by Amy Boyles
I crossed my arms. “No, it isn’t. One means that a secret has been revealed; the other means that something is too late to get in on. In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t think either of those are appropriate sayings. I think the most appropriate saying should be leave right now so that you don’t jinx this wedding any more than you already have.”
“Then you might as well open your eyes,” he said.
Annoyed that he was right because I had already seen him, I slowly cracked one lid. I tried not to faint at the sight of him. His sun-bleached golden locks that usually draped around his face were gone. Not trimmed short. Gone. Roman’s signature shoulder-length hair had vanished overnight. In its place was a cut clipped short at the neck and sides with a slight mop on top. It was totally masculine, totally sexy and completely not what I expected.
My jaw fell. “You cut your hair.”
He nodded sheepishly. “I thought it might be nice for the wedding.”
“Were you just going to have me be shocked into a heart attack when I saw you at the altar?”
Roman ran a hand up the backside of his hair. “I didn’t think you’d be that shocked, but I thought, you know, it would be a good surprise.”
I scoffed. “It’s not a good surprise. It’s simply a surprise. On my wedding day.”
“Is it that bad?”
I held up my palm to stop him. “I didn’t say it looked bad. It doesn’t look bad at all. In fact, it looks amazing. Almost too amazing. You look incredibly hot and sexy, and I can’t wait to run my fingers through it—I shouldn’t have said that out loud, but I can’t believe you did that. On our wedding day. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Roman, I need stability. I need simple, easy things in life, not haircuts.”
“I’ll put that to memory,” he said. His lips coiled into an amused smile. I was pretty sure I was an inch away from my brain cracking.
I pinched my eyes shut and said, “Why are you here?”
“I was trying to find someone to do my tie.”
I ground my teeth and nodded. “Okay. I’m going up the stairs. I will see you at the wedding. I don’t need any more surprises. First the eagles, and now your hair. I’m hoping that’s it and there aren’t any more strange things in store for me.”
I turned back upstairs and paused. I whipped around, crossed to Roman, kissed his cheek and disappeared into my room.
GRANDMA POKED MY RIBS. “You ready for this?”
We stood at the back of the sanctuary. The sanctuary was full to bursting with friends and family. Roman’s father, Richard Bane, whom we called Boo, sat in the audience, as well as Roman’s aunt, Eliza, and her husband, Jonathon Pearbottom.
My extended family and friends filled the left side of the church. Esmerelda Pommelton, Queen Witch of the South, was in attendance, as well as plenty of regular people who didn’t know anything about the witching world.
My heart fluttered as the music queued up and my sisters walked down the aisle. I linked my arm through Grandma’s and said, “I’ll forgive you for the eagles if you promise there aren’t any more surprises in store for me.”
Grandma cleared her throat and raised her nose defiantly. “Dylan, I don’t know what you’re talking about. As far as I’m concerned, there are no surprises in store for you. Now or ever.”
I shifted my bouquet and scratched a spot behind my ear. “That’s good. Because I want the rest of this to go smoothly.”
Grandma clapped me on the back. “Just what I want, too.”
The music hit our note, and I tugged Grandma. “Come on, it’s time.”
I smiled at both sides of attendees, nodding to them as I passed.
“What did Roman do to his hair?” Grandma whispered.
“Don’t talk about it,” I said.
“Oh. He didn’t tell you.”
“Right.”
“That’s a terrible way to start off a marriage,” Grandma said. “Not telling you he’s cutting his hair the day of the wedding.”
I talked through a smile as if I were a professional ventriloquist—or a very crazy angry person. “Let’s not discuss it.”
We reached the preacher. Roman smiled broadly at me. Actually, the haircut was already growing on me. I mean, even Thor had to get a trim every now and then, right? And it’s not as if I was in love with Roman’s hair. It was the man I loved.
Grandma handed me to Roman, who slid his palm into mine. His green eyes were filled with love as his gaze washed over me. A whirlwind twisted my insides. This was it. The first day of the rest of my life.
I was about to become Mrs. Roman Bane.
The preacher started to speak, but I wasn’t paying attention. I was lost in Roman, lost in thoughts of marriage and commitment and what it would mean for me.
And how I was totally committed and ready for it.
In fact, I yearned for it.
My mind drifted lazily to thoughts of the honeymoon and after, when I’d move into his house. Granted, he owned the house right next door, so it wasn’t that large of a move, but it was still a repositioning of furniture from one place to another.
Then after we moved in, the changes we’d do next. I still had my dress shop, but I had thought about opening a private investigation agency for witches. Roman wasn’t crazy about the idea of me working it alone. We were still discussing specifics.
All these thoughts had me wrapped up and tucked so far down the rabbit hole that I barely noticed the whispering.
Until the whispers became murmurs.
My gaze twitched back, over my shoulder.
A tall woman with flowing dark hair stood at the end of the sanctuary. I noted the expensive cut of her dress, the sheer quality of the fabric, the way she pretty much looked like a supermodel. My gaze cut back to Roman.
He was pale as a sheet.
At that moment everything stopped. The preacher paused. The woman cleared her throat.
