by Gini Koch
“Good lord, do you hate me or something?” Chuckie asked the moment I was out of the bedroom.
“What? What’s wrong with how I look?”
“Not one damn thing. God, you like to torture a man, don’t you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, cut it out.”
Chuckie sighed and stood up. “You need some sort of covering if you’re going to wear that.”
“We’re going to Vegas, right? I’ll fit in there.”
He took my shoulders and turned me around. “God, it’s as bad from the back. Really, go put on some clothes.”
“I don’t have a wrap, okay?”
“Find one. Before I rape you.” He gave me a gentle push toward the bedroom.
“Fine, fine.” Went back to the closet. The Elves had been by. There was a light jacket that could work with the outfit, at least as a cover-up. I put it on. “Thanks, uh, whoever you are.”
Went back out. “Better,” Chuckie said. He shook his head. “And you wonder why Martini’s the most jealous man on the planet? Good lord.” He took my elbow and led me out of the room.
We got in the elevator, and I was happy to realize I just wanted Martini out of isolation and in here with me. “We are going to Vegas, right?”
“Yes. All your bridesmaids are there already.”
“Doing what?”
He grinned. “As near as I can tell, learning how to be fashion models.”
“James is having fun, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, I think he is. It’s hard, transitioning from a regular life into covert ops. Some, like your mother, do it naturally. Some, like me, learn it easily enough. Some, like you and Reader, do well with it but have a strong need to still feel like ‘regular’ people.”
“You go through this a lot with your operatives?” We got out at the launch level.
“Yeah. Not everyone can be an operative, not everyone can last as an operative.”
“You think I’ll last?”
He shrugged as our gate was calibrated. “You have the genetics for me to say yes. On the other hand, your husband may not want you to.”
“You think Jeff’s going to make me stop being the head of Airborne?” Chuckie made the “you first” gesture. I groaned and stepped through the gate. Icky as always. The stall was really nice again and familiar, so I knew we were in the Mandalay complex. I stepped out, Chuckie right behind me. The several men in the place all stared. “Wow, that was great, stud,” I said as I wrapped my arm around Chuckie’s waist and headed us for the door. “The earth moved.”
“For me too.” We managed not to laugh until we were out. “I hope that’s recorded somewhere so I can torture Martini with it.”
“Uh-huh. So, my question?”
“Yes, I think he’s going to ask you to stop being an active agent. I would.” He steered us through the casino. Like Reader, he kept a firm hold on my shoulders so I couldn’t detour to a craps table.
“Why?”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, I’d want to keep the mother of my children safe and protected and all that.”
“I guess I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“Yeah, since I blew it by admitting I’d do the same thing, and so can’t use that as leverage to get you to say yes and run into the Blue Velvet Chapel.”
“See, now, that’s the difference between you and Jeff.”
“Gee, that’s all? Maybe I still have a chance. How about it?”
“Lemme ponder.”
“Take all the time you need.”
We sauntered through the casino, and I felt comfortably dressed again. I had more on than the cocktail waitresses, after all. I felt someone watching us, so I did a casual scan of the room. No one seemed to be taking that much of an interest.
“What?” Chuckie asked quietly.
“See anyone watching us? Specifically, Mister Joel Oliver anywhere? Or more potential A-C spies?”
He did a similar scan. Well, his was a lot more casual, but still, a scan. “Nope, no one out of the ordinary. What’s your spider-sense picking up?”
“No idea. I guess nothing. Probably just tired still.”
“Maybe.” Chuckie didn’t seem to dismiss this, which was kind of flattering. Or would have been if I had any clear reason for feeling that we were being watched. I looked around again, but I couldn’t spot anyone paying us undue attention, not even our personal paparazzo.
We were near the Sports Book, and Chuckie turned in. “Need to bet on the ponies before we catch up with everyone else?” For all I knew, that was another way he kept the millions rolling in.
“No.” We went up to someone whose back was to us. All I could see was that the person wore a hat and trench coat. Chuckie tapped a shoulder. “Oliver from the World Weekly News, I presume?”
Sure enough. He turned around and heaved a sigh. “Mister Joel Oliver. Please. It’s only polite to address someone in the manner of their choosing.”
“If I were concerned about being polite to you, that could matter to me.” Chuckie sounded calm but quite unfriendly. “What are you doing here?”
“Not taking pictures.” This seemed true. I couldn’t spot anything remotely cameralike on him.
“I’ll bet.” Chuckie looked around and waved down a security guard. “This man has a hidden camera on him.”
The security guard looked at Oliver. “Oh. Him. We searched him before he came into the Sports Book, sir.”
“Search him again,” Chuckie said, patiently but with authority in his tone.
“Yes, sir, Mister Reynolds.” The guard started to pat Oliver down.
“I note you have a good deal of influence,” Oliver said to Chuckie. “Must be because you’re C.I.A.”
The security guard snorted. “No. It’s because he’s got more money than God, and all the staff’s on alert to do whatever the hell he wants.” The guard looked over his shoulder. “No offense meant, Mister Reynolds.”
