Page 81 of The Heir

Sure, I looked like Izzy and any other Disciple ol’ lady– but– that wasn’t me. My mom was an ol’ lady. My Aunt was an ol’ lady. I felt like I was playing dress up.

“It’s because you don’t have the shoes on, my love.” Izzy stressed before prowling over to the closet and rummaging around. She came back with a pair of black boots that stopped a few inches over the ankles. They had stiletto heels and shiny hooks at the top two fasteners.

I made a strangled sound in my throat, but Izzy wasn’t put off by it. She hurried over and knelt down beside me, taking my foot to her thigh, she used it to balance while she worked to get the boot on.

I felt ridiculous being fussed over. I wasn’t used to being so done up, but she’d put so much effort into all of this, I couldn’t very well say I was going to scrub my face clean and put on a jacket to hide in.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Trista purred from the doorway.

She smiled proudly and I relaxed a little.

“I’m not used to this,” I admitted.

“That’s because your dad would have fucked all of us up.” Trista laughed. “If he says anything about you being dressed up like you came to town to suck start somebody's Harley now, we can just blame the new boy.”

“Trista!” I exclaimed, over Isabella’s throaty laughter while popping my head up to gaze in shock at her.

Aunt Trista winked at me in the mirror, “I’m kidding. I told you, you’re fuckin’ beautiful baby girl.”

“Are you ready, though? The party started like an hour ago.” Izzy rushed, forever hating to miss a party.

I loved her but she was such an attention whore. She was born to be a hostess, and Aunt Trista didn’t mind letting her haveevery inch of the honor. She’d made no effort to take control of planning since Easy had started wearing the president patch.

“Yeah, guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good.” Izzy snatched her leather jacket from the closet and threw it on.

The ‘Property of’rocker flashed at us from her back as she sauntered down the hallway.

We all piled into my car and shot across town. With Blaze on house arrest, it was decided the welcoming party would take place at our house instead of Easy’s.

I could see people mingling in the backyard around a bonfire when I pulled in and my headlights briefly illuminated everything. There were bikes all along the street, bikes along the driveway and if I’d guessed right, there were even a few on the other side of the bonfire.

I completely missed my husband lingering in the shadows of the porch, until he jerked the car door open.

“W–?” His voice had a whole lot of bass, only to die off in an instant.

“Whoa.” He smiled, reaching in to caress my cheekbone.

Izzy slapped his hand so swiftly it invoked memories of playing Hungry Hippos with my violently competitive brothers when I was little. Blaze snatched his hand back like he’d touched fire.

“I spent two fuckin’ hours on that face, bud. A little appreciation,” she scolded.

He brought the back of his hand up to cover his mouth, but I still heard the laugh he tried to hide. Izzy rolled out of the passengerseat and started toward the back yard. I still had no idea how she shook her ass like that in stilettos.

“She’s serious,” he accused, with a snort.

“She really is,” Trista confirmed, crawling out of the backseat on Izzy’s side.

She shut the door and rounded the car, rather than trailing off.

“The fuck you doing up here? You’re the man of the hour.”

Blaze’s mouth opened and a guilty look flashed in his eyes.

“I just– wanted to talk to March a minute before I committed–”

“Committed– Mother fucker, you’re committed. Look around.” She waved her arm toward the backyard.

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