Risky and Wild(80)
The room is quiet as we move away, the only sound coming from the patter of the kids' feet. As soon as I step foot outside, the gossip'll start; I'm sure of it.
“You look like a bloody goddess,” Royal whispers in my ear, his breath sending goose bumps dancing down my spine. I can feel the shape of his hand through the leather on my lower back, scalding a permanent shape into my skin. “Just keep this up and they'll be asking you to their book club by next week.”
“The girls have a book club?”
“How the hell should I know? Chin up, Pint-Size, look lively.”
I do my best not to roll my eyes, my boots stepping out onto a deck that's been worn gray from the unrelenting sea breeze. There's a charcoal grill, a couple of chairs, and a few steps down to the grass where several large picnic tables wait, covered in red and white checkered cloths and bowls with snap-on lids. Against the fence directly opposite me, there's a couple of coolers—probably filled with beer—and a plastic kids' table with six seats.
There's also an entire herd of bikers in leather vests.
Suddenly I find it hard to swallow. Holy crap, this is the real deal right here. I reach down and unzip the front of my jacket, just so I can give my shaking hands something to do. I'm not scared of these guys, that's not it at all, it's just … if I can't make them like me—or at least tolerate me—then Royal and I can never work. It won't be a matter of if I can handle adjusting my idea of the perfect political career, it'll just be a no. Instinctively, I know that.
“Boys,” Royal says, pulling the cigarette from behind his ear and drawing his hand away from my back to light up. It feels cold there, like I'm missing a vital part of myself. Don't be ridiculous, Lyric. “I finally fucking did it,” he continues, like this is all some big joke. Doesn't bother me. It's just more politics. “I got myself an old lady.” He lifts my left hand up and grins around his cigarette, gray curls of smoke climbing up past the raven dark tendrils of his hair.
I watch as the men turn, some of them holding beers, some cigarettes, all of them wearing black leather vests with snarling wolf heads on the back. Alpha Wolves rockers (that's what they call the patches I guess) line the top while Trinidad, CA scrawls across the bottom. On either side, there's a patch that says MC and 1%.
There's maybe twenty of them in total? I have no idea if this is the whole club, half the club, a mere fraction of the club. I think another conversation with Royal is in order after this is over. I start mentally adding my questions to a list, decide lists and mentally calculating things is what I've been doing my whole life, and then just let it all go with a sigh.
Some of the men hoot and holler, clap Royal on the shoulder or the back, a few even hold their hands out to me. But everybody's looking, everybody's curious, and their eyes are focused directly on me and the ring on my hand. Nobody looks at me funny or checks me out which is nice and which I imagine is a byproduct of the president's control. He's biker royalty after all, isn't he?
It's because I'm king, love. And I need a queen.
“Lyric Rentz, I want you to meet the Alpha Wolves,” Royal says, his accent creeping back into his words as he starts to calm down, to warm to the situation. “Be nice to this one, yeah? I'm quite keen on her you know.”
“When's the wedding?” It's Dober's gruff voice as he comes out to stand on the deck, lifting the lid of the grill and turning over a few dozen burgers with his spatula. His face is neutral, just this side of frowning.
“For fuck's sake, you want to help Lyric pick out a dress? I asked the girl to marry me last night, Burt. Calm the hell down. Nobody ragged on you when it took Janae six months to choose flowers.”
Royal smirks as Janae appears with an empty plate in one hand and a full plate of raw patties in the other. She gestures at my new … fiancé with the red meat.
“Flowers have all sorts of special meanings. You can't just pick that sort of thing willy-nilly.” The boys laugh, shaking their heads at her, but she doesn't seem to mind, keeping her chin up and spine straight. Janae might be the perfect club wife, but there's dignity there, a sense of responsibility for these men that I'm not sure I'll ever understand. Royal mentioned before that Janae was sort of like the queen of the old ladies; I see that now. “You should have a winter wedding, before the weather changes. Winter weddings are so magical and completely underrated. I just saw a spread in a magazine where the bride wore a furred muffler instead of holding a bouquet.”
I raise my eyebrows, but don't say anything. For a second it seems like I might be the only one listening, but then I realize that Royal's tensing up beside me, his eyes scanning his VP and his wife. I glance over my shoulder and we lock gazes.