A/N: This one's for you, hettyblue

Chapter 6

March 17th

After the Valentine's Day fiasco, you're probably thinking, "Girl, you need to save Alex from himself, break off the engagement with Preston, focus on your career and for God's sake, take a ride on the Eric Northman Express!" But what may seem glaringly obvious to the casual observer often isn't as transparent to the person in the middle of the shit storm called her life. It may take Divine Intervention, sometimes in the form of a domineering employer, other times in the form of tragedy, and still, sometimes we stay blind to what's right in front of us until it's too late.

Which was why four months away from marrying the supposed man of my dreams, I was breaking out in hives at the mere thought of said wedding.

"Stop scratching, you're only making it worse," admonished Pam.

I shot the woman who was my idol, mentor, boss, and over the last week a pain in my tight (thanks to biking for an hour every night) ass, a scathing look. Then I scratched my stomach and snarled, "you brought up the W word on purpose."

She didn't bother denying it - because it was true - and shrugged. "I don't understand why you're going through with this farce of a-"

I covered my ears and sang loudly, "Tell me why! Ain't nothin but a heartache. Tell me why! Ain't nothin but a mis-"

"You're completely tone deaf." She said, rolling her eyes.

I ignored her and continued my strangled cat rendition of arguably the most iconic pop song of our time by, hands down, the best boy band ever formed. "I never wanna hear you sayyy. Iiii want it thattt w-"

"Why am I putting up with this shit? I'm Pamela fucking Ravenscroft! Shut it before I sew it shut."

I shut it.

Uncrossing her legs, she reached across the desk and yanked one of my hands off my ears. "I'm genuinely curious."

Sighing, I uncovered my other ear and studied the pattern I'd doodled on my iPad. It was very pretty; perfect on a full skirt.

It also looked so very pathetically sad.

In fact, everything I'd been designing since Preston proposed two months ago has been nothing but depressing. They would've been great for Fall/Winter formal wear, but since we were actually preparing for the Spring/Summer collection for this September's Fashion Week, the dark dreary colors and stiff fabrics were a cause for concern seeing as how my livelihood at the moment depended on my ability to create things more suitable for a destination wedding instead of say, a funeral.

I frowned. I honestly never thought I'd be getting married this soon after graduation. I met Preston in July - two short months after the end of my final semester. He proposed in January - six months after we met. I didn't even know why I said yes. It was more of a knee jerk reaction than anything. I didn't burst into happy tears or immediately call everyone I knew to share the news. I didn't log onto Facebook to change my status to 'engaged', or hop on twitter to tell my followers, or show my Instagram peeps the Princess Diana/Kate inspired sapphire engagement ring I was now rocking on my finger.

I didn't do shit because I wasn't ecstatic about any of it. Not the ring, not the proposal, not the dinner.. not the man.

We fell into a comfortable pattern through our six month courtship. Shit, did people even say 'courtship' anymore? That's how out of the loop I was. Preston was my first serious relationship. He was safe, he was reliable, and he was a great guy when he wasn't trying to convince me to move out of Brooklyn like it was still the freaking gang lands of Pacino and Deniro movies.

So what if my heart never skipped beats around him and I never got butterflies in my stomach from hearing his voice? They sounded like serious conditions WebMD would have a field day over anyway.

That said, shouldn't proposals deserve some fanfare?

Growing up, whenever I imagined my wedding all I really paid attention to were the gowns I'd imagine myself wearing but, somewhere in the back of my adolescent mind, there was always a handsome groom who undoubtedly proposed in an over the top, grand gesture of the century, kind of way. Sometimes, he did it with a unicorn drawn carriage ride around Central Park with rose petals or glitter falling down the sky. Sometimes, he'd slay a dragon before dropping to his knee and proclaim his love for me while declaring I was the princess of some foreign kingdom. After I hit my teens, I'd imagine whatever boy band member or actor that was hot at the time showing up in a white limousine. He'd feed me chocolates and strawberries and we'd drink champagne out of fancy crystal chutes. Then, he'd blindfold me and lead me somewhere and when the blindfolds came off, I'd be standing in front of the ring display at Tiffany's.

