Page 37 of Shield and Savior

As soon as I stand, my shoes pinch my toes, and I play the speech in my head as a distraction. Fuck, this dessert better be worth it.

I stumble a little, and Lance grabs my elbow. Even though I’m stable now, he keeps his hand on my arm. Damn, I like the way his skin feels on mine.

The dance floor has a smattering of people as the DJ switches from last summer’s hit to a slower, sweeter song. We’re about half away across the floor when Lance whispers, “Wanna dance?”

“Sure.” His hands wrap around my waist, and my arms hang limp at my sides. What the hell do I do now? Recalling every teenage movie with a prom in it, I throw my arms on his shoulders, kinda slapping them there, like my hands did a belly flop. “Um, I’ve never danced before.”

“Jesus, Izzy, did you do anything?”

I pillage my brain for something. I must have had some sort of normal teenage experience. “I went to Disney World. There’s photo evidence.”

Lance’s lips linger in a straight line before curling up into a tummy-twirling smile. “Doesn’t count, you were an adult. No middle school dances? Homecoming? Proms? Nothing?”

I shake my head. “I even missed most of the quinceañeras.”

“Unacceptable. When we leave, I’ll give you some sort of normal experience.”

“Are you going to knock my books out of my hands and slam me into a locker?”

His face changes. It’s subtle, darker, as he whispers, “I’ll slam you into something if that’s what you want.”

His insinuation mixed with his warm breath makes all the hairs on my neck dance. The blood in my body rushes and blooms on my cheeks and chest, while other parts pool with excitement. “What?”

But the darker, sexier Lance vanishes, and he says, “What?” He’s all light and filled with laughter.

I can’t figure him out. The signals are so mixed, a messy ball of tangled earbud cords trapped at the bottom of my purse would be easier to manage.

Lance guides me away from the dessert bar we’ve managed to sway toward, and, as we move further from my preferred destination, I become acutely aware of my shoes trying to sever my toes. Foot pain is never gradual. I mean, it is sort of. At first, the pain makes its presence known. Like reminding you “Oh by the way, you have a toe.” Stage two is painful but manageable. But out of nowhere the final evolution hits, and I’m all “I will murder a bus full of nuns if I don’t get these shoes off.”

As we approach the bride and groom, they glance at each other. Their eyebrows crease as they once again silently check with each other, still trying to figure out which one invited us. I can see their confusion, but they plaster on super fake smiles and greet us, anyway.

Show time. Here we go. “The Four Families wish you a long and happy future,” I say in my over-rehearsed tone. I pull an envelope from my purse. It’s heavy cardstock with a pretty pink inlay. We have about fifty of them stored in Nonna’s house. “They send their blessing and ask that you please accept this gift on behalf of the Families.”

The bride takes the envelope and glances over at her father, who jumps to his feet and almost takes a header as he rushes toward us. He shakes my hand so hard I’m afraid he’s gonna take a finger off. “We are honored you would attend my daughter’s wedding.”

My toenail feels like it has sliced through the skin of my big toe, and there is a possibility my shoe is filling up with blood. “Of course.”

The message isn’t actually for the bride and groom anyway, so I turn to the father of the bride and lean in closer, whispering for his ears only, “In honor of your years of loyalty, my father is wiping your debt clean.”

It’s seventy grand.

But this wedding was at least six figures. If he had the money for the wedding, he could pay off my dad. This doesn’t sit right with me, but I do my duty.

Lance leans in and shakes the father’s hand. “And when will cake be served?”

The bride’s lips tense into a line. “Oh, there’s no cake.”

WHAT?

No, I didn’t hear that right.

“Huh?” It’s more of a sound than a functional word.

“It’s a granola, yogurt, and fruit bar. You can make your own parfait.”

I whip my head around, and yes, the little plates aren’t éclairs or cookies, like I had given her the benefit of the doubt. It’s a bunch of bowls with nuts and fruit. What the fuck?!?! The pain in my feet spreads to my lower back, which only adds to my rage. “No cake?” Are you fucking kidding me? Did my father know about this when he sent me on this mission?

The bride flutters her eyes like she’s innocent of this crime. “Well, there are vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free, dye-free, chemical-free, and seeded-fruit-free cookies.”

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