I glanced at Grandma. “Pretty much.” At least until they built the Cave of Visions. “How long is it going to take to get the cave going?”
Grandma sipped her beer. “Two, three hours.”
“Well then come in the house,” mom ordered, “I’ll get everyone back together and get a new batch of coffee going.”
Grandma snarfed as I followed my mom into the house. “Have fun with your tea towels.”
Ha. I’d just be happy if nobody tried to poison me.
I should have known to be careful what I wished for.
Chapter Eighteen
My mom had decorated the sitting room in true Hillary Brown style. She’d dressed the coffee tables in lace and scattered several generations of silver-framed family wedding photos over them. She’d topped end tables with vases of white roses, tied with aqua bows. Several decorative dress mannequins, upholstered in silk, wore mom’s collection of vintage lingerie.
Because, you know, that’s exactly what I needed right now.
Most of Dimitri’s relatives were already seated, and about half of the biker witches gathered on the low- slung couches and chairs. I guess you didn’t need an entire coven to build a Cave of Visions.
“This is your place,” mom said, leading me through the various seating groupings to a chair across from the bay window.
Our guests were talking among themselves, excited even. Everything felt so
“There’s too much sun over by the window,” my mom said, mistaking my interest. “We don’t want you back-lit in the photos.”
The horror of it.
Dimitri entered from the foyer as I was getting ready to sit. He wore a rich blue button down with black pants and looked, in a word, delicious.
I dodged my chair and went to give him a quick kiss, which turned into a longer kiss. He felt great.
A few of his in-laws giggled and I could feel my mom’s disapproval boring into my back.
The saucy grin he gave me made it all worth it.
He tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, growing serious. “How are you doing? I heard the witches are working on the Cave of Visions.”
I rested my hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of him under his crisp shirt. “Only once I’d like to try and get something past you.”
“I’m going in with you,” he said, as if it were a done deal.
Never in a million years. But I wasn’t about to get into it with him in front of a room full of people. “We’re doing my bridal shower first,” I said, hoping to put him off. Maybe I’d be finished with the witches before he even realized it.
But he didn’t leave, like he usually did at the start of most any estrogen-inspired pre-wedding event.
“Sounds good to me,” he said, exchanging a wave with Aunt Ophelia as he led me to a chair festooned with bows.
I didn’t get it. “What’s your angle?” I asked, sitting. He stood behind me, showing no signs of an imminent escape.
Dimitri leaned close, his lips against my ear. “I have a rule,” he said, his warm breath caressing my skin. “I stick close when my fiance is about to open a present from someone who wants to kill her.”
Good point.
My mom stood watching us, chewing at her immaculately glossed bottom lip. “This is really a girls’ event… The rest of your male relatives are,” she struggled to sound casual, “well, they’re drag racing. In the sky. Or so I’m told.” When Dimitri showed no signs of budging, mom—bless her heart—decided to roll with it.
“All right,” she said, addressing the guests, “we are so glad to have you ladies here at our last big event before Lizzie and Dimitri walk down the aisle. While this isn’t exactly how we’d planned it, what with it being four hours late, and the mini smiling bride ice sculptures having melted and the hors d’oeuvres eaten hours ago…when we thought we were going to start…” She looked a bit lost before regrouping. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. We are all together now, and we have so many wonderful gifts for Lizzie and Dimitri.”
I tried to smile at the smattering of polite applause. In truth, it made me a little uncomfortable to be the center of attention. A bit guilty, too, because my guests didn’t need to get me anything. A lot of them had already spent a fortune coming here. They’d stayed, even after my mom had unveiled her party schedule. And they wanted the best for me. There was nothing else I could ask. Besides, it’s not like Dimitri and I were setting up house. We were still holed up at a safe house/hippie commune owned by Grandma’s friend, Neal.
Mom had stacked our gifts onto a small table. The dress mannequin behind it wore her wedding dress, with the one bared arm and the silk skirt. It was a subtle, yet direct barb. I chose to ignore it. I’d sooner wear the antique lingerie down the aisle.
The eyes of the room were on me as mom handed me the first gift, a large and heavy box wrapped in silver paper.
It had to weigh at least fifty pounds, and it took up my entire lap. “Thank you,” I said, determined to enjoy it. I noticed the wedding bell pattern on the wrapping paper. How sweet.
Aunt Ophelia stood, “It is from the entire Rhodos clan!” She announced to stomping feet and cheers.
Dimitri moved in next to me, his hands curled into fists, his body tense.
This was his own clan. Still, if he was worried, I needed to proceed with caution as well.
My breath came a little quicker as I opened the box. I dug through the tissue paper to reveal a bronze, triangular-shaped shield, as long as my arm and as wide as my entire chest.
The Greeks let out a collective, “Ooooo.”
I tried to hold it up, but frankly it was difficult with the box on my lap and the sheer size and weight of it. The metal was decorated with fancy scrollwork and pictures of deer, and it didn’t have any handle inside that would make it a shield. Instead, buckles dangled from the edges.
“I love it!” I said.
“You do?” Ophelia pressed.
“I do!” I said, wondering how rude it would be to follow up with a
Diana rescued me. “This is a piece of griffin armor,” she said, turning it around in my hands, so that the point end was toward the top. Lovely. I’d been holding it upside down. “It’s meant to protect the right wing in battle,” she added, taking it from me with an apologetic glance.
“I have never owned anything like it,” I said, truthfully.
“What is she going to do with that?” I heard a few of the biker witches muttering.
“It’s tradition,” Ophelia shot back. “A bride gets her armor before the wedding. How else is she supposed to have it for her wedding night?”
“She needs armor on her wedding night?” Hillary asked.
“Why not?” I asked. It might not go with the sexy little outfit I’d bought, but we’d improvise.
When it was all said and done, I’d unwrapped two wing pieces, a breastplate, a collar (for wedding night fun, according to Ophelia), and a set of bronze tipped spikes for my front and back claws.
Hillary may have leaned on Diana once or twice for support, but she remained remarkably composed. Go Mom.
Dimitri, on the other hand, stalked behind me like a caged beast.
On the way to handing me another gift, his sister Dyonne knocked him with her elbow. “Do you mind? You’re making everyone nervous.”
“You could have fooled me,” he said, alert as he surveyed the room. It was true. While we definitely had
