Logan Chapter 84

-Emory-

Last night I wondered if I would die from pleasure, today I’m wondering if it’s too late to make that happen. I love my Mama, I really do, but she’s determined to put me in the fluffiest, most cloud-like, blindingly white dress she can find. I keep reminding her that this isn’t the eighties and I don’t need such puffy sleeves. I keep telling her that this is going to be less formal than she’s thinking, that I’ll have to navigate the outdoors in this dress. That, of course, led her to ask about the space we’ll be using, and I am just now realizing that I never asked.

Me: Hey, random thought. Where is the ceremony going to be?

Logan: Basically our backyard. About a ten minute walk into Central Park, there’s a clearing we always use. What’s up?

Me: Just thinking I need a dress that works for walking

Logan: But not shoes?

Me: I have heels to walk in.

Logan: Of course you do, baby

I turn the phone toward Mama triumphantly. “See, we need something a little more practical than… all this.” I turn toward the saleswoman. “Can we get something a little… sleeker? With pockets? That will also work with my figure?”

She gives me a relieved smile. Apparently my mom had called ahead and freaked her right out with her requests. “I’ll be right back with some options for you!”

Mama shoots me an apologetic look. “I thought we were streamlining things for you. I know you’ve got a tight timeline for this. I just wanted to speed things up for you. Sorry baby.”

I hug her as best I can with all the fabric between us. “I’m thankful for the thought, Mama. This is one instance where a conversation first might have been more efficient, though. Besides, we really only need the dress and stuff like that. We’re not doing a reception or anything afterwards because of the… other plans” I say, trying to be discreet. Logan had just described the wolf version of a reception as a full moon run to my family, and that’s as much as I want them to hear about it.

“I wanted to talk to you about that. Do you think we could have just a short regular reception before the, uh, other stuff? I just can’t conscience having you all dressed up an’ celebratin’ with no time to take pictures!” I tried to think quickly. I understood where she was coming from- this is going to be very untraditional, without even the framework of what she was expecting, but no way do I want Mama lingering after the ceremony for any reason. From the sounds of it, we’re going to have enough difficulties getting everyone to behave themselves after the first ceremony of the night. Logan thinks a fated mate ceremony is going to be more intense than usual.

My mom interrogated me as I tried on dress after dress, trying to strike the balance between “I see this as just as important as a human wedding” and “we’re out in the woods and a bunch of you are going running as wolves afterwards” - it was a difficult line to tread.

It wasn’t until I tried on a tea length dress with lace overlay and sleeves that I finally felt… like a bride. It had a sweetheart neckline, but the overlay that became the sleeves covered my chest to both give the illusion of modesty and frame my breasts. At my waist, the skirt fluffed out in layers of lace and tulle, like I’m some kind of ballerina. I can finally see myself standing in front of my family and the whole pack with Logan, ready to cement our mate bond and spend the rest of our lives together. Mama and I are having a moment of silence as we both realize this is the dress, when I hear the click of a camera shutter. I turn around to see someone hurrying out the door with a professional-level camera.

“Well baby, I guess that’s part and parcel of marrying a high profile man. You look beautiful. Don’t worry about anything else right now.” Mama is squeezing my hand, trying to keep my attention on the main thing right now, instead of my paranoia.

“I feel beautiful, Mama.” I change back into my street clothes and send Logan’s card with the saleswoman. I wonder if she told the press where we are, or if we were followed again? Did she let them in? I try not to worry about it as Mama and I hand the garment bag to Silverson and get into the car. We still need to head to 5th Avenue to find heels and jewelry to go with my dress.

Mama and I are sipping the champagne that Silverson thoughtfully provided for the occasion, laughing giddily and talking about what kind of accessories will look best, when he calls back to us. “Hold on, ladies!” We looked at each other in confusion for a brief second before we’re both thrown to the left in our seatbelts. “So sorry, we need to get rid of this tail, and he’s been getting better at it.” Getting better at tailing us- I immediately hate the thought. That implies he’s been practicing. I look through the back window at him, and I see the most average-looking man I could think of. He has medium brown hair, is just slightly overweight, and is sporting short facial hair. Is he with the press? A conspiracy theorist? Silverson takes another tight turn, and a third directly after that, and the car behind us isn’t fast enough to keep up. Does that mean we lost him?

Nobody touches the champagne again, and our search for shoes and jewelry is a lot less fun than I thought it would be. Especially after Logan calls Silverson and demands that he keep eyes on me the whole time. We head back to the pack house right after, and Mama and I both agree to try not to make a big deal of the tail. It’s hard to find the enthusiasm we had after finding the dress, but we both try.