Chapter 52
Logan took a circuitous route to the registry office and Hana felt his gaze on her as she fidgeted in the passenger seat. Desperation and anticipation vied in her mind. “There’s nowhere to park,” Logan announced as he circled the court building for the third time. “I’ll drive to the multi-storey and we’ll walk.”
Hana paled. “But what if those men see us?” Her green eyes widened in fear.
“Then I’ll give them a slap they won’t forget,” Logan growled. “But I’m still marrying you.”
The sound of the V8 engines raced around the streets, the vibrations shaking the pavement. Hamilton heaved with visitors and Logan dodged families and petrol-heads as he led Hana towards the office. Her heels clicked a staccato beat against the pavement, his stride too long for her to match. She tugged on his arm and halted, pitching forward as he missed the distress cue. “What’s wrong?” His head whipped around and his chest muscles tensed.
“Too fast,” Hana gasped. “I can’t run in these.”
“Sorry.” Logan returned for her and gathered her elbow under his palm, offering a slower pace and more support. People parted and stared at their strange attire, dressed for a posh dinner on a Friday morning. Logan ignored their interest but Hana found it harder.
The wide colonial steps curved upwards in Hana’s vision and she puffed towards them, ready to tackle the final hurdle. Logan halted with such suddenness; she spun around and crashed into his chest. “What?” Panic flashed across her face.
“Wait here,” he commanded. He dropped her hand and called over his shoulder, “I’ll be back I promise.” Leaping down the steps, he disappeared around the corner into Hood Street. Dread and terror rose into Hana’s throat like acid. She looked at her borrowed dress and her fluttering fingers sought a coil of red hair as a reflex.
“He wouldn’t,” she hissed. “He wouldn’t leave me here.” She blew through pursed lips, tasting the expensive lipstick she seldom used. Her heart pitched into free-fall and nausea made her want to sit on the steps and await the ridicule of the town. Her car and house keys nestled in Logan’s pocket. She couldn’t get escape without money and keys.
Hana became acutely aware of cars moving along the road and people hurrying past. Some glanced at her as she stood paralysed on the steps, stunningly overdressed for humiliation. Panic blurred her vision and she fought for focus, settling on a lone figure across the street who mirrored her own stillness. Anka.
Hana’s eyes filled with tears. She raised her hand to wave and changed it to a frantic beckoning motion. Her heart lifted and desperation flooded through her. Anka would know what to do. But Anka shook her head. She pressed her lips to her palm and blew a kiss to Hana, sending it across the distance with a tinge of sadness and regret. Hana saw the glistening of tears on her cheek and panicked, negotiating the steps in her heels with difficulty. “Don’t go!” she shouted, her voice carried upwards on the breeze and flung away without effect. “Anka!” The name sounded strangled on her lips and Hana glanced at her growing and curious audience.
“Hana?” Logan’s eyes stared up at her, his brow creased with concern. He followed Hana’s gaze and let out a sigh, seeing nothing. “You ready?” he asked, his tone flat and his expression showing he expected trouble. An elderly man stood behind Logan, one arm reaching up to clasp his shoulder. An old woman behind them carried a cup and saucer bearing the logo of a local cafe.
Hana nodded and stared at the newcomers. “Yes.”
Logan edged closer and the man followed, shuffling forwards in line. “Were you leaving?” he whispered.
“No, no. I promise I wasn’t.” Hana heaved a sigh. “I thought you left me here and maybe it was a cruel joke.”
Logan cocked his head. “Really, Hana? Are you kidding me? I just forgot the bloody witnesses!” He jerked his head towards the old people at his heel. “This is Bill and Esme Wilson. They said they’d do it.”
“Love to, but can we be quick? Our bus leaves soon and my coffee is going cold.” Esme grinned at Hana and her false teeth ground between her lips.
“Yep, let’s do this,” Logan said, relief colouring his olive cheeks. He held onto Bill as they began the arduous journey up the endless stairs to the courthouse and Hana clutched Esme’s arm.
The ceremony happened at speed. It left Hana with a headache. The legal marriage of Logan Henri Jackson Du Rose and Hana Elizabeth Johal took only moments, punctuated at intervals by the antics of their witnesses.
