53 - Procrastination
Cordelia
The next few months are spent settling into some kind of routine; be that a jumbled one, littered with uncertainty and mistakes. But that’s how we learn. Neither of us have experience with this chapter of our lives. There’s bound to be a few bumps on the way.
Despite having to stay in the hospital for a few days to recover, Jaxon is a healthy happy baby, with the lung capacity of a goddamn killer whale.
He wakes us up most nights, in the early hours of the morning.
Where I’ll stumble out of bed in a daze, tendrils of knotted bed hair stuck to one side of my face, lashes clumped together with sleep.
Yes–being a breastfeeding mother really is that glamorous.
In all fairness to Logan, every single night he sits up in bed with me, adoration sparkling in his eyes as he watches me feed like it’s not the most natural thing in the world.
Our situation isn’t ideal; with us living in Logan’s father’s house.
Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice until our new house gets pushed through the legal proceedings and mountains of paperwork.
Luckily, everything should be finalised by our wedding, so we’ll be able to return to our own place after the big day and start getting settled in.
Logan’s father spends a lot of time at Trixie’s house to give us some much-needed privacy.
Trixie seems a lovely lady despite my fiancé getting the ick about his dad dating again.
I understand his reservations and his discomfort around the tragedy he and his father endured, but as I’ve explained to him; people have to move on.
His mother would have wanted that for the both of them.
Speaking of mothers; mine’s showing her true colours.
Now I have a focus other than pandering to her needs and demands she’s not happy.
When I told her about my plans to move out, she lost her shit.
I’ve never known her to act quite this selfish in my whole life.
She shows no interest in meeting our son or nurturing a relationship with him for that matter.
At first, I was distraught. After years of being the dutiful daughter, imprisoned in her gilded cage I’m finally spreading my wings.
And she doesn’t like it. Logan says it’s because she’s lost that last shred of control over me, the ability to manipulate and keep me on a leash.
That’s why she never liked him from the start, not because of who he is or what he comes from—although the whole mafia thing probably didn’t help–but the real reason she hates him; he helped me find my way out of her shadow.
Papa on the other hand, filled the space she left behind.
Obviously, he’s still having to work, and that means he can’t be around as much as he’d like.
But I receive daily texts and calls checking in, and honestly, I’ve never been closer to him than I am now.
On the few occasions he has been in London he’s made sure to spend as much time as possible with me.
It’s easy to tell he’s absolutely besotted with Jaxon, and he regularly reminds me how proud he is of me. And every time I get bleary eyed.
“You’re going to be late if you procrastinate anymore.”
Logan’s British accent drifts across the living room, startling me from reapplying my lip-gloss for the third time in the mirror.
Eyes wide, staring back at me I smack my lips together.
Stepping back, I almost stumble into his hard chest. Our eyes meet in the mirror, whilst his fingers trail a slow seductive path over my midriff towards my hips.
One hand drifts to my face, his index finger coming to rest against my bottom lip.
“And just who are you planning to kiss with these pouty lips?” His voice is a low rasp that has me instinctively rising to my toes to get closer. He smells divine, danger wrapped in spice and everything nice.
My feet pivot on the floor and my vision blurs as I spin on the spot. That primal smile curls against his lips, like a fox in a henhouse.
“Where’s— “
Logan puts a halt to my outburst, grasping my chin roughly in his hand. “Jax is fine, vixen. He’s sleeping.”
A breath of air whooshes from my lungs. Logan reads me so well he knew exactly what my sudden panic was about. He dips his chin, pinning me in place with his long fingers. “Now, where were we?”
“You literally just told me to stop procrastinating,” I pout, sounding surly.
The laugh that trickles from his throat is dry, with a tinge of sarcasm. “I’m not procrastination, baby. I’m mandatory.”
His lips capture mine in a deep, passionate kiss that steals my breath.
So unexpected, I forget who I am, where I am and what I was doing.
Logan’s ability to make the world teeter on its axis whilst ravaging me is getting frighteningly refined.
The fingers gripping my hips cut deeper into my flesh, and I have to refrain from hissing at him.
The blare of a car horn interrupts the charged energy swirling around us. Irritation flickers through his gaze, that’s sharp enough to cut, but finally his fingers go slack, relinquishing his hold on me. I swallow and pull back, putting much needed space between us.
“I’ve got to go,” I bleat, as the heat rushes up my neck. Will there ever be a time that this man doesn’t make me blush with fury? Doubtful.
He arches one dark eyebrow, lifts his chin a fraction higher. “Hmm.”
The way his voice comes out, hard, strained, it’s obvious he’s holding back from ambushing me in the hallway.
I suck in my lip, trap it under my front teeth and watch Logan’s jaw tense.
“Don’t push it, vixen.”
A girly giggle escapes my lips. The horn sounds again making us both jump.
I wriggle free of the space he’s confined me in and move towards Jaxon’s travel cot.
My boy is sleeping soundlessly, swaddled in a blanket with his little fingers curling around the edge of the material.
I drop a kiss against his fluffy head and then I'm out the door before Logan can hijack me again.
Excitement and nerves all bubble inside me because my girls are over from France.
They arrived late last night and stayed in a nearby hotel just outside the city.
Today is my final dress fitting at The Bridal Boutique and it will be the first time they’ve seen it.
I haven't even sent them a snapshot, despite Rennee’s constant imploring.
Nico pulls to a stop outside the glamorous building, bathed with twinkling lights strung up in the window. Before I can jump out the door a hand lays heavy on my shoulder, grounding. My gaze sweeps to my own hands, resting in my lap, twiddling my thumbs awkwardly.
“Miss Rousseau.