Obviously none of that happened.

I didn't expect a flashmob or some e-scavenger hunt that eventually lead me to his YouTube video proposal or anything like that, but jeezus, he didn't even get down on one knee! He just slid the box across the table after signaling the waiter to collect our dessert plates (which I hadn't even finished) and popped the question.

Actually, he didn't even ask me to marry him. He simply said, "Marry me, Susannah."

See, there was no opening for me to decline after that. I mean, if he'd ended it in a question mark, I'm sure I would've told him I wasn't ready, or that it was too soon. But how the hell did you respond to something that clearly wasn't a question?

Alright, so I was chicken shit. I was starting to fall for him and thought hoped that I'd be in love with him by the wedding which, honest to God, I thought wouldn't be for a couple of years. Long engagements were all the rage, how was I supposed to know he had a traditional six month engagement in mind? It wasn't until his mother's phone call a week ago, enquiring which venue I'd booked, that I found out my wedding was to be in July; on the very same date Preston and I'd met exactly one year ago. It all sounded very sweet until Mrs. Pardloe informed me that it was a Pardloe family tradition. Preston's father, and his father before him, all proposed six months after meeting their future brides and wed on the one year anniversary of their meeting.

His mother was a... Let's just say, after meeting his parents, I understood why he always referred to them as 'mother' and 'father'. Preston sometimes appeared to walk around with an air of superiority, this was true, but his parents weren't even from the same planet as us. They were cold, pretentious, uptight and his mother was the queen of passive aggressiveness and backhanded compliments.

Take our phone call, for example. On the topic of wedding dresses, she informed me, "you have such a pretty face, Susannah. You'll be simply stunning after shedding your college fifteen for the gown."

I never gained any weight during my four years at FIT. In fact, I lost a good ten pounds during my final semester.

On the topic of venues, she helpfully supplied, "I'm sure you'd have chosen the perfect... catering hall... but darling, a dear friend of the Pardloes generously offered the use of his estate in the Hamptons. It'll be the event of the year! Your relatives and guests will have to find lodging elsewhere since the Pardloes, that will include you too Susannah, and our dearest friends will be staying at the ten bedroom estate and accompanying guest house. Of course we'll have made accommodations for Pamela and Sophie Anne in the main house. Afterall, they are our esteemed guests."

Yes, the woman viewed her son's wedding as an overpriced party where she got to show off her guest list and rub elbows with the rich and famous. Yes, that list included my boss (whom she's never met, I asked Pam) and her A-list movie star of a wife, Sophie Anne Leclerq. And finally, yes, she did indeed insinuate that my family and friends, which apparently did not include Pam and Ms. Leclerq since they somehow became "our" guests, were beneath her upper crust friends.

The fact that she was taking over my wedding and I couldn't even find it in me to care should've been a huge neon sign. But I let myself believe that I gave in to her demands because the woman was intimidating and that I was taught to respect my elders nevermind that I never gave a shit about authority and never gave an inch to anyone who didn't deserve it.

"You have permission to speak." Pam announced.

I wanted to scratch an itch on my face with a particular finger to let her know exactly how I felt about her magnanimous decision, but thought better of it. I was on the clock so really, I should show deference to my boss. Instead, I played with the pattern on my iPad; it would look lovely as a lace overlay on a full skirt or a corset bodice.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" I hedged.

"Sookie, you don't love him." She held up her hand when I tried to refute her claim. "I may not understand the feelings most of our sex may have towards men, but I'm a woman who's lucky enough to have been in love a time or two before. Love, regardless of gender or religion, means the same thing in every fucking language. And in plain English, that means, You. Don't. Love. Him. So what I want to know is, why are you marrying him? It isn't the 1920's, so you don't need him to provide for you. Again, it isn't the 1920's, so you don't need him to have children. You don't run in the social circles where the appearance of a happy marriage would make you a more appealing candidate for whatever the fuck campaign you're running for. You're creative, funny as fuck, pretty, have a promising career at one of the top fashion houses in the world and, if you tell Sigebert in HR this I'll deny it 'till my dying breath, you've got a great fucking ass and an even better rack, and up until this ridiculous decision of yours, intelligent too. So, again, please enlighten me, what the fuck are you doing marrying the poster child for BBB?"