“This wedding must be stopped,” she said, striding forward. Her heels clicked on the wooden floor. All sound was sucked from the room except for her steps.
The preacher adjusted the spectacles on the tip of his nose.
“Why is that, young woman?”
She lifted a red-painted fingernail at Roman.
“Sheila,” he whispered.
My mind spun. Sheila? There was only one Sheila I knew of, and that Sheila was dead.
“Why must the wedding be stopped?” the preacher asked.
Sheila’s voice trembled. “Because Roman is already married.”
My head started to swim. Flickering candlelight blurred. The robin’s-egg blue of the bridesmaid dresses smeared. I rocked back.
My throat dried. “What do you mean?”
She didn’t answer.
I glanced at Roman. “What is she talking about?”
The heaviness in my head started to take over. I shook it off. No. This was my wedding. My wedding day. No one was going to spoil it.
“Sheila,” Roman whispered again.
Sheila. Years ago, when Roman worked undercover for the witch police, he’d dated a woman named Sheila. Because of Roman’s work on a case, Sheila had wound up dead. Roman had been blamed for her death. To avoid punishment, he’d escaped prison and lived as a wanted man for years, until we were able to clear his name.
So the only Sheila I knew of was a dead woman.
But here she stood, flesh and blood.
The preacher cleared his throat. “Can you explain, young lady, what you mean by ‘this man is already married’?”
Sheila nodded. “What I mean is, he’s married to me.”
Well, that was it for me. Her words obliterated my focus. My head swam and sweat sprinkled my brow. The bouquet slipped from my fingers, rustling to the floor.
Roman turned to me. “Dylan.”
Nothing else bad was supposed to happen. This was my wedding day, darn it! It was supposed to be perfect.
My knees buckled. My dress sounded like paper crumpling as I
collapsed. The last thing I remember was Roman reaching for me as everything went black.
CHAPTER 3
I woke up with a pounding headache. I was still wearing my wedding dress. The stiff boning in the waist constricted my movements.
I slid open one eye. Roman sat in a chair beside the bed. His hands were fisted beneath his chin. His brows were pinched together, and his lips were set into a thin, grim line. The thick, smudgy eyelashes of his that I loved were focused on the floor, and I had a sense of overwhelming pain coming from him.
I let my eyes flutter open. He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring down, obviously trapped in his own thoughts.
My throat was so dry my words came out more like a croak. “I knew I shouldn’t have seen you before the wedding.”
Roman’s gaze flickered to me. He reached out and took my hand. “You feeling all right?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. “Did we get married and I dreamed that your old girlfriend showed up and ruined my wedding? Or did that actually happen?”
Roman rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you want the truth?”
I shook my head. “Never mind. I’ve got my answer.”
I tugged my hand from his and pushed myself up. “Roman, what’s going on?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“She said you’re married. And she’s not dead.”
“I haven’t spoken to her yet.”
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. “What did she mean by you were married?”
Roman sighed.
“Oh crap. It’s true.”
“It’s not what you think.”
I threw my hands into the air. “How can it not be what I think? She said you’re married. When I asked you, you didn’t expressly say, ‘No, Dylan, I’m not married.’ So what am I supposed to think? Well, I think you’re married.”
“Right before Sheila died, we took a trip to Vegas. Late one night we stumbled into an all-night chapel. We said ‘I do,’ but Dylan, I swear to you, there was no paperwork. We only said the words. It’s not something I mentioned because one, Sheila is dead. And two, any contracts that would’ve been signed would have died with her. If we had been married on paper, I would have been a widower in the eyes of the law and in my own eyes.”
I scraped my fingers over my forehead. “I’m so confused. What does any of this mean?”
Roman’s lips coiled into a hopeful smile. His eyes glinted as he said, “I hope it means we’re still getting married.”
I shook my head. How could I get married? There were so many unanswered questions. “No.”
His jaw twitched. “There’s a crowd of people downstairs waiting for us to say, ‘I do.’”
I rose and grabbed two handfuls of skirt. “Roman, until we get this thing figured out, I’m not getting married. Sheila is supposed to be dead. How the heck is she here?”
Roman rose. His six-foot-plus frame towered over me. “Dylan, I don’t know. Sheila is dead. She died in my arms.”
I pointed at the door. “Then who is that?”
Roman shook his head. “Not who. What?”
I frowned. “I’m not following.”
Roman cracked his knuckles. “As I said. Sheila is dead. I don’t know what that thing is down there, but it’s not her.”
“So what are we going to do?”
Roman’s jaw twitched. “We’re going to find out what it is and send it back to wherever it came from.”
CHAPTER 4
I followed Roman. I could hear people in the church milling around, and I wondered if there was going to be a wedding for them. I had pretty much given up hope of getting this straightened out today, but Roman seemed optimistic.
At least the smiles he kept sending my way suggested that.
I entered a small room off the main sanctuary. It looked like a waiting room of sorts. Sheila—or the thing, as Roman referred to her—sat on a chair. Jonathan Pearbottom sat across from her, writing in his notebook. His gaze flicked to Roman when we entered.
