Chapter 32
Tuesday couldn’t believe they’d made it to Thanksgiving, but she was beyond happy to arrive at her grandmother’s house on the back of Knife’s new bike.
She carefully removed the box with her sweet potato casserole (half with pecans, half with marshmallows) and apple pie, and thought about how much she was looking forward to her grandmother’s carrot cake.
As always, Thanksgiving at her grandmother’s house was loud, chaotic, and perfect in all the ways Tuesday had grown up loving.
When they all sat down to eat, the long table was packed with her parents, her brother August and his girlfriend, along with Tuesday’s Aunt May and her kids.
The air smelled like cornbread dressing, roasted turkey, and the tang of her grandmother’s cranberry sauce.
Laughter bounced off the walls, plates clattered, and two of her cousins battled over who got the dark meat of the turkey.
Tuesday preferred the lighter meat with her grandmother’s gravy, so she was good.
Knife and August helped her grandmother bring the three large turkeys to the table, and Knife took his seat beside Tuesday. She reached for her wine, and the light of the chandelier caught her ring — a sparkling reminder of the day he’d asked her to marry him.
The family talked while passing dishes around, and then everyone went quiet for a few minutes, tasting everything, taking it in. “Oh, wow,” April said, “You’ve outdone yourself with the sweet potatoes. What makes it different?”
“Maple syrup instead of brown sugar, fresh butter from grass-fed cows, a touch of vanilla, and a little freshly ground Ceylon cinnamon. What did you do to the broccoli casserole? It tastes different, too?”
Eventually, the food talk died down and her grandmother said, “So, when do we get to see this dress your friend is helping you with, instead of you just buying one?”
Tuesday smiled because Jacob had sent her the final sketches only a few days before, and he was planning to get started making it this weekend.
She brought up the best shot Jacob had sent — a rendering of her actually wearing it, as if it already existed, and so detailed it looked like a photograph.
She handed her phone to her grandmother, who nodded and said, “Oh, that’s lovely. Beautiful.”
And then she passed Tuesday’s phone around the table.
Everyone loved it, and her nerves settled a little. She’d been worried they might see it for what it really is — an homage to Knife’s kink.
The bodice was made of off-white silk ropes intricately worked into a complicated design of overlapping lines and knots that strongly suggested well-done shibari — but to anyone who didn’t know what they were looking at, it simply looked like a structured and perfectly fitted silk bodice with an artistic, modern, almost sculptural flair.
It was completely unique, with an elegant and striking twist.
Her mother leaned in closer, eyes wide. “That’s… stunning. The way the silk roping is more than just decoration. It’s as if it frames you, it’s so dramatic.”
Knife’s hand tightened slightly on her thigh under the table — he hadn’t seen the images, and this was the first he was hearing about the ropes.
Her Aunt May nodded approvingly. “Very couture. Who’s making this?”
“Jacob Burnell, he—”
“Oh, wow!” Her cousin April’s eyes went big. “I actually know who that is. He does so many costumes and stuff for the country music stars, they actually did a piece on him during the lead-up to the CMA’s this year.”
Tuesday smiled. “Yeah, he lives in Nashville. Matty is friends with him, and insisted I had to use him.” She shrugged. “Matty is usually right about fashion, so I gave the guy a chance, and he’s beyond great.”
“Jan tells me you’ve found a venue on Monteagle Mountain?” her Aunt May said.
“Oh, yes. The first time Knife took me hiking, it was to this incredible trail with waterfalls, a disappearing creek…” she put her fork down.
“It was a magical day, and this venue is just thirty yards off the Fiery Gizzard trail. Five hundred feet from Sycamore Falls. After the ceremony, we’ll hike to the falls for pictures.
The long floofy part of the skirt comes off — I’ll have white biker shorts underneath — and then we can put the skirt back on for the formal shots at the falls.
Jacob is making a shorter skirt, too, so I can wear it for the reception if the longer one gets on my nerves. ”
Her grandmother reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You make your wedding day special, baby girl, but it’s what comes after that’s important. You’ve got a good man here, and I can’t wait to watch the two of you say your vows to each other.”
