“We wouldn’t be in such a drama about it if this unexpected blessing hadn’t come along.” Crys gave her belly a pat and rub, as if cuddling or comforting the little one inside it. “I thought we’d have at least a year to plan and get used to each other, but now I’m trying to decide if I want my wedding pictures to have a baby bump or an infant in them, and I’m running out of time.”
“You know I think before is best,” Trish said. “You won’t be much in the mood for a party once the baby comes.”
“But who wants to look like a white whale getting married?” Ruby wrinkled her nose, then covered her mouth with a hand as she realized how that sounded. “You totally don’t look like a whale, Crys, truly!”
“Didn’t Erva say her sister got married after her baby was born and leaked milk through her gown?” Kimmy looked around. “Where is Erva, anyway?”
“Having a nap,” said Sally. “She was on the bus that broke down yesterday; they were really late getting in. Erva’s one of the lighting crew,” she explained in an aside to Nell.
Crys sighed, swishing her hands back and forth in the water, watching the ripples. “Do you think I could find a dress that would even fit me like this?”
“Honestly, honey, you won’t have to find a dress. Just decide what you want, and Blade’ll fly in a designer to create something beautiful and unique for you,” Sally assured her. “You know I’ve got connections, rising stars who’d drop anything to work on a wedding dress for the Smidge guitarist’s bride-to-be. I can see you in something delicate and lacy — maybe Tasha Antrova?”
As the talk of designers and dresses swirled around her, Nell tuned out, thinking instead about Sally saying she’d make a fantastic bodyguard. It’s true; I would. She’d enjoyed taking charge of Eamonn in the airport, scanning the space around them, prepared for anything. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to travel with a rock band, wearing a t-shirt that said SECURITY instead of business casual blouses or taekwondo whites. She’d sleep on tour buses and in hotels with pools, travel the world, and no two days would ever be the same.
But then reality reasserted itself. That’s ridiculous. She’d never cope with the lack of routine. She needed her tidy apartment with its cactus on the table and rank certificates on the wall. And what about her training? This was supposed to be her year, her serious run at getting her red letters. Taking a shot at the World Champion title would take a phenomenal effort, but she’d never been more fit and had already talked to Master Simran