Jonathan rose and gave me an encouraging smile. Now normally Inspector Pearbottom was one of my least favorite people on the planet. But over the course of the last few months we’d come to an understanding of sorts—I stayed on the straight and narrow, meaning I didn’t work magic in front of nonmagical people, and he left me alone.
It was an arrangement I liked.
Sheila had her back to us when we entered, but she turned as Jonathan rose. Her gaze caught Roman’s, and tears sprang to her eyes. She rose, pushed the chair away and rushed into my fiancé’s arms.
Sheila wrapped her arms around him so tightly I thought she might cut his air off. “Roman,” she said breathlessly, “what’s all this about? Why are you marrying someone else?”
It felt like a hand was squeezing my throat. Like invisible vines strangling me, trying to milk every ounce of air from my body.
It wasn’t a good feeling.
I watched Roman peel Sheila from him. Mistrust filled his eyes. He took a step back, distancing himself from her. “Where did you come from?”
Jonathan Pearbottom cleared his throat. He adjusted the tweed cape that layered his shoulders and said, “It appears Miss Ross doesn’t remember. All she knows is she woke up and has been searching for you.”
“Where did you wake up?” Roman said.
A tear streamed down her face. “In Fairyland, not far from Castle Witch.”
I shot Roman a glance, but his face betrayed nothing. “What do you remember?” he said.
Sheila bit her trembling lip; then her mouth spread into a wide smile. “I remember going to Vegas with you and getting married…then I woke up in Fairyland. I tracked you to here.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you thirsty? Would you like something to drink?”
Sheila rubbed the back of her neck. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to figure out if she was thirsty or if she didn’t know what the question meant. Her eyes darted left and right before settling back on Roman.
“Roman, tell me what’s going on? I don’t understand why you’re marrying someone else. We just got married. I thought we were happy.”
Roman stiffened. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders. It was a robotic move. I could tell his emotions warred inside. I wanted to reach out and hug him, but my own feelings were a riotous knot in my stomach. If one more horrible thing was revealed to me, my dinner from last night, breakfast and anything else my stomach had inside of it would be landing at my feet.
“Sheila,” Roman said slowly, “I need for you to rest for a while. I know all of this seems confusing, but I promise everything will be revealed. Can you stay here for a moment?”
She reached for him, but Roman kept her at arm’s length. Her face crumpled, and the sap in me felt sorry for her.
“I need to speak to Jonathan,” Roman said, “but I’ll be back in a moment.”
Roman’s gaze darted to me. Sure. Let me be the bigger person here. I dismissed him with a wave and said, “I’ll watch her.”
They stepped outside.
Sheila’s gaze swept from my head to my feet and back up. The way she sized me up made my chest clench. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Dylan.”
“He loves me,” she said.
My heart lurched. I puffed out a breath. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to get into. I did know that Roman had loved Sheila deeply. Her death had wrecked him, not only because he found her, but the subsequent blame for her murder when he was innocent had nearly destroyed him.
I knew all of this because he’d told me bit by bit over the course of our relationship.
A few moments later Roman and Pearbottom returned. Jonathan curled a hand around Sheila’s arm. She rose.
“What’s going on?” she said.
Roman’s gaze flickered to me. He dragged two fingers across my shoulders. “What is it?”
He jerked his head toward the hallway. I followed him out.
&nbs
p; “What’s going on?”
Roman gripped my shoulders. “I don’t believe that’s Sheila, but until we can prove it, I’m legally bound to her.”
I backed up into the wall. “What?”
He nodded. “I don’t have any way to prove the paperwork wasn’t completed at the chapel. Until then, she has a case against our marriage.”
I shook my head. “So the wedding’s off?”
Roman’s eyes pinched. He slowly nodded. “Until we can get this straightened out.”
I pointed my finger into the room where Sheila waited. “You don’t actually believe that’s her, do you? She’s dead, Roman. Dead.”
Hurt flared in his gaze. “No. Of course not. But we still have to investigate. Sheila was human. She didn’t know about witches and our world.”
I started piecing together what he was saying. “And she woke up in Fairyland.”
He nodded. “A place she shouldn’t know exists.”
My mind whirled. That was right. Sheila shouldn’t have known about such a place, which possibly meant that this wasn’t the real Sheila. But what was she? Who was she? We needed answers.
I stopped chewing the inside of my cheek. “So what does that mean?”
His jaw twitched. “The first thing it means is that I need you. This doesn’t change anything between us.” He slicked a hand over the side of my hair. “As soon as this is cleared up, we’re getting married. We’re going on our honeymoon, and we’re starting our life together. But I need you to be patient, because I don’t think this is going to be cleared up in one day.”
My breath hitched. “So we’re still getting married?”
Roman laughed. He drew me to his chest. “Dylan, I love you more than I’ve ever loved a woman.”
“What about your mom?”
“Okay, you’re a close second.”
I punched his gut playfully.
“Kidding. You win. More than anyone. We’re getting married, but we have to do something first.”
I pulled from his grasp and wiped a tear bead from my lashes.
My words caught when I said, “What do you need me to do?”
Roman’s voice hardened. “Pack your things.”