“None taken,” Chuckie said amiably. “I appreciate the staff taking care of me and my friends and associates. It’s why we’re at this complex.” I managed to keep my mouth shut, though it took an effort.
Sure enough, there was a hidden camera on Oliver. The security guard called in a couple of his associates to help escort Oliver for a more detailed and personal search. Chuckie gave each security guard a tip, for which they all thanked him as if he were the most important man in the world.
“How’d you know?” I asked quietly, as the guards hustled Oliver off.
He shrugged. “Some things are a given. A so-called photojournalist like Mister Joel Oliver always has more than one trick. Besides, I saw the flash when we were walking by.”
“How did you make out a camera flash from all the other flashing going on?”
He grinned. “Advanced training techniques to enhance the observational skills I already had.”
“Will you ever teach those to me?”
“Sure. Your mother taught me most of them.” Always the way. Mom trained everyone but me, it sometimes seemed. Chuckie laughed at my expression. “But after your honeymoon.”
We left the Sports Book and went to THEhotel and up to the top floor. Chuckie headed us toward his side of the floor. “Um, I’m in the other gigantic room.”
“Yes, but Reader and your bridesmaids are not. So if you want to go cheat on Martini with me, your room is the right spot. If you want to hook up with the others and get the dresses straightened out, you have to go to my room. I’m sure you know my vote.”
“Oh, fine. Your room.”
“Step one of my master plan is achieved. She foolishly believed me.” He opened the door and I saw—what looked like an entire wedding boutique.
“Um, Chuckie?”
He led me inside. “Have I mentioned that I’m really rich, the Martini family is really rich, and you’re all still, technically, C.I.A. operatives? I mean, the aliens are still here, and until they safely leave or sign the ‘we love the Earth’ oath, you all, by Martini
’s agreement and the original ‘we A-Cs love the Earth’ agreement, still work for me.”
I looked up at him. He was grinning. “You really are a great guy.”
“Yeah. That and three bucks will get me a small latte I get to drink alone.” He kissed my forehead. “I console myself with the fact that I get to watch the modeling session, seeing as I am representing the groom’s interests and allowed final say.”
“Wow. Money really does change everything.”
CHAPTER 60
“KITTY!” MY NAME WAS SHRIEKED by seven women in unison. This unison thing was getting out of hand.
Maybe it was wedding related.
I looked around. They were all giggling and laughing. Each one of them was in a different formal dress, and they seemed to be having a great time. “You guys aren’t drinking, are you?”
“Well, duh,” Lorraine said. “Serene, Claudia, and I can’t.”
Queen Renata smiled. “The rest of us decided to err on the side of safety. But Charles ordered delicious sparkling apple cider.”
“Oh, good.”
“Cheapest party I’ve ever thrown,” Chuckie said with a grin, as he filled up everyone’s glasses and gave me one. Crystal champagne glasses. I felt like a real grown up teenybopper.
Reader came out from the bedroom. “Okay, the gals are in a variety of bridesmaid dresses. You can’t really choose theirs until we have yours.”
“Hi, James, good to see you.”
“Yeah, on a schedule here. Chop-chop.” He grabbed me and pulled me into the bedroom. I expected some questions about Chuckie. I saw a long, mobile clothing rack with a lot of white dresses hanging on it. “I have an assortment here. I want to see you in all of them, even if you fall in love with one immediately. Got it?”
“Um . . .”
“Don’t worry about shoes or lingerie. Just go commando while trying them on; we’ll get appropriate lingerie once we’ve picked the dress and, of course, same with shoes. No worries about fitting, your breasts are perky enough that you can get away with no bra in at least half of these dresses, and you’ll be good enough to test in the rest.”
“Um . . .”
“Oh, same with veil. I’m not sure I want you in one in the first place, but it’ll depend on the dress.”
“Um . . .”
He took my glass out of my hand. “Right. This is a no-no around these dresses. You can have some in between changes.”
“Um . . .”
“Call me if you need to be zipped up. The girls are a little giddy, and I don’t want any rips or tears. The rejects have to go back.”
“Um . . .”
“What?”
“Where did these come from?”
He grinned. “I still have contacts, babe. Designers are really cutthroat and competitive. Just told them I had a friend marrying into a lot of money who needed to look beyond beautiful and who might, you know, have some paparazzi at her wedding. Amazing what showed up as options.”
“We’re having paparazzi?” I wasn’t putting anything past Reader or Chuckie right now. And Mister Joel Oliver certainly seemed capable of getting out of the clutches of the law with ease.
I got the cover-boy grin. “You do understand the definition of ‘might,’ don’t you? Now get out of that great outfit I picked for you and into the designer dresses I ordered for you.”
He zipped out of the room, taking my cider, and shut the door behind him. I stared at the dresses. I stared some more. I contemplated where to start. Had no idea.
Heard some more squealing and shouting. They were all having a lot more fun than I was. I was, I realized, intimidated by the array of designer beauty in front of me.
There was a soft knock, and the door opened. “Ah, what a surprise.” My mother came in and closed the door. “Charles called to let us know you were finally here.”
“Who?”
“Me, your grandmothers, and Lucinda. I told the other girls they’d have to wait for later.”