"BBB?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

"Boring Blue Blood."

Wait until you meet his parents, I thought.

What I said was, "I... He's a great catch."

"And you're what?" She asked, with a challenging glint in her eyes.

"It's not that. My self worth and self esteem are at perfectly healthy levels."

"Then why?"

"Honestly?"

"No, I'm fucking asking you because I'm bored and feel like entertaining bullshit. Yes, of course, honestly!"

I sighed. "He's my first."

Her eyes just about popped out of her head. "You're shitting me."

"My first serious relationship, geez get your mind out of the gutter." Then I thought about it and amended, "Actually... He's technically my first too. The guy I lost my virginity to didn't know up from down and came before he was all the way there."

Pam stood up and began walking towards the door. When I didn't make a move to stand, she turned and asked, "Do you have alcohol stashed somewhere in your office?"

"No, of course not." That, the lie detector detected, is a lie! a voice htt sounded eerily like Maury Povovich's boomed in my head. I had one of those cute little mini bar liquor bottles hidden deep inside my drawer for emergencies but that wasn't something you admitted to the person signing your pay stubs.

She gave me a look that said she knew I was full of shit, but said, "Then come on. I'm going to need a drink if I want to successfully complete OLS."

"OLS?" I asked, following her to the elevator.

She didn't say anything but I could've sworn I heard her mumble "Operation Liberate Sookie"

March 25th

"Thought you'd be glad he took it so well." Eric said, genuine confusion written all over his face.

"Not that well! He just nodded, asked me to pass the salt, and continued eating! Meanwhile, I spent two weeks scratching my tits off due to wedding related stress. It was really, really humbling." I concluded with a pout.

"So..." Eric began, then leaned forward in his stool and tugged on my chin with his thumb distractedly. Satisfied my lips were back in their proper positions, he sat back, furrowed his brows and continued,"You're pissed because you got the easy breakup you wanted."

"Yup," I nodded, even though it did sound kind of insane. But, it was the truth and we never ever lied to each other.

Strictly platonic relationships with heterosexuals of the opposite sex were fucking great like that. I didn't have to worry about giving the wrong answer like, say, when Jade asked if the Barbie pink lipstick she just bought looked good on her, or when Lafayette asked how I really felt about one of his new boyfriends. Straight guys pretty much only asked questions they actually wanted honest answers to.

It was awesome.

Shaking his head, he muttered one word. "Women."

It was exactly a week and a day after Pam successfully talked me off the ledge. After our talk in my tiny office, I followed her upstairs to her sprawling one where we raided her dry bar and talked until our stomachs demanded dinner around 8pm. Instead of ordering food, she placed a call to her personal chef and had him set up dinner for the two of us at her apartment.

Although 'apartment' was definitely an understatement.

Pam, and her wife, owned the top five connecting floors in the exclusive residential building and had them opened up and connected with a personal elevator. I felt like a country bumpkin when she drove her car directly into her building, having had no idea that there were apartments equipped with car elevators that doubled as parking spots once it reached the designated floor, and shouted at her to stop thinking she'd had one drink too many.

After a delicious five course dinner, we retired to her penthouse terrace and continued imbibing in unholy amounts of liquor. By the end of the night, I'd learned that Pam's fashion empire was completely self made.

Ravenscroft also wasn't the surname she was born with.

Forty-seven years ago, she was born into a political dynasty whose last name was recognizable in every corner of the world. Although publicly, their political views were liberal and they fought for equality, behind closed doors, they were old fashioned and their stance on all things even slightly controversial or "uncomfortable" were as archaic as one would expect from such a long reigning bloodline.

