Wretched Love

Hades.

That was his name.

He did not shake my hand or smile. He did a masculine chin lift thing. His wife was Freya who smiled easily, kissing me on both cheeks and squeezing my upper arms. Then we all quickly sat down to eat. I had lapsed into autopilot, used to being on a man’s arm, introduced as his accessory. Not that that was how Swiss or anyone made me feel.

I made myself feel that because it was more comfortable. More plausible. So I smiled, I replied when spoken to. I did all the things expected of me in such a moment.

I remained close to Swiss’s side the entire brunch, overwhelmed and overstimulated. People spoke to me. Freya, seated close to me, chatted easily but didn’t ask a whole bunch of questions that required me to speak a whole lot. I got the feeling she sensed that I was quietly having a heart attack and made sure to smile warmly at me to make me feel welcome in a subtle way. All of the women did that. Most women, especially being in the circles I was forced to run with, had an ability to pick up and put off certain vibes around each other.

Violet would call it the ‘you can’t sit with us’ vibe.

My previous group of ‘friends’ positively radiated that vibe. Each of them would’ve loved to kick me from the table if it weren’t for Preston and his family’s name. Each of them made points to subtly but brutally bully the other women in town that they judged to be ‘below’ them.

If somehow one of Preston’s single or divorced friends had debuted a new woman at any kind of event, one who was dressed like I was without a lick of makeup, my group would’ve eaten her alive. She’d probably leave in tears, never to be seen again.

And I would’ve just sat by the wayside watching, not joining in, but not doing anything to help her either. Because I was a coward. Because if I made any kind of waves, Preston would hear about it, and I would pay.

This group, this family, was nothing like that. I could feel the warmth radiating off the women.

And off the men too. Sure, they were gruffer, more rugged and definitely more dangerous, but they weren’t terrifying… well, except for Hades. And Elden, he had a silent menace radiating off him that kept me wary. The rest, though, made me feel almost comfortable. They weren’t heathens and didn’t act in whatever way I might’ve expected them to. They were fathers, husbands, friends. They smiled. Laughed. Teased each other.

Though I was coiled tight, I let a little of that warmth seep in. Let myself pretend, at least for a while, that I could possibly be part of this.

There wasn’t a moment during the entire brunch that Swiss did not have his hands on me. Whether it was his arm around my shoulder, him pausing his meal to kiss my cheek—which he did three times—or placing his hand on my thigh while eating with his other, he made sure to acknowledge me. To let me know that he was thinking about me. That he cared.

It was odd. Amazing. But too intimate, too casual for people who had been sleeping together for two days.

It felt natural to me too. I felt like I could get used to this.

Which was why by the end of the meal, I was completely overwhelmed and needed an out.

Luckily, I had the excuse to stand and start gathering plates, all but running to the kitchen once my hands were full.

There were men in there, which surprised me. I hadn’t thought bikers were the dishwashing kind of guys. Though they were all very nice and welcoming, they had the vibes that they were ‘men’ and completely comfortable with conventional gender roles.

The men at the sink didn’t have the patch on the back of their cuts, only the word ‘Prospect.’ I guessed it was like pledges for a fraternity, and this was their induction period.

“I’ll take those,” one of the men said to me, divesting me of the duty and the purpose that came with that duty.

My heart started beating rapidly with my empty hands and the thought of heading back into the common room and making conversation. Finding a place without a table and a plate of food in front of me was beyond daunting.

Macy appeared in the doorway I was dreading walking through, carrying two long stemmed glasses.

She handed me one of them. I took it thankfully.

“I figured you may need a break from the circus, and a mimosa,” she said softly.

I smiled in thanks.

She nodded to the breakfast bar, and I perched on a barstool and she settled on another.

“I’ve been with the club for years, so I’m used to all of this.” She waved her hand to the prospects then back toward the room where conversations and laughter could be heard. “But it’s a lot, so I’m sorry your first introduction to all of this had to be so intense. We’re really nice, I promise.” She laid her hand on mine.

I was comforted by the gesture, despite Macy being younger than me—or having a very good dermatologist—and a stranger.

“Alcohol helps,” she added, lifting her glass.

I laughed at that and took a sip of my own.