Tuesday looked around the table at the people who had loved her her whole life, then at the man beside her — the one who’d changed everything, and she was so happy her chest hurt.
“I’m really happy, Grandma,” she said, voice thick. “Happier than I ever thought I could be.”
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Knife sat at the crowded Thanksgiving table and listened to Tuesday’s family talk about the dress. She kept the phone from him, clearly wanting it to be a surprise on their wedding day, but that was okay.
Her mother had spilled the beans with the comment about the silk ropes on the bodice, and if Jacob was Matty’s friend, odds are he was kinky as shit and likely enjoyed sneaking shibari into a dress design.
It touched him deep in his bones, knowing she’d put them into her wedding dress.
Part of their life. Part of who they are to each other. The rope, the trust, the beautiful brutality they shared woven into the dress she’d wear when she became his wife.
He’d never loved her more than he did in that moment.
The rest of dinner passed in a blur of laughter, too much food, and the kind of loud family chaos that made him feel right at home. He’d gotten to know her family over the months, and he truly enjoyed being around them. He was gaining good in-laws, not the kind so many people had to endure.
He watched Tuesday glow under the attention of the people who’d raised her. These were the people who’d loved her first, and he would always respect that.
It was odd, sitting with so many people who were pack, when he and Tuesday were not, but not a single person seemed to hold it against Tuesday or Knife. She’d left the pack for love, she’d done it without telling him, and that was that, as far as they were concerned.
He helped clear plates, took a bite of carrot cake because Tuesday insisted on it, and then got his own slice, despite the fact he’d never been a fan in the past. He also ate his ol’lady’s apple pie, her mother’s chess pie, and a few bites of other desserts.
When they finally said their goodbyes and stepped outside, the cool November air felt like freedom.
He’d sold the old XR750 back in August. What did he need with a single-rider bike anymore?
He’d bought a brand new Pan America 1250 ST instead — a kick-ass racing bike built for two, and it handled mountain curves like a dream.
Not the most comfortable bike on the planet, but that’s what the Sport Glide was for.
This bike was all about the handling, and Tuesday appreciated that as much as he did.
Tuesday put her helmet on and threw her leg over the bike like it was second nature, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing close.
They were taking the back roads, and before long, he found himself playing on the curves heading up the mountain beside the Ocoee River, her body moving with his like they’d been riding together for years instead of months, moving with him in perfect synch without hesitation, without bracing.
Just flowing with the bike, her arms around his body, her front against his back.
He covered her hand where it rested on his stomach and squeezed once. She squeezed back.
The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, and her cheek on his back made the whole damned thing perfect.
This woman had given up her pack for him. She’d let him break her open and put her back together stronger, again and again. She held herself open for him to hurt her most sensitive spots.
Despite his sadism, his club, and the fact he kills and cuts cows apart for a living, she’d chosen him, and she continued to choose him, every single day.
And now she was going to be his wife.
They were riding toward his family in North Carolina — the blood family that’d raised him. The one he’d walked away from to claim his own life on his terms.
Both his blood family and the brothers he’d oathed to had claimed and accepted the love of his life, and that meant everything.
He thought about the night she’d walked into the RTMC restaurant and told him to smell her.
He thought about Raven’s Point the first time, and how they’d both brought trail mix.
And then he thought about the second time, how terrified he’d been to get it right when he asked her to marry him, and then her offering her hand for him to put the ring on her finger.
His wolf moved inside him, easy and satisfied, pleased to have their girl comfortable behind them on the bike.
Two wolves who’d left their packs were riding into the mountains together, toward his family, who had completely accepted her.
She’d left her pack and walked into his life, so what else could he do but add onto his home to make room for her and her things? Her life.
Somewhere in all of it, they’d begun to build a life together. An actual life, with a woman who tasted the Comté in his soup, climbed random boulders, even ones shaped like a mushroom in the middle of the road, and drove her Maserati like she’d been born to it.
And she’d agreed to take his name and be his wife.
He took the last curve before the North Carolina border and felt her lean perfectly with him, and knew his life hadn’t been even close to complete before she’d walked into his butcher shop for a Wellington tenderloin.
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