When she came out over thirty years ago, something unfortunately still difficult to do today but took balls of fucking steel to do back then, her family didn't disown her or do anything that unseemly. They simply disregarded her proclamation as nothing but the fighting words of a rebellious and attention seeking brat and sent her to an even further away boarding school. She didn't bother finishing and instead, boarded a flight to Paris and began her career as a runway model. It helped that she was already a darling among the fashion elite due to her family's standing, so there definitely was nepotism involved. But as soon as she could, she started her own business making dresses instead of strutting down catwalks wearing them and, as they say, the rest is fashion history.

That all said, if ever there was a fighter, someone who worked their asses off for what they wanted, it was Pam. It was also a quality she valued in others and spotted easily. It was the reason she hired me. She thought I had it in me, the natural born ability to fight for what I wanted, what I believed in, what I knew was mine. It's why I was given the opportunity to intern in her bridal department. It was also why she became disappointed to find out I was allowing life lead me down the wrong path without kicking and screaming the entire way that I wanted to take another route. So she sat me down for my Come to Jesus Moment and pried my eyes open with pliers and toothpicks. She made me see how wrong Preston was for me but, more importantly, she made me realize how selfish I was being for letting him believe I was in it for the same reasons he was.

He deserved someone who was madly in love with him. Someone who'd be so excited about being his fiancée that she'd send a mass text to everyone she knew and hop onto every social media account she had and announce to the world that she was marrying the man of her dreams the second her tears of joy dried. She'd be thrilled, over the moon, at receiving the ten carat sapphire engagement ring. She wouldn't be able to contain her euphoria or wait to show everyone how gorgeous the ring was. She wouldn't be breaking out in hives at the mere thought of their wedding.

She wouldn't be me.

So I broke up with Preston the next day. I debated over doing it over dinner in public so he couldn't make a scene or doing it in private to give him his right to beg, plead, and the angry tirade that was sure to follow when I stood my ground.

After a sleepless night and much lamenting, I decided I owed him at least the right to express his feelings after I so ruthlessly stomped on his heart. So after work, I bought groceries and went over to his place to cook us our final dinner together. Then I proceeded to rip his heart out.

I should've known better. Afterall, he was Portia Pardloe's son.

Instead of answering Eric, I lifted the shot of tequila to my lips threw it back and slammed the empty glass on the counter. The new bartender, Liam, hurried over and refilled my glass even though there was a double stacked line of customers surrounding the bar. Chow and Longshadow, the other bartenders working tonight, side eyed the fuck out of the new guy. When Chow caught me staring, he winked and tossed the shaker behind his back and up over his head, catching it easily with his other hand. I dutifully clapped and he inclined his head before pouring the contents of the shaker into a glass for a customer.

Ah, the benefits of being friends with the owner. Not only did I get my drinks before everyone else, I never had to wait on lines anymore and was on a first name basis with all of his employees. And that was saying a lot since dude owned about half a dozen bars, was part owner of a nightclub and had more people working for him than I had shoes.

I tilted my head to the side and looked at Eric. Even though he had to have been loaded out the ass with money, he worked on rotation at all of his bars. He wasn't tending bar tonight though, so he wasn't wearing his usual button down shirt and dress pants work gear. Nope, he took the night off to commiserate with me over my newly minted status as Single and had on a leather jacket, white tee, jeans, and motorcycle boots. He was also, I noticed, surrounded by women as usual. And, as usual when around me, Jade, and any of my other female friends he happened to find himself hanging out with on any given weekend, he ignored everything female but us when we were together.

Eric was great that way; making you feel like you were the only person in the room he wanted to spend time with.

Too bad for the women surrounding him that he didn't do relationships.

At that thought, I snorted. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"

Preoccupied with staring at something on my shirt, his eyes lifted to mine and he asked oh so brightly, "Huh?"

I gestured between us. "The two of us. We're fucking hilarious, that's what we are, what with our commitment issues and fear of anything even semi permanent."

He shrugged. He was used to the crazy random shit I spewed by now. "Gave it a try. Not your fault shit didn't work out."

"Maybe we're destined to be alone forever." I sighed.

"Or maybe we're just biding our time, waiting for the right one."

I looked at him doubtfully. "You think so?"

He chucked me under the chin and replied, "Know so. Now cheer up, I got good news."