“I thought we’d been kidnapped,” Bill said, his voice echoing in the open space. “Did you, woman? He just grabbed us, didn’t he?”
“Shush, Bill,” Esme retorted, sending a plume of spit caused by her ill-fitting teeth. “They’re getting married. They just met.”
“Oh. Nice. Is there food?” Bill shared a phlegmy cough and Esme banged him on the back like Hana’s mother once pounded the hall rug over the washing line.
“Oh, I dropped my cup,” Esme announced as her crockery clattered against the tiled floor. “It’s a little chip. They won’t notice.” She retrieved it with difficulty from beneath Bill’s chair.
The registrar eyed Logan’s nervous smirk and raised an eyebrow. “Your witnesses must be of sound mind,” he stated, halting the proceedings.
Logan swallowed and glanced at Esme’s rounded bottom exiting the row of seats backwards. “They’re fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Can we keep going, please?”
“I’ve got another wedding in ten minutes,” the man replied, narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. “Let’s press on. Rings?”
Logan slipped Hana’s ring onto her finger but his proved harder. He winced as she shoved it over his knuckle, getting it stuck midway. Hana grunted as she tried twisting it. “Should’ve got one with a screw thread,” she muttered and Logan snorted, the sound loud and jarring in the silent room.
Another chesty cough from Bill, accompanied by an unmistakable fart from Esme made Hana’s eyes water. She fought to hold in her rising giggles and missed everything else the registrar said. She jumped as Logan leaned in to kiss her and almost hit him in the face. “Esme sounds like a whoopee cushion,” she sniggered against his lips.
“Young man, we’ve missed our bus,” Esme informed Logan as he guided her to sign the legal document.
“I’ll take you home,” he promised. Hana raised her eyebrows.
“Unless they’re on a day trip from Auckland,” she muttered.
Logan snorted and helped Bill into a seat in front of the document. The registrar looked at his watch and tapped his foot. “What do you think, Esme?” Bill demanded, holding the fountain pen in his hand. “Shall I say we had a nice time? The room’s a bit shit. We asked for a sea view.”
Hana gasped and shot a look at the registrar. To her relief he concentrated on another party hovering around the door. She leaned close to Bill’s ear. “Just sign your name,” she hissed. “In your best handwriting.”
“Right,” he grunted and poured over the document like a child doing its first attempt at joined up writing. He looked pleased with the finished product and blew at the ink.
The registrar checked the old folks’ identification again and raised an eyebrow as Bill attempted to raise himself from the chair. “Lovely service, vicar,” the old man commented as Hana hauled him upright and almost pitched over backwards under his weight.
“Mr and Mrs Wilson!” The shocked shriek made them all start as a middle-aged woman pushed past the eager audience at the door and ran towards them. “We almost called the police,” she panted, shoving past the registrar and giving Logan a filthy look. “The bus is about to leave! What are you doing?”
“Having fun,” Bill remarked and whacked the woman on the shin with his stick as she lurched for Esme’s arm. “Bugger off.”
“I’ll formalise the document on Monday and post out your marriage certificate,” the registrar said, pointing towards the door.
“Thanks.” Logan swallowed and looked at the elder
ly couple as they resisted the woman’s attempts to corral them. “We should leave,” he said in his best schoolteacher’s voice.
Bill, Esme and their escort left the room, the action made more difficult by the new wedding party that wouldn’t let them through. A bride in a Pavlova dress clung to the arm of a skinny man in top hat and tails. The registrar followed close on their heels and announced to the new group, “Right, we’re ready now.” The resulting surge acted like a plughole, threatening to suck Hana and Logan back in. Hana arrived panting on the front steps and Logan’s shirt tails hung out of his trousers.
Hana snorted. “Did someone grope you?”
He rolled his eyes and checked his pockets. “Wallet is still here, so probably.”
Hana turned and cast around. “What happened to the old people?”
“I think they got swept back in.” He bit his lip to hide the bubbling laugh in his chest. “Sorry. What a disaster.”
“No, I loved it.” Hana’s eyes shone and she rested her palms against his chest. “I think the witnesses might’ve been senile though.”
