Page 9 of The Imp Act

I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t snap at her. “Is there something I should change? Your daughters helped me with my hair and makeup, but maybe I need a touch-up?” I know I don’t. My makeup is as classic as everything else: soft brown eyeshadow that does nothing to enhance the color of my eyes, pink blush, pink lipstick. A touch of mascara. No false lashes, no colors that actually flatter me. Just the shades that my future sisters-in-law promised would pass their mother’s meticulous gaze.

“No,” she says. “I don’t think there’s any more to be done. Get your bouquet and let’s go.”

Mrs. Rossetti loves flowers. Enzo told me they’re her true passion in life, and she went all out with the décor. The hotel is covered in pink roses, peonies, and hydrangeas, like a fluffy, aromatic blush sea. My bouquet, by contrast, is relatively stark. It’s a small nosegay composed of pink rosebuds, tied off with—you guessed it—more pearls.

Color me just shocked that she didn’t give me an extravagant bouquet to match everything else. For a split second, I consider asking whether there’s anything I can do to meet her approval, but just as quickly, I discard the notion. Who cares if this woman likes me? I only have to tolerate her for a year, and even then, only at family events. It’ll be fine.

NOELLE

The ceremony goes smoothly. I don’t trip walking down the aisle, we don’t mess up our vows, and our kiss is chaste and appropriate. Enzo does wink at me when we’re pronounced husband and wife, and I have to suppress a giggle, but otherwise, we’re the picture of elegance.

Now we’re dancing in the grand ballroom, the diamonds on my finger twinkling in the light. The entire thing is utterly surreal.

“How’re you holding up?” Enzo asks as we twirl.

“So far, so good. Though I’ve never seen so many older ladies give me disapproving grimaces.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ah, yes, my mother’s sisters and so-called friends. Ignore them. They’re a bunch of rich old biddies who contribute nothing to society, imp or otherwise.”

I try to feel reassured, but it’s hard when it seems like the majority of our wedding guests dislike me—or at least think their golden boy could have done better. I mean, they aren’t wrong. He probably should have chosen some rich imp girl with a perfect family tree.But he didn’t,I think defiantly.He picked me. And they can all kiss my perky ass.

I remind myself of my new mantra, one I’ll be repeating a lot in the coming months, I’m sure:It’s only for a year. It’s only for a year.

I lean close so I can whisper in Enzo’s ear. “By the way, your mother has a keycard to our suite. Thought you should know.”

He sighs. “Of course she does. I’ll take care of it. She may butt into my life more than I’d like, but no way is she interrupting our literal wedding night.”

After the song ends, Enzo dances with his mother and I dance with Enzo’s uncle, who is standing in as the male head of the family, as Enzo’s father passed away several years ago. Then we eat a literal banquet: salad, a soup that’s mostly a light coconut broth, an entrée that has only two ingredients I recognize (watermelon and fennel), and a berry sorbet. Followed by the enormous lemon-and-vanilla cake covered in frosting flowers that Enzo’s mother chose.

Enzo’s loved ones give speeches that I mostly tune out, I toss my bouquet to the eligible imp ladies, and then wefinallyget to depart. I’ve never been so relieved to see a hotel room.

Enzo calls the front desk to handle the keycard situation, and I retreat to the bathroom. I want nothing more than to shed this costume. I wipe off the makeup, take down my hair, and then carefully remove the shoes and dress. The veil and gown go in their bag, the jewels in their box to be returned to Mrs. Rossetti, and I’m left in my lacy corset, panties, and stockings.

I look fantastic, no lie, and it’s a great look for seducing my new husband. But honestly, after all the food and polite conversation, I just want to collapse in bed. Still, I should probably give him a peek. A little reward for making it through the world’s longest, dullest wedding reception.

At least if I ever get married for real, I’ll know whatnotto do.

I saunter back into the bedroom, where Enzo is sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, his wings tucked back. He’s removed his jacket, rolled up his cuffs, and loosened his bowtie. The undone look suits him.

He glances up at me and gives a low whistle. “Damn, Mrs. Rossetti. Looking fine.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rossetti.”

He grins, looking me up and down. “Tell me what you want right in this minute.”

I cock my head at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to fulfill a fantasy for you.”

“Oh! Um, well…” I trail off, not sure how to tell him I’m not in the mood to get banged.

He shakes his head. “I can see what you’re thinking, but that’s not precisely what I meant. You’ve had quite a day doing me a favor, and now I’m going to give you whatever you want. I’ll order room service, I’ll rub your feet, I’ll peel off that lingerie and ravish you. Your wish is my command.”

I put a hand to my stomach. “No more food, please. I’m already about to burst. The foot rub sounds good, though. And maybe…just cuddling in front of the TV? I know it’s our wedding night, but I’m exhausted. And while I may look like a million bucks, nothing I’m currently wearing falls under the heading of ‘comfortable.’”

He nods. “Me too. That actually sounds perfect.” He stands and begins to strip, revealing scarlet skin and perfect muscles, toned from boxing, of all things. He gets down to his boxer briefs, shoots me a grin, and then shucks them. Then, leaving his chest bare, he pulls on a pair of gray sweats.

Good lord in heaven.

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