Doing a hop and pull with my stool, I wiggled my way closer to him and nudged him with my shoulder. "Sharing is caring, now spill."

"Think I found the one."

I gasped and jumped up to hug him. "Congratulations!"

Seeing as he was still seated and I was standing in my four inch heels, his head landed right above my cleavage. He looked down, then back up at me with a dopey grin, and said, "Should tell you good news every time I see you if it means getting a face full of ti-"

I slapped at his head and disengaged his arms that somehow ended up around my waist. "Down boy!"

Giving me an unrepentant smile, he shrugged and said, "Wanna meet her?"

"Duh!" I replied, and gave him the accompanying 'what the hell do you think?' face.

"Pick you up at eight tomorrow night."

Now wearing my happy pants, I did a little dance on the stool and shouted, "Surprise me, Chow! I'm feeling wild tonight!"

Eric shook his head once at Chow, grabbed my hand and pulled me off the stool. Then he lifted a chin at Longshadow who then grabbed a motorcycle helmet from somewhere behind the bar and passed it to Eric.

Chow nodded at his boss and gave me an apologetic little wave before returning to the sea of customers surrounding him.

I dragged my feet, all the while grumbling, "But I was just getting started..."

"It's two. Got work in the morning." He said, leading me out of the bar to where his custom, all black and built for a giant, MV Agusta F4 RR aka the world's sexiest motorcycle ever made, was parked. I knew all this because I was with him when he ordered the customizations at Tray's shop last month.

Tray, Jade's man after he cleared up the colossal fuck up that was Phone Gate, it turned out, owned a chain of auto customization shops around the country. He was being completely modest when he told Jade that he owned a car garage. He was also completely and utterly head over heels for my girl. Apparently, he had an emergency at his shop in Cali and had to rush there right after he dropped her off that morning. In his mad dash to make the next available flight, he left his cell in his car which was coincidentally parked in JFK's lot for the following week and a half. But he called her the second he got back and they've been going strong ever since.

I groaned. "Don't remind me. Fuck, I'm only gonna get about three hours of sleep."

Ever the gentleman, Eric slipped his helmet over my head then shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It was still warm and, even with the helmet on though the visor was up, I could still smell the leather and traces of the cologne he was wearing. Something about those two scents mingling together sent a flutter in my belly but I chocked it up to nerves about riding.

"You're gonna freeze in a tee." I said, looking up at him.

His hands reached for the jacket's zipper as he replied, "Don't worry about it."

I grabbed his hands, halting his progress. "I'm serious. I'm already wearing a cardigan and besides, your ginormous body'll block all the wind anyway."

Eric shook my hands off and finished zipping me up. "Leather's for safety. We crash, you'll keep your skin." Then he looked down at my legs and added, "Most of it, anyway."

My eyes widened, then I made something akin to an, "Eek," sound and debated on whether or not this was something I was willing to risk. Then I thought, 'Miss an opportunity to ride on the back of a hot guy's motorcycle? What am I stupid?' And slipped my arms easily through the armholes and into the leather sleeves even though the jacket was zipped up to my chin. The sleeves were about a foot too long and the jacket fit me like a dress.

Eric swung a long ass leg over the bike and straddled the seat. When I didn't move, he turned and cast me an impatient look. I nibbled my lip and studied the bike, unsure of where to sit since his ass was already firmly planted on the only seat on the beautiful beast.

I looked at the bike, then back up at him. Then back at the bike, then back at him. "Umm... How do I.. Where do I..."

"You've never ridden before?"

I shook my head.

A devilish glint appeared in his eyes as a grin spread across his face. Then, ass still in his seat, he turned his upper body sideways, grabbed me around the waist and lifted me effortlessly onto the back of the bike. I looked down and saw I was sitting on a leather pad. It was behind him, on the edge of the bike and was what I assumed to be literally, the edge of the bike. The cushioned leather under my ass said otherwise.

"Hang on," was the last thing I heard before the engine roared and we shot out into the street.

Grabbing onto him for dear life, I let out an embarrassingly girly screech then braved falling to my death when I lifted my right arm and punched him in his side when I felt more than heard, his body rumble with laughter.

