Page 164 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

Daddy lowers me onto my heels. He takes my left hand, twines our fingers together, raises our linked hands, and presses a kiss to my knuckle just above our rings. Then he lifts our joined hands into the air.

Everyone cheers and from the back of the room, the skydiving Elvi launch into “All Shook Up.”

With the Elvi singing our recessional, Daddy leads me back down the aisle. I wave like a crazy lady at everyone, much too happy to wave like a queen.

Daddy’s little wife.

Our reception’s at A Golden Affair. I hadn’t heard of it until I realized we were going to have an absurd number of guests at our “elopement” in Vegas and began researching venues. As soon as I saw the pictures: all pale wood, high ceilings, white drapes, and soft lighting, with huge windows looking out in the sere, folded landscape of Red Rocks National Park, I knew it was what we wanted. There’s a dance floor, a dining area separatedby a low wall, the buffet screening the kitchen, and two bars at either end of the open-plan building.

Daddy commandeered arranging the music, which means we’ll be dancing to Eighties tunes. Master Javier claimed the catering was his wedding gift to us. Knowing what Master Javier’s like when he’s thwarted, I gave way and just asked for some nice herbal teas to be available along with everything else. Of course, that was before Master Javier somehow became qualified as an officiant in Nevada and took over the ceremony. I should have known he was up to something when I saw him lurking in the Blunts’ library all autumn. He pretended it was his new favorite place for scenes and made Cappa serve as his footrest for hours on end while he read. I should have known, though. Master Javier really isn’t as devious as he thinks he is.

My only sadness is that Cappa’s not here to see the outcome of all those back-breaking hours.

The venue’s as serene and beautiful as I imagined. They’ve strung fairy lights along the edges of the tables and along the exposed beams in the ceiling. Runners of the palest pink, rich with gold embroidery, drape the ten tables: Niall, Shaan, and Vashi’s contribution. White pillar candles flicker on each table, adding to the warm, sunset glow off the desert beyond the huge windows. The centerpieces are white and gold paper flower bouquets, grouped around a Little Larry.

We’ve all been back to the Excalibur to change. True’s stayed at the hotel with Livvy, who she’s babysitting tonight, under the supervision of her foster-mother. Although the venue is vanilla, Master Javier reassured me he’d hired kink-friendly servers and everyone could wear what they liked. The skydiving Elvi have been intrigued enough to stick around for the reception. It’s a free meal and an open bar which probably does a lot to assuage any prudery; more than that, I get the sense that those who cater to tourists in Vegas have pretty much seen it all. The Elvi’swhite jumpsuits mix with Yummy’s dragon onesie, Georgie’s fursuit, Cynnie’s adorable round bee outfit, and leather in every color. They don’t seem shocked. Everyone mingles, talking and laughing together.

I expect fussy French food; it’s Master Javier after all. But he surprises me by serving a feast to delight any little. Lobster Mac and cheese balls. Tiny hamburger sliders with a quinoa alternative that has me clapping my hands when I see them. Pizza rolls. Regular and sweet potato fries arranged in boxes like crayons. Triangular pastry puffs that conceal quiche Lorraine, curried chicken, or egg and cress within their fluffy folds. The caterer has included some western dishes like marinated cactus salad and burnt ends. There’s a healthy cornucopia of fruits and vegetables. But there’s also folded ice cream and sorbet in several flavors, drizzled in fruit coulis or chocolate. At the very end of the buffet, there’s a giant, ice-sculpture clamshell full of shucked oysters so fresh they still smell like the sea. Oysters in the desert. That’s so Master Javier.

I eat a little of everything, even an oyster.

I’m honestly too stuffed to consider another bite by the time they bring out the wedding “cake.” Five different people offered to make our wedding cake but I turned them all down. I really didn’t want a wedding cake. The ones I’ve had have always been dry and nothing could top theBeauty and the Beastcake Sammi and Jack made for our collaring ceremony anyway.

