight. They must already have been ushered into the ballroom, I think.
“So far, so good,” Logan says happily. That’s one dreaded thing that he can tick off of his list.
“Baby, this is awesome,” I beam at him, already enjoying myself so much more than I thought I would. “I’m so impressed by how…how real everything is,” I blurt out. “The banners, the photographers and journalists…it’s like you’re famous!” The finesse and organisation that’s gone into tonight is obvious before we’ve even reached the ballroom, and it gets me wondering. “Who organised it all? Was it someone at Leary Constructions?”
Logan laughs loudly, as though I’ve said something completely ridiculous. It turns out that I have, because he answers, “Gemima, never, never in my life will I order someone in my own company to put on a night of appreciation for me.”
Right, I think. Duh, Gem, he’s not vain. “The AABD then?” I ask.
He shakes his head as we cross the lobby, hand in hand, following well-showcased signs, and turn down a long corridor that leads to our destination.
“The PBA,” Logan says, but when I look back at him nonplussed, he explains, “The Parisian Building Association. Anyone who’s anyone in this industry is a part of that association.”
I think back, trying to recall the name. “Nope, never heard of them.”
“Jerry didn’t mention them?” Logan asks.
Hearing his name makes my stomach lurch. “He’s not going to be here tonight, is he?” I exclaim. But before Logan can give me a response, I add, “Because if my mom sees him she will kick his ass!” It’s an irrevocable certainty.
“And I’d do it with the greatest amount of pleasure,” my mom says, only a few metres ahead of us, standing next to the large, wide double doors, through which the loud murmur of a crowd can be heard.
She’s dressed to the nine’s, and looks incredibly sexy. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her so dressed up. Her floor-length midnight blue dress shows off her curvaceous figure, accentuating her large bosom and petite waist, and I can tell from her lively face that she’s excited by the prospect of being here.
“Barbara-Anne,” Logan smiles, stepping forward to kiss her on each cheek. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, dear. Anything for my daughter’s new beau,” she smiles back him, and her smile is actually genuine. It seems that during the last twenty-four hours she’s grown fonder of him. Good! “Sweetheart,” she turns to me, “you look resplendent.”
“Thank you,” I smile at her. “You look beddable, mom,” I say and both she and Logan laugh.
Pleasantries exchanged, Logan then stares into the ballroom, and says, “Shall we get this over with?”
I take his hand once more and squeeze it. “This is not a lynching,” I tell him. “Everything will be fine. And you’ll still be alive tomorrow.”
“That’s good news indeed,” he laughs, and I wink back at him.
I then link arms with my mom, and the three of us walk into the ballroom.
“Holy shit!” I breathe.
This is not what I was expecting at all. A medium-sized gathering, an open bar, something similar to the function that Logan and I attended ten days ago, perhaps, but not this…
I am stunned. The room is massive – there are around fifty, huge formally-set tables which only partially fill the space between us and the raised stage, which stands a hundred metres across the room. The rest of the space is filled with people. There has got to be at least a thousand people in here! My impressed state increases instantly. No wonder Logan’s apprehensive, I suddenly see why. I take in the grand splendour of the room, everybody dressed to perfection chatting away in small cliques, and I marvel that Logan created all of this. His work, his impact, his reach is the reason that one thousand people are here tonight. It’s incredible!
“This is what it must feel like to be sleeping with a rockstar,” I muse out loud.
Logan, my rock god, manages a half-smile, whilst also looking uncomfortable. “There are more people than I thought there’d be,” he says.
His apprehension brings me back from my state of awe. “You’ll still be alive tomorrow,” I repeat, reaching up to give him a quick, reassuring kiss. It’s fleeting, and yet it does something powerful. The second our lips touch, that familiar, electric spark ignites between us and immerses us into our delicious bubble. Just he and I, despite the number of other people in the vicinity.
Logan smiles back at me as if to tell me that he feels it too, and the calmness that overcomes him spurs me onwards and urges me to kiss him again. It is so gratifying to know that I am able to quell his discomfort and insecurities just as successfully as he does mine.
“Thank you, baby,” he mutters against my lips. “Will you mingle with me?” he then says.
“I’d love to,” I beam at him.
It takes us over fifteen minutes to reach the centre of the room. It’s so busy, and Logan is greeted by people left, right and centre, everyone wanting to catch his attention. The more we immerse into the room, the more he relaxes, and his permanent hold on my hand softens. When he introduces me to people, I am met mostly with wide eyes and looks of surprise before smiles and polite greetings take their place. From this reception, it’s clear that most of the people we converse with have never seen nor heard of Logan bringing a girlfriend to an event such as this. It’s stupid to be pleased by this, yet I can’t keep myself from being so. I like knowing that I’m the first woman that he’s comfortable being seen with, especially because I know that I’ll also be the last. This night will be number one of tens or even hundreds of events that we’ll go to together over the course of our marriage, I think.
No pressure, Gem, but you better make a good impression, I taunt myself.
As we integrate, my mom lingers with us until she spots Mary-Gene and the rest of Logan’s family nearby and she disappears in their direction. Mercy is with them too. She looks radiant in a flowing white gown and when she catches sight of me, she smiles broadly and waves me over.
I let go of Logan’s hand for the first time since entering the room. “I’ll find you in a little bit,” I promise him, and he nods, his attention stolen a moment later by one of his colleagues. “Mercy, you look beautiful,” I tell her when we’re face to face a few moments later.
Ignoring my compliment, she pulls me into a big hug and mutters quietly, “I’m so happy for you!”
Huh? It takes me a moment to remember that she knows about our engagement.
“Oh, thank you,” I say when we break apart, unable to keep the smile from my face.
“You’re going to have such a good life together, I just know it,” she effuses joyfully. “I’ll be so happy to look after your children.”