Five blocks later, I finally calmed down enough to enjoy the ride. Exhilarating didn't even begin to describe it. We flew through the streets and everything, and I mean everything, seemed to melt away but the feel of the bike's purr beneath me, the flashing lights of my beautiful city surrounding me, and the complete trust I had for and safety provided me by the man whose back I was plastered to and leaning against. The freedom and thrill of riding was truly insurmountable and to share it with someone was such an intimate experience. It was as if the two of you were in on a secret or joke that no one else knew about and would never understand unless they were right there with you when it happened. Because it wouldn't be the same even if you tried recreating the moment with them; there could only be that one moment. Each experience thereafter would consequently be different, fraudulent, regardless if the same routes were taken or if somehow the same exact people, cars, etc, happened to appear at the same exact spots because each experience was unique unto itself due to the emotions it elicited while riding and therefore could never be duplicated. This was, quite simply, a once in a lifetime experience and I was grateful to Eric for sharing it with me.

Before I knew it, we were outside my house. We stayed as we were, him leaning forward, me wrapped around his back, unmoving. Neither of us seemed to want to move for fear of breaking the spell that was cast during our ride to Brooklyn.

In the end, Eric was the one who brought us back to reality. "It's late."

I nodded but otherwise refused to budge.

He lifted his hands from the handlebars and reached down to squeeze mine that were still on his muscled stomach. "You gotta be up in a few hours."

Sighing, I gave his stomach a squeeze, then pulled on my big girl panties and climbed off the bike with Eric's help. After giving him back his helmet and jacket - the jacket he wore immediately after I handed it back to him, the helmet he held onto - I leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Thanks Eric, tonight... Tonight was amazing and just what I needed to get over my shit."

He nodded knowingly, "Don't worry about it."

Of course he understood, he got to ride that beautiful beast whenever he felt like it. With one last longing look at the bike, I waved to Eric then turned and made my way quietly up my porch. I fumbled for my keys, found them, unlocked the door and went inside. The second the door closed shut behind me, the Beautiful Beast's engine roared to life and she, and her awesome daddy, took off for their place back in the city.

"Until next time, BB." I whispered, to no one.

A/N: sorry for the hiatus and filleresque update! I'm alive and in good health (knock on wood), but have been busy as a hooker on nickel Wednesdays. My son finally grew out of his boring worm stage where all he did was sleep and well, wiggle around blindly like a worm all day. Unfortunately, that means he's also a handfuckingfull now that he's mobile and I have no free time to myself to shower, shit, and hell, comb my hair or tweeze my eyebrows, nonetheless write between taking care of him and making sure wild animals (our two Yorkshire terriers) aren't tearing our house apart, our home isn't burning to the ground (cooking) or violating any safety or health codes (cleaning). The chapters will come, just at a much slower pace than you're used to from me. I can't make any promises, but one thing I'm fairly certain of is there will be at least two updates per month since I managed to finish this one (although it isn't really meaty) and a quarter of the next URM in approximately a week.

Thank you for your patience and continued loyalty/support for this fic!

also, the ladies over at youwantbloodawards dot wordpress .com are hosting a contest for SVM/TB fanfic. Yours truly has been nominated for two categories (best newbie and best pairing for the Pam and Corbett of my other story, Not Exactly Dead) and would be oh so very grateful if you somehow happened to wander over there and, oh I don't know, checked the box next to my name and clicked enter. :D shameless, I know. If you feel another writer is more deserving then please, feel free to vote for them. I know our fandom is lucky to have so many talented writers and I honestly am glad and surprised to have been nominated at all. that said, go check out the contest, there's a compilation of nominees and links to their awesome stories. I've begun reading a new fic thanks to that list as well, so maybe you'll find something there too :)

p.s. Bree, girl, I only recognized about half of the celebrities on your list but the ones I do know, I love! Charlize as Pam is an interesting choice. Before the show I pictured Pam as Amanda Seyfried but after TB, Kristen is all I'm seeing. She's 47 in URM so I'm interested to hear who you'd cast. :)