Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Beaded strappy sandals were designer. “I know about the trauma you have connected to designer shoes, but don’t let your asshole husband take away the artistry that is Jimmy Choo,” Freya had begged.
I’d relented on that one because they were beautiful.
Marilyn—Freya’s friend who had firmly become my friend too—had done my hair and makeup. The rest of the women had fed me food and wine, dressed in simple dresses of varying colors but similar styles.
Violet’s dress was light purple, to match her eyes, and crisscrossed in the front, slipping over her slight body and making her truly look like the woman she was.
At some point, the women had realized that I needed some alone time with my daughter and had given me hugs, kisses and hand squeezes, Freya shoving a wildflower bouquet in my hands before she left.
Then it was just me and Violet, standing in the middle of my new closet. On my wedding day.
“You look so incredible, Momma,” she whispered, pinning up a rogue strand of my hair. It was in wild curls with two braids pulled back off my face. No veil. It definitely wasn’t a veil kind of wedding.
“Honey, it’s your birthday,” I argued softly, tears in my eyes.
“I know,” she replied, her own eyes glassy. “And the absolute best gift I could ever get is my mom truly being happy. In a home she deserves. With a love she deserves.”
Tears ran down my face at my daughter’s wisdom, at her maturity.
“Don’t,” she snapped. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”
A sound that was half laugh, half sob escaped me.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” My voice was barely a whisper as I wiped a single tear from my daughter’s eye. “This is a lot for you to have to deal with.”
Violet frowned. “My mother truly happy for the first time in her life is not a lot to deal with, I promise.”
I tried to measure her response, tried to look for holes, the shadows that had been flickering behind her eyes since she’d arrived.
I saw none.
“Now,” she held out her arm, “are you going to let me walk you down the aisle or what?”
I stared at her for a second longer before saying anything. “Yes,” I whispered. “There’s no one else in the world I want by my side.”
Then I took her arm, letting her walk us out to the garden.
The garden that was filled with lilies, lavender and bikers.
My biker stood at the end of a short, makeshift aisle. Hades and Jagger stood beside him. Freya, Caroline and Macy were on my side, grinning from ear to ear. Hansen was officiating.
It was, quite simply, the most perfect wedding I’d ever seen. If I’d tried to plan it, I wouldn’t have been able to create such an uncomplicated, beautiful wedding.
Violet walked us toward Swiss, stopping to give him a large hug when we made it.
“Take care of my mom,” she told him when she released him.
Swiss’s eyes were shimmering. “I will,” he promised.
She smiled, leaning in to kiss my cheek before taking her spot beside Macy.
“You ready for this, Countess?” Swiss murmured, yanking me in close, forgoing the traditional stance.
I smiled up at him. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
And just like that, in the home that Swiss had bought for us—the home that was fairy-tale perfect—we got married.
It would be the home we grew old in.
I knew that in my every fiber.
And, five weeks after our wedding, it was the home that we created our son in.
Life was good.
I was not gone, girl. I was home. Forever.
Epilogue
TWO YEARS LATER
KATE
Preston died on the same day I gave birth to our son.
Seriously.
He hung himself in his closet.
He was there for days before the police found him. Only because the gardener called them.
Not because anyone missed him.
There was no one left in his life to miss him.
His parents had disowned him.
Not something I’d ever expected them to do in a million years. He was their only son. Their golden boy. I believed that they never knew about the abuse, never saw the signs because they were blinded by a parents’ love. But I also figured that love would blind them from the truth. Would warp it in a way to make them be able to live with what their son was.
I expected them to hate me. I expected to mourn the loss of the only parents I’d ever had.
But one day, not long after our wedding day, I had a visitor.
Violet was working at the café. Apparently Julian had ‘vetted’ her and was impressed enough with her skills to let her work the coffee machine. Violet had never had a job in her life—something I’d gently fought with Preston about, but he wouldn’t dream of his daughter working—and I thought the romance of it might wear off quickly once the reality of the long days set in. But it didn’t. Violet loved working. She came home with bright eyes and messy hair, wired from it all.