“Wait for what for later?”
“Your bachelorette party.” She said it like it was obvious. Then she sighed. “Kitten, just one question.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you love Jeff enough to live with him the rest of your life, deal with problems, worry about him, have his child or children, go through good times and bad, sickness and health, prosperity and poverty, times when you’ll hate each other, be bored with each other, wonder if you should have married one of those other options, and yet still stay with him, happily, both over time and in the end?”
I thought about it, about everything I’d been through with him since I’d met him a year ago. The great sex. All the times I’d harpooned him or he’d caught me. The fights. The making up from the fights. What I’d learned from him, and about him, and about myself because of him. The great sex. The way he never treated me as less than his equal. How he could protect me without making me feel helpless. How I couldn’t have any real secrets from him. How, when I got right down to it, I didn’t want secrets, in fact, loved that he not only could but would adapt to make me happy, help me feel secure, calm my fears. And, of course, the great sex. It was great because he was a god in bed, but he was a god in bed because he loved me and went out of his way to make sure it was great, every time.
“Yes.”
“Good. Then stop standing there panicking, get out of that Super Slut outfit all the men love, and start trying on dresses.” She took my purse and put it on the bed along with hers. “James wants us to start with the cocktail length ones. I think because he has his favorites already picked out but doesn’t want you guessing and being contrary.”
“That’s it? No hug? No atta girl? No other marriage talk?”
She grinned at me. “Awwww.” She came back and gave me her breath-stopping bear hug. “Atta girl,” she whispered. “That was my entire marriage talk. The rest is up to the two of you.”
I hugged her back. “I love you, Mom.”
She kissed my head. “Good. You know the saying—your son is your son until he takes a wife, but your daughter’s your daughter for the rest of your life. Your father and I wouldn’t have it any other way. And we love Jeff, too, just in case you were worried we were going to suggest you marry Charles or Christopher, like every other relative.”
I laughed as we separated. “You mean you’re finally off the ‘check out your options’ bandwagon?”
Mom shrugged as she went back to the clothing rack, and I started to get out of my clothes. “You checked, and your decision seems made. While we love Charles and Christopher and Brian, too, they aren’t your choice. We’d love any decent man you were in love with, kitten, but your grandfather’s right. You do need a big tomcat to take care of you and keep you in line—and Jeff seems to be the best there is at that job. Besides,” she added as she tossed me a grin over her shoulder, “Jeff seems to want lots of children.”
“Why is it always about the babies with our family?”
She shrugged as she brought Option 1 over. “It’s natural. You always want to see your children get children they deserve.”
“Thanks ever.” Tried on the dress. It fit and looked really good. “Wow.”
“James insists you show him everything, whether you like it or not.”
“I like this a lot.”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She led me out.
Got a ton of squeals from the various females. Reader looked extremely critical, and Chuckie shrugged. “It’s nice.”
“Take it off. Next.” Reader sounded like my Uncle Mort.
“Um, James? I like it. Chuckie likes it.”
“He said it was nice. Nice is fine for dinner with the boss. Nice is not fine for your wedding. Back in the room, next dress.” It was clear from his tone that there would be no arguing allowed.
Mom and I went back and did the whole thing over again. And over again. Mom got tired and called Lucinda in for assistance. So she helped me do the whole thing over again. And over again. The girls
and my grandmothers squealed with joy at each appearance. Chuckie pronounced a few more nice, a couple as okay, several as gag-worthy—at least, I took him sticking his finger toward his open mouth and making gagging sounds to mean that he didn’t think they were the best choice—and a couple as deathly dull, indicated by him leaning his head back and snoring loudly.
“I thought this was supposed to be fun.”
Lucinda laughed. “I understand now why James told us concentrated and fast was the correct choice. Imagine doing this at dress shop after dress shop. For weeks on end. And not coming up with anything.”
I thought about it. “Wow, let’s try on the next dress that’s right here!”
She nodded. “Jeffrey’s always said you were smart.”
CHAPTER 61
WE WERE DOWN TO THE LAST TWO DRESSES. I was clear that mermaid style was the way to go, since Chuckie had started perking up as soon as I tried the first one. But that had been several dresses ago, and nothing had made Reader happy.
Mom was on dress duty so Lucinda could sit and rest. The three of us needed a vacation already. But it was great for girl bonding. I’d heard a lot about Martini’s youthful exploits and mishaps, so I had a good arsenal of stored blackmail. Same with Christopher. They had pretty much been inseparable, but I’d known that. I reminded myself that they’d both had a year to get used to me, and everything would be fine.
I realized I was worrying about things I never thought of normally as I slid into another dress. This one was simple but gorgeous. Mermaid style, sleeveless with straps, and a lot of fancy embroidery with silver thread on shiny satin.
“Wow, this one looks wonderful.” Mom sounded impressed. “It’ll take a while to get in and out of it with all the buttons in the back, but it’s worth it.”
Went out, got the requisite girl squeals—their enthusiasm, unlike mine, Mom’s, and Lucinda’s, hadn’t waned—and Chuckie sat up. “Nice. Very nice.” The way he said it made it sound better than nice.