Page 3 of Bride for the Bikers

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HARPER

“You're so beautiful!”the stylist exclaims as she puts the final touches on my hair and makeup, shaping my eyebrows like Michelangelo finishing the Sistine Chapel.

Am I?

The face staring back at me from the mirror is a shell shocked stranger. A week ago I was so excited to meet my father for the first time. A man who hardly seemed real after a lifetime of imagining who he could be, and then building him up in my head as some kind of big hero for accepting me as his own and literally saving Mom’s life by paying for the experimental gene treatment that was our only shot at keeping her alive.

One moment, I was barely making ends meet while watching Mom fade before my eyes, and the next, I’m in a designer wedding dress about to get married to a man I’ve seentwice.

Like… what?

I smile at… Cate? Christy? No, Cassandra. “Thank you.” She's just doing her job. I bet my father paid her a lot to be here, but I just feel numb.

In the mirror, the door opens behind me and the man himself comes in, dressed in a perfectly fitting black tuxedo that I bet never saw a rack. “You look beautiful, darling.”

“Doesn’t she? Your daughter is a little nervous I think,” Cassandra says with a satisfied grin, spinning my chair around.

“Could you give us a minute before we go out there?” he asks her.

The stylist nods. “Sure, I’m all done anyway. Congratulations, Harper. I hope you have a wonderful wedding.”

I stand, the heavy silk wedding dress swirling around my legs. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and probably cost enough to pay off the college debt that’s still hanging over my head from my two years of studying before I had to drop out to take care of Mom. But I don’t want it. I don’t want any of this.

Vincent—I can’t bring myself to think of him as Dad—smiles. I hate it. The familiar way he treats me feels disingenuous. As much as I want a relationship with him, we just met. I barely know him any better than the man he wants me to marry for reasons of his own. I'm a convenient pawn in whatever game he's playing.

And I can’t help the small niggling doubts about why Mom always refused to tell me anything about my father or her life before I was born. I always thought she was disowned and embarrassed about getting pregnant or something, but what if it was more serious than that?

I wish I could talk to her, but the pain medications she was on when I found the old picture that brought me here made it impossible to ask. She’s improving now at the rehabilitationfacility, but the doctors told me any stress could jeopardize her recovery.

“Mr. Mesner—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Please. I’m your father. That sounds so formal.” His smile widens, and his bright white incisors look uncomfortably sharp.

“Um… yeah. Listen, I know I agreed to this, but does it have to happen today? It’s not like Devin will be heartbroken or anything. He doesn’t even know me. I’msograteful for everything you've done for Mom, for us, but I need more time.” I look up at him hopefully. Maybe we just met, but I’m his daughter, right?

I search desperately for a glimpse of myself in his face. His hair is closer to brown while mine is light, but that’s not unusual. But Mom’s a brunette too, though I’ve definitely got her jawline and nose, so I was hoping to see something. Like where I got my blonde locks from. Maybe it’s from a grandparent.

His smile doesn’t budge. “We discussed this, Harper. I’ve done so much for you, haven’t I? Eileen's treatment, her rehabilitation. You more than anyone knows how much of an investment that is. I’ve asked for nothing in return but your trust. This is all a legal formality, something that will help make sure my business runs smoothly. I hate to seem like the bad guy here, but delaying could mean my money is tied up and it would be difficult to continue—”

“Right, right. I know. I’m just nervous.” Two years. He told me I only had to stay married to Devin for two years and then whatever legal tax game they’re playing would be done.

Two years in exchange for my mother’s life. Not that he’s been crude enough to phrase it exactly like that, but it doesn’t take a genius to understand what he’s implying.

“Harper. You’re a sweet young woman. This isn’t the end of the world. I’m looking forward to taking this time to get to know you. I don’t know why your mother left without telling me she was pregnant, but I assure you, if I’d known then things would have been very different. You coming into my life at a time where we can both be there for each other is nothing short of a miracle.” He straightens his cuffs. “And you never know. Devin is an attractive, well off man. Maybe sparks will fly.”

I seriously doubt that, but he's right. There's no way I could ever pay him back for everything he's done. He's saved Mom from at worst death, and at best a lifetime of debt. I couldn't even pretend to afford the place she’s staying at now, even for just a few months. What are a few years compared to that? All I have to do is sign some papers and pretend to be a happy wife to a man I barely know.

Many women have done worse for less. It seems like such a dumb little thing in the big scheme of things, but at the same time it's big for me. Not that I've had much time for dating lately, but it’s strange knowing that for at least the next couple years, I’m giving up on finding the man of my dreams.

Mom is going to kill me when she finds out about this, but she’ll be alive to do it.

Steeling myself with determination, I put my hand on Vincent’s arm. He’s my father. The DNA test he’d insisted on said so. I have to trust that even if he’s not what I imagined, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. “You’re right. It’s just so sudden. I’m sure this will all work out.”

Gentle piano music swells as we emerge into the antechamber to the ballroom. In my stomach, a swarm of butterflies threaten to burst right out like the scene from Alien. Not exactly the fluttery feeling I expected to have at my own wedding.

We step onto the red runner that leads into the gaudy entranceway and then to the ballroom where the guests are waiting. I never imagined my wedding needing security, but guards stand at every door, looking exactly like what they are, with shades, suits and curled wires sticking out of their ear pieces. They could be taken straight out of any movie that involves the line, “Get down, Mr. President!”

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