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)
“Of course, I’ll have you,” I said without hesitation, pulling her into my arms.
We both cried for a long time.
She stayed with us for a couple of days, meeting Swiss and the rest of the club. I knew the biker lifestyle made her figuratively clutch her pearls on instinct, but she did not pass judgment. Not even a little. She made an effort to get to know Swiss, to speak to everyone. Shit, she even had a beer… something I’d never seen her drink.
And, on Christmas, her and Frank were at our table. Along with Swiss’s parents, who I’d gently urged him to invite. They were not as at ease as my former in-laws, who had somehow taken to my new lifestyle, after the sticker shock wore off.
They kept looking at their son like he was a stranger—which I guessed he was to them. They mostly kept to themselves but made an effort to speak to me and Violet. I knew that this was not the life they’d wanted for their son, but I also prayed they’d accept him. Especially now that he was happy. It was not something that would happen overnight.
But they were family.
We were all a family.
And that’s what mattered.
That’s what Preston had lost, in addition to his money, his position at the bank and all of his friends.
He obviously wasn’t strong enough to face the reality of that. Wasn’t brave enough to try to change into a good person—something I didn’t think was possible.
So he hung himself.
It might’ve been sad.
If he wasn’t such a piece of shit.
It was sad watching my daughter battle with the emotions that came with the news. She tried to be tough, acting like she didn’t care. I could tell that she was trying to protect me from her pain. She was trying to protect herself from it by hating him. I had tried to reach out to her, to give her the space to feel grief and sorrow, but I’d just given birth to a baby boy who demanded a lot of my attention. I was sleep deprived, hormonal and trying to battle with the satisfaction I felt in knowing that Preston was dead.
Not that Swiss didn’t help. Heck, I was lucky to change a diaper. So I did have time, time I utilized trying to help my daughter. But she’d put up a wall. Hiding behind that wall with smiles, with snuggles with her new brother. With cleaning the house, with working at Julian’s, with school and travel.
So I had to trust in her. Had to trust she’d come to me when she needed me. Or Swiss. Or Macy, Freya, Caroline. Any of the people who had adopted her into the family without hesitation. The family that Violet adored and fit into effortlessly. The people who would have her back no matter what.
I opened ‘Violet’s’, my restaurant, when I was three months pregnant, working right up to my due date. It was safe to say that Swiss was a hot fucking mess that entire time. It was also safe to say we had a lot of heated arguments about me working in a restaurant kitchen while pregnant.
I was trying very hard to be sensitive to his past, to his trauma. But I also couldn’t lie in bed with my feet up for months. I couldn’t let someone else cook at my restaurant. Not until I trained them and felt fully confident in their skills.
I guessed I was like Julian that way.
It was a constant source of tension between us, and I didn’t drive myself anywhere after six months. Swiss sat at the bar, nursing the same beer, glowering at everyone each night.
And, if he felt like it was too late, he shut the place down.
He shut my fucking restaurant down.
Even though I’d yelled at him about scaring off patrons, his presence actually had the opposite effect.
Word got out about the ultra-hot biker sitting at the bar, and we did even more business, which in turn had us operating later, which in turn had him shutting the bar down. A vicious cycle I found endlessly amusing.
Swiss did not.
Nor did he find it amusing when I didn’t tell him my water broke until my contractions were seven minutes apart.
Yeah, there had been a lot of yelling on the fast but careful drive to the hospital. Fortunately, I’d benefitted from the experiences of the Old Ladies who came before me and who had forewarned me that men could get hysterical and dramatic over labor.
Declan Carter was born without incident, with ten fingers and ten toes.
His father held him for hours, just staring at him, just holding his tiny hand. During the first week of his life, Declan barely slept or existed anywhere but his father’s arms.
And it filled my heart.
Swiss, as I had imagined, was a wonderful father. He was gentle, patient and adoring. He barely let me lift a finger and took over all of the house and parenting duties.