Then Martyn, from the inn where we had our collaring ceremony, RSVPed. When he offered, I changed my mind about the cake. I begged him not to be as extravagant as he was for myAlice in Wonderlandtea party because I wanted him and his little, Piper, to have fun while they were here. He just laughed.

The caterers bring out a round, three-tiered stand. On each level, there are cupcakes. Big cupcakes. Mini cupcakes. Cupcakes frosted with a rainbow of colors. Cupcakes toppedwith macarons. Cupcakes piled with fluffy meringue. Cupcakes dipped in chocolate ganache.

I throw my arms around Martyn and Piper before I find the smallest, lemon meringue cupcake I can and add it to my groaning stomach.

Daddy’s still licking ganache off his lips when he leads me out for our first dance. He’s still in his Dragon-Taming Daddy leathers, although he’s shed the cloak and changed his boots for black shoes he can dance in. His bare arms and shoulders look huge against the black leather. Yum-yum, Daddy.

He pulls me to him, planting one of his wolfy paws on my bottom, squeezing through the silky fabric of my skirt. When Cynnie and I were planning outfits, I told her she had free rein over my dress for the reception. The only thing I wanted was to be able to wear thigh-highs because they drive Daddy so crazy.

Cynnie delivered.

The two-piece outfit is white, silk, and makes me feel even more delicious than Martyn’s cupcakes. The top wraps my shoulders and crosses over my breasts, tying in a huge bow in the small of my back, with ribbons trailing to my knees. There’s a tiny strip of skin exposed across my belly, just enough to give Daddy a flash of my brand. The skirt falls to mid-thigh in the front and to my knees in the back, for best visibility of my sheer white thigh-highs, printed with little pink bows. The skirt has the softest poof; the overlay of white gauze embroidered with butterflies and tiny pink pearls along the hem swirls around me as Daddy spins us to Berlin’s “Take My Breath Away.” I’ve replaced my dragon tiara with fluffy white cat ears. Cynnie added a layer of veil that brushes my shoulders, giving me the best shivers.

Is it possible to feel adorable and elegant at the same time? Because I do.

I know what Daddy and I must look like, him looming over me all in black, me pressed up against him, small and white. It’s a true image because Daddy always has been and always will be my ruthless protector.

But it’s also an illusion. Because a little takes care of her Daddy, too. In finding my forever-Daddy, the Daddy worthy of my love and care, I’ve discovered my inner dragon. She sleeps most of the time, guarding her treasure. But when she rises ...

Hear me roar.

We dance as darkness falls outside the windows to Cyndi Lauper, The Bangles, Lionel Richie, Peter Gabriel, Journey, and Madonna. As the stars glitter over the desert, we dance to Thompson Twins, Spandau Ballet, Bryan Adams, Tears for Fears, and Roberta Flack. All of Daddy’s favorites. We dance until the ache of an overfull stomach is replaced by an ache lower in my belly from being held so close to Daddy’s hard body as we move together.

I could wait. I haven’t talked to everyone. A few people just arrived yesterday and I want to catch up with them, too. Even though we told everyone absolutely no presents, there’s a table of them by the door and we haven’t opened any yet.

But there will be time for those things. If I don’t catch up with people here, I can in New York, because now that Daddy’s made Blunts safe again and so many from our playgroup have joined, we’re there practically every day. And if we don’t open our wedding presents today, someone will bring them to the hotel and we’ll open them tomorrow, probably at the big brunch Maude’s hosting tomorrow at a place called The Hash Hut, which is not a hut at all but does have cool Polynesian theming.

There’s never enough time with my Daddy.

I slide my hands around his neck and tickle the fine hairs there with my fingertips. His groomsmen dragged him off for a Turkish bath and barber the morning after they got him drunk.He was still hungover when he got back but he had a sharp haircut.

“So, Daddy, I’ve been thinking,” I begin.

He looks down at me, his eyes hooded and happy. “What have you been thinking about, my little wife.”

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