As if it’s got a mind of its own, my knee starts bouncing. Nico and I haven’t properly discussed his allegiance to Papa, and it’s splintered the affinity of our close relationship. Now it feels like anything we discuss will go straight back to Papa, whether I want it to or not.
I moisten my lips with my tongue. “C’est bien, Nico. We don’t need to have this conversation.
“Cordelia.”
The pressure beneath his fingertips increases, until it's impossible to ignore. I glance up, meeting my reflection in his Ray Ban sunglasses.
“Actually, we do,’ he says, head angling to where my hand has made its own way to the door handle. I loosen my grip and he nods. His fingers drift up to pinch the arm of his shades, and he slides them off, folding them neatly in his lap. His dark gaze, flecked with amber, he says. “Ask away.”
My shoulders slump, eyelids drifting closed on a sigh. “Nico, honestly–” When I open them again, he’s staring at me, completely unperturbed. I sigh again. “What regiment?”
He quirks an eyebrow, and in one swift motion, raises the flat of his hand to his eyeline. “Infantry, mam. Frontline.”
I giggle, but it’s immediately blanketed by a solemn frown. “Have you killed people?”
“Oui.” The way he says the word, so direct, so utterly void of hesitation sends a shiver through me. I swallow, lips wobbling around the next words. “When did you become my bodyguard?”
“You’d just learnt to walk,” his lips curl, and he chuckles softly at the memory. “A bouncing ball of white, blonde curls and round, inquisitive eyes.”
I break contact, eyes dropping to my lap. “So, you were never just a friend of Papa’s?”
“Non. But we became good friends. He trusted me with his feisty daughter’s life, after all.”
That gets my attention back on him, and he can’t suppress his laughter at my furrowed brows.
“Oh, C’mon, Cordelia. You have to admit; you haven’t made my job easy. Especially after your last little adventure.”
I snort; it's highly unattractive. But even as I do, I’m smiling. When Nico says my name, a flutter stirs in my stomach at the informality. At the notion that he’s not only here because it’s his job to do so.
“What happens now?” I hear myself ask.
He reaches over to tuck a rogue strand behind my ear, warm fingers brushing my skin in a gesture filled with quiet protectiveness.
“You get married, cherie. You make memories with your family and have the time of your life doing it,” his head tilts.
“And if that boy gives you any shit, you tell me and I’ll sort him out. ”
It’s my turn to giggle. “By that boy, you mean my fiancé, non?”
“Hmm.” He hums, like no man would ever be good enough for me in his eyes. Chin dipped, he peers at me, and despite the angle, the intensity of his gaze is stifling. “But I’m always a phone call away, and I will still come to your aid if you need me. When your dark knight isn’t available.”
The tears blur my vision. I sniffle, trying hard to keep them from ruining my makeup.
Instead of answering I throw myself across the central reservation and wrap my arms around Nico’s waist. His muscles tense momentarily before sinking into the leather.
I inhale his scent, the one that makes me feel both safe and completely free.
“Merci infiniment,” I say, face pressed against his cotton shirt, fingers curled around the material. I owe this man so much.
“You’re welcome,” he replies with a brush of his lips against my hair. Straightening up, he gives me a nudge. “But if you don’t hurry up you won’t have a dress to wear for your big day. And I get the feeling that will not serve as a good enough excuse for your b–Logan.”
I jump up, fumbling to unclip my seatbelt. The car door swings open and my heels hit the pavement as I scurry towards the shop entrance.
The blend of subtle perfume mixed with the fragrant scent of the peonies decorating the front desk evokes memories of home. Blissful days of strolling through fields of colour under the cloudless skies. England hasn't blessed me with one of those yet.
“Miss Rousseau.” The ebony haired woman appears from the dressing room, brimming with excitement. Ironically, her name is Ebony. “Are you looking forward to seeing your dress again?”
I smile back, not quite as expressive as hers though.
“Oui. I hope I still fit in it.” I squidge the fat around my waist between my finger and thumb, eyebrows furrowing.
Turns out a good chunk of the weight I was carrying was water retention, so I managed to slim back down fairly quickly. All except this persistent little roll.
In a gust of wind, the doors fly open and I’m pulled into an embrace so tight it nearly cuts off my air.
The heady scent of patchouli and rose engulfs me as I whirl around to face my two best friends.
All three of us squeal, overwhelmed with joy and relief to see each other in the flesh after what feels like a lifetime of being apart.
Chloe clutches my waist like a baby monkey clinging to its mother and I return the gesture. Her raven waves reach all the way to her bottom, like smooth silk running through my fingers. Behind her, Renee wears a warm smile, her rose coloured lipstick almost matching her freshly dyed hair.
“Would you ladies like some Prosecco?”
Chloe finally releases me, her attention peaked, and dark eyes sparkling at the suggestion of bubbles.
With a nod, we step through to the dressing room, and a breath of excitement and anticipation escapes me as I prepare myself mentally and physically.
The nerves bubbling in my tummy seem a tad excessive.
But what if they don’t like it? What if I don’t like it anymore?
There was a lot less of me when I fell in love with it.
Not that I don’t trust Casey and Scarlett’s judgement, we’ve bonded over the months and built a solid friendship.
I needn’t have worried though, because when I draw back the curtain and see their awestruck faces, the nerves dissipate to nothing.
“Ooh lala!” Renee beams, clapping her hands together in glee. “You look like a princess.”
Chloe uncrosses her legs, her purple Dr. Martens looking very out of place in a room full of Ivory and White. With her fingers gripping the champagne flute, she stomps to her feet and strides over. She places her hands on my shoulders and levels her gaze with mine.
“Oh, he is going to ravage you, girl.”
I swear my cheeks turn the same shade as Renee’s hair.