Chapter Forty-Eight
White Ravens
Gage
Gage couldn’t stop sweating through his fancy clothes.
In the last three days, nothing had helped calm the nervous energy buzzing under his skin.
Not swimming countless laps, weightlifting, reading, church, sparring with the Greens, meditating…nothing.
His two assistants stood close to him, both holding small fans angled at his face as if it were a hundred degrees in his quarters.
“Saint, please calm down. I don’t have another shirt if you sweat through this one,” Elias said. “And stop fidgeting.”
“I’m trying,” he muttered, still bouncing his right leg.
The room was busy with his wardrobe staff and stylists tugging at him: hands brushing over his shoulders, checking his seams, smoothing lines, working more product through his hair and recombing.
“Just about done, hold still.” Elias beamed. “This is some of my best work yet. You look gorgeous.”
He heard the snip of a thread before a lint roller glided along his back and shoulders for the hundredth time.
Someone pulled on his jacket lapel and pinned a flower on it that had a mildly sweet scent.
“It’s a white calla lily,” Rose said. “Means beauty, purity, and holiness.”
Gage groaned. “Oh God, thanks for the reminder that I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Stop it,” she giggled. “It’s perfect.”
“It can’t be that hard, G,” Roz said, sounding carefree. “Just walk up to him and say ‘Yep, I do.’ The end. Now, let’s tell our friends they can take off these monkey suits and get drunk.”
“Seriously, Roz,” Elias scoffed. “You’re in slacks and a button-up shirt. You wouldn’t even put on the jacket.”
Zorion was with him too, and Mirage had insisted on staying while he got ready. Regardless, he was a mess, it did help to have his brothers in the room.
He wished again that his father was at his side like he’d always imagined he’d be on this day. He was the only one who’d be able to give him the advice he needed and reassure him he’d always been a good Christian, now he’ll be a good husband.
Moisture began to pool behind his closed lids. He had so many unanswered questions.
Will my love be enough for a man as fierce and great as Scar? What if he suddenly grows tired of me one day? What if Scar gets hurt in the field? Gage gasped. Oh god, what if he discovers Scientology?
Mirage put both hands on his shoulders.
“Stop overthinking,” he said. “All the questions you’re firing off in your head are either irrelevant or ridiculous.”
Gage tried to swallow the mass of nerves lodged in his throat.
“What if I don’t satisfy him?” he whispered. “Or what if it doesn’t feel like I think it will, and I don’t like it?”
“Oh, trust me, honey. You’re gonna’ do more than just like it… You’re gonna’ crave that man’s dick like an addict needs crac—"
“Elias,” Mirage snapped. “Thank you, but I’ve got this.”
Rose dabbed another cool cloth across his forehead and the back of his neck.
“Tonight will be everything you expected and more,” Mirage said before lowering his voice. “And you did the prep work I told you to do, right?”
Gage’s throat worked as he gave a quick nod.
“Gross,” Roz grumbled.
Elias and Zorion chuckled, making Gage’s neck burn with embarrassment.
“Ignore them.” Mirage kept his hands on his shoulders. “Take some deep breaths.”
Gage inhaled and exhaled, repeatedly, until his hands stopped shaking.
“Good,” Mirage said. “Now all you have to do is show up, because you look incredible, and let your instincts do the rest.”
He ran his palms down the silk shirt Elias described as the creamiest, sexist white he’d ever made—whatever that meant.
His slacks were black, light, and comfortable. Another one of Elias’ assistants was brushing the back of his white satin train coat with a steam glove.
Elias knelt and slipped a pair of designer shoes on his feet that fit as if they’d been made for him.
“Now for the finishing touch,” Elias raised the hood of his coat and lowered the delicate material over his head until the edges touched his lashes.
“Oh my gosh,” Rose gasped.
“Damn, I’m fuckin’ good,” Elias hummed. “Look at you.”
“All right, the sun’s down. Time to go, brother,” Zorion said.
Gage’s stomach flipped. If it hadn’t been empty, he swore he would’ve thrown up.
With his cane folded in his right hand, he held Roz by the back of his arm and allowed him to guide him through headquarters to where Scar decided to have their ceremony.
The entire facility was silent, too silent, as if all personnel from every department were somewhere waiting for him to come through the doors.
“Crap, crap, crap,” Gage whispered.