Logan winced. “They seemed keen when I asked them. But thinking about it, the group looked large and I’m willing to concede I might’ve gate crashed a residential home outing.”
Hana snorted and Logan wrapped his arms around her waist. “Maybe it’s a good omen,” he sighed. “Laughter from the start.” He kissed her forehead and she sighed with relief.
“I hope so,” she replied.
Retrieving the Honda from the multi-storey, Logan drove north and stopped outside a mock English pub called The Dog and Duck. Once he put on the handbrake and turned off the engine, he leaned his head back against the seat. His hand reached across for Hana’s and she curled her fingers around it. “Hungry?” he asked. He jerked his head towards the pub. “I thought you might fancy an English breakfast.”
She smiled. “You’re funny. I don’t care where we go as long as I get to keep this feeling of happiness.”
Logan leaned across the handbrake and took Hana in his arms. He examined the ring on her left hand and kissed it. “I said when I saw the ring on your finger and got to kiss my bride, I’d feel better.” His soft lips covered hers.
“Do you?” she asked, her expression soft.
Logan nodded, the action slow. “Yeah.” His fingers dug into the back of her hair and he rested his forehead against hers.
“We can go straight home if you like.” Her eyelashes fluttered, tempting him to forget everything and Logan bit his lower lip.
“Let’s eat first,” he said with a smile. “I’ll need my strength.”
Their bizarre wedding breakfast comprised fish and chips in a basket. They ate, dressed to the nines amongst a clientele of men with beer bellies and a gaggle of school mums. Logan smiled and took Hana’s hand in both of his, admiring her matching wedding band. “How does it feel to be Mrs Du Rose?”
Hana’s eyes sparkled. “I’m not quite yet,” she whispered with mischief. “But you’ve eaten like a horse so why don’t we go home and seal the deal?”
“You sure?” His kiss captured the last of her lipstick.
“It’s a little late if I’m not.” Hana’s confidence faltered and Logan wrinkled his nose and squeezed her hand.
“Stop thinking about the stretch marks,” he whispered.
Hana gaped in surprise and then forced her face into a blank slate. The nerves came and went and the consummation of their marriage hung before her like a dark cloud. Anticipation and terror vied for prominence.
Logan paid and they left, Hana’s heels clicking against the gravel car park. When he didn’t turn off over the Waipa bridge, Hana panicked. “Logan, where are we going?”
“I’m taking you away for the night,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the road.
Hana fidgeted in her seat. “But what about Tiger? I don’t have a change of clothes!”
Logan ignored her protests. “Trust me,” he demanded, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time in their marriage he’d ask her to do that. He sighed. “I want you to myself, Hana, at least for one night.”
After half an hour, they pulled off the main state highway and passed Rangiriri Pa. The bush rose up to meet them either side and Logan took the narrow roads with confidence and familiarity. “Where are we going?” Hana asked, her fingers writhing in her lap. Logan rested his hand over them and stopped their movement, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head.
“Wait and see,” he said. “Somewhere peaceful.”
The Rangiriri Hotel and Golf Club sign made Hana gulp in fear as Logan turned down the long driveway. Cherry blossom trees waved either side and he swung into a parking space next to Mercedes Benz and Audi convertibles. Hana swallowed. “Logan, this is way too posh for me.” She looked at Anka’s loaned dress and felt her nerve fail.
“Don’t talk crazy, wahine,” he said, hunkering down next to her side of the car. Gravel shifted under his cowboy boots and a stiff breeze attacked his hair.
“But it must’ve cost a fortune,” Hana hissed, watching as men in shorts pushed golf trolleys past the car. “I can’t play golf.”
Logan snorted. “You don’t have to. I’m friends with the owner and rented a suite. Come on.” He leaned across to unfasten her seatbelt and smirked as she fought him.
Hana stood at the plush bar and let Logan order her a merlot. He clinked her glass with his whiskey on the rocks. “Happy wedding day, Mrs Du Rose,” he said with a grin. “Do you want to eat in the restaurant or see the room?”
Hana’s gaze darted around, clutching the stem of her glass so tightly, Logan removed it from her hand lest she snap it in two. He smiled. “Room it is then.” His smile faltered as Hana gave him a look of pure terror.
The ride upstairs in the lift seemed endless and Hana counted the squares in the carpet detail. Logan carried their drinks and chewed his bottom lip. He used a key card to access the room at the end of a long corridor and Hana gasped at the opulence in front of her. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “How do you know the owner?”
“I grew up with him,” he said, nudging her forward. “They don’t have a honeymoon suite but this is as executive as it gets. Do you like it?”
Hana exhaled and stroked the side of the large spa bath. The bed looked big enough to sleep twelve. “You have rich friends,” she said and Logan wiped the look of guilt from his face in an instant. He told her the truth but played it down to avoid revealing all his secrets in one drop.
“I earned a good income in London.” He put the drinks on the bedside table and loosened his top button. “When I came back, my friend approached me for an investment so he could take over his father’s golf club. I gave him financial advice and helped him set up the hotel. We have a different clientele, so he refers conference stuff to our hotel in the mountains and our guests get discount on a day pass to play golf.”
“How far is your hotel from here?” Hana asked, watching through the floor to ceiling window as two old men teed off towards the ninth green. One leaned on his trolley until the very last minute before launching his ball onto the fairway. He looked too shaky to swing the club but his aim went true.
“Just over half an hour.” Logan kicked off his cowboy boots and lay back on the bed, his left hand picking at the thumbnail of his right. “Hana.” His voice wavered as an uncharacteristic nervousness consumed him. “We don’t have to do anything. It’s not compulsory.”
Hana turned from the window with a giant exhale. “It kinda is.” Her gaze settled on an overnight bag next to an ornate oak wardrobe. “Is that our stuff?”
“Yeah.” Logan sat up using his stomach muscles and ran a shaking hand through his hair.
Hana gasped. “You poked through my knicker drawer?”
Logan snorted. “I did. You keep some crap in there. Till receipts, soap, nail polish. I struggled to find any undies.”
Hana stared at the ceiling and blushed pink to the roots of her hair. “I can’t believe you did that. Wh
at about my makeup bag? I bet it’s still at home, isn’t it? I’ll wake up tomorrow morning so pale you’ll think I’m dead.
Logan jerked his head towards the bag. “It’s all in there, Hana. I told you to trust me.”
Hana cocked her head. “You say that a lot. It makes me worry more.”
Logan wrinkled his nose and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Do you want to go to the restaurant for food?”
“No.” Hana caught sight of the fear and apprehension in his face and pitied him. She walked towards him, placing her feet like a dancer and causing her dress to shimmy around her thighs. Logan swallowed as she got closer and opened his mouth to speak. “Say nothing,” she whispered. “Just love me.” She attacked the stiff buttons with trembling fingers and straddled his thighs. As each gap widened in his shirt, she leaned forward and kissed the dusky, olive skin it revealed. Logan’s legs shook beneath her and she sensed twenty-six years of hope and failure weighing him down. When she trespassed into unknown territory, exploring further than propriety ever allowed before, she felt him give in and let arousal master fear.
He flipped her onto her back while his shirt gaped open, revealing a muscular chest with a dusting of dark hair across his pectorals. Freeing himself from the clinging white material, he cast it on the floor without care. Hana gazed into eyes the colour of grit, attraction making Logan’s pupils flare against his irises. “I love you, Hana Du Rose,” he whispered, pulling down the zipper on the side of her dress.
Hana’s brazenness astounded her. Logan’s adoration gave her confidence and she felt beautiful in his arms. She hardly recognised the teasing, sensual personality who took over her body. Most of all, she had fun.
They emerged from the bedroom hours later, catching the end of dinner service and eating as though starved. In the space of a day, their relationship grew and Hana’s toes massaged Logan’s shin beneath the table.
The next morning, after a breakfast delivered by room service, they lay entwined in the massive bed and Hana faced the prospect of returning home. A cloud of danger hung over Hamilton and dulled the shine of her illicit weekend. She rested her head on her husband’s downy chest while his fingers traced the outline of her shoulder. “I don’t want to go home,” she whispered and snuggled closer.
“I know.” Logan sighed and chewed the inside of his cheek, stopping himself before he drew blood. “I don’t wanna either.”
“What about the cat though?” Hana half sat up, the white sheets slithering down her body and revealing part of a breast. “He’s cooped up in the house. He’ll get up to mischief.”
“No, he won’t. Trust me, I’ve sorted it,” Logan reassured her, distracting her again with his kisses. His eyes danced and sparkled as he caught up on twenty-six wasted years and worked hard to learn every single freckle and beauty spot on his new wife’s body.
“You do say ‘trust me’ a lot,” Hana commented as she lay beneath him, a carpet of auburn hair covering the pillow. “Should I be worried?”
“Definitely.” Logan pulled her close. Hana traced a vein along his large bicep and followed it with a kiss.
“Sounds dangerous,” she whispered, her eyes teasing. Logan laughed and pressed his lips to hers. He rolled, so she lay on top of him and wrapped his fingers in her beautiful hair.
Getting dressed proved difficult as every item Hana donned; Logan worked hard to remove. “Wear the green dress and do your hair the same as yesterday,” he encouraged, kissing a spot on her neck which he discovered he liked.
“I’ve got my jeans on twice so far!” Hana complained. “That poor dress won’t cope with your savagery. I can’t spend another day clacking around in those shoes.” Hana giggled as Logan’s strong arms caged her from behind. She jerked her head towards the green dress lying on the carpet. “Look, it’s creased.”
“There’s no savagery!” Logan sounded hurt. “I’m making sure you know you’re married. Do you feel like Mrs Du Rose yet?”
“If not being able to walk is part of the criteria, then yes.” Hana turned to him, naked but for the dress dangling from her fingers. “Why can’t I wear my jeans?”
“Please?” Logan kissed her neck again and Hana shivered. “I’m taking you somewhere special this evening and you’ll want to look good.”
Hana’s eyes dulled. “Don’t I look good in jeans?”
Logan raised an eyebrow in reprimand. “You know you do, Hana. Just wear the dress, wahine.” He showered and dressed in the shirt and slacks, adding a suit jacket and tie to the ensemble. Hana went along with it and they ate at the golf club restaurant, standing out against the seasoned golfers in their chequered leggings and Fair Isle pullovers.
Logan carried the bag to the car mid-afternoon and took Hana for a walk around the grounds. Native gardens screened them from the wind and they meandered through the plantings following a winding gravel path. “It’s a shame you sold Vik’s old golf clubs. You could have used them here. Pete let slip you have an impressive handicap.”
Logan looked away and pursed his lips. “Pete’s got a big mouth,” he said, his answer biting.
Hana sat on a bench and watched his face, increased intimacy making him easier to read. “You didn’t sell them, did you?” she asked. He licked his lips and looked away. “They’re still in the garage at the Gordonton house, aren’t they?”
Logan shrugged. “Might be.”
“Oh, Logan.” Hana shook her head. “Why?”
He sighed. “I wanted to help you. I paid what I thought they were worth. Do you want them back?”
“No.” Her own certainty surprised her. “And I’m sorry for mentioning my dead husband on our honeymoon.”
Logan sat next to her and kissed her temple. “We’ve both had a previous life, Hana. It’s bound to invade sometimes.” He winked at her. “Don’t do it again.”
“Deal.” She squeezed his hand with gratitude.
At six o’clock, after a sumptuous afternoon tea, Hana climbed into the Honda and prepared to go wherever Logan took her. She realised that trusting him got easier the more she did it. Her acquiescence dispersed like a popped bubble as she recognised a landmark and sat up straight. A fearful knot grew in her chest, making breathing difficult and she squirmed in the passenger seat. “Logan,” she said, her voice shaky. “Logan, I don’t want to do this.”
As they pulled onto the bumpy track, sickness added itself to the mix, curdling the beautiful afternoon tea with its sweet, triangular sandwiches. The wide sandstone house rolled into view and Hana’s chin trembled. “This isn’t fair!” Her voice sounded strangled. “Please, Logan, not yet.”
“Don’t be daft,” he soothed, riling her further with the empty platitude.
“I’ll get out!” she said, grabbing hold of the door handle as they rounded a dangerous bend.
Logan leaned across and rested his hand over Hana’s trembling fingers, not letting go as she writhed against it. “That would be dumb,” he said, his voice level.
Hana twisted the new wedding ring round and round her finger and thought of ways to escape. “I won’t get out,” she snapped, all trace of the confident, sensual temptress gone. “We said we wouldn’t do this. They’ll hate me.”
“No, they won’t.” Too soon the Honda swung around the driveway and pulled up in front of the staircase. The front doors of the hotel stood open and moths fluttered around the exterior lamps. The car park looked jammed and the building carried an air of buzzing anticipation.
“Don’t make me do this,” Hana begged as Logan got out of the car. He opened her door and leaned a forearm against the sill above her head. “We’ve had an amazing few days. I don’t want an angry exchange with your parents to ruin it.”
Logan snorted. “I’m not sixteen, Hana,” he said with a laugh. “I can marry whoever I like. And right now that’s you Mrs Du Rose.” He stroked her cheek and pointed at the stilettos in the foot well. “Get your shoes on, babe.”
Hana stalled, taking ages to
get the shoes on and Logan sighed. “You can’t run in them, Hana, so stop contemplating it.”
Hana’s lips dropped open in surprise. “I wasn’t!” she lied. He laughed and raised an eyebrow in denial.
Leading his bride up the steps, Logan felt her pulling against him. He stopped and turned to face her, alarmed to see the glazed look in her eyes. “I can’t do it,” she gasped, clutching her chest. “I can’t do it again.”
“Hey.” Logan stepped down to her level and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her tremble beneath his hands. “I get it, Hana,” he breathed, his tone calming. “I didn’t but I do now.” He lifted her chin with his index finger. “But you’re not eighteen and about to face the wrath of angry family members. Nobody hates you and nobody will. You’re beautiful and amazing and I’m proud to call you my wife.”
Hana bent double as a sob caught in her throat. Terror got the better of her and the Indian women in her mind pointed and whispered at her large, shameful belly. Logan pushed his fingers into her hair and dragged her closer. “Come back to me, wahine. Let go of the past,” he whispered. “You belong to me and I love you.”
His scent comforted her and the softness of his shirt soothed her cheek. Hana struggled to ground herself in the promise of his love. Fear made her bone-tired with its muted whisperings and she sighed in defeat. “I’m scared,” she stammered and Logan stroked her hair, trying hard to avoid the complicated flower thing trapped at the back.
“I know,” he whispered. “But this way is best.” His soothing voice stilled Hana’s panic, but he gasped as he stroked her cheek and felt the wetness of her tears. “Geez, Hana,” he groaned. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you.” He grappled in his pocket and produced the ever-present handkerchief. Hana dabbed at her eyes with shaking fingers. “You amaze me,” he said with a sigh. “You care about how other people feel and it’s what makes you so special. It’s also what makes you vulnerable.” He held her, rubbing her back and letting her calm down enough to listen to him. “It’s just a party Hana. Everyone came to celebrate your birthday early. I thought if we got them here, we could tell them all in one hit. Nobody hates you, Hana. I did this to stop them feeling hurt and because I knew it bothered you. Please, give me a chance?”
Hana paled. “So, it’s more than just your parents?”
After a few seconds of hesitation, Logan moved onto the next step and held out his hand, “Please? Come.”
Hana swallowed and dabbed her eyes again. “Do I look like I’ve been crying?”
Logan sighed at the sound of the inevitable question tender women always asked. Their eyes might resemble oranges, red and puffy, but the dutiful male must deny it. “No, you look fine,” he replied.
Logan exuded mana and authority as he led his new wife up the steps of his family home and into the stunning lobby. He was the chief, the rangatira returning home with his long-awaited bride. Nobody would challenge him again and as he threw his shoulders back and raised his head, he felt the assurance of his ancestors.
Unaware of what she stepped into, Hana’s heels clattered across the floor towards the double doors of the ballroom. Logan pushed them open one-handed and Hana took a huge breath inward, gulping for air as though it might be her last.
I hope you enjoyed About Hana. Here is a sample of the second book in the series.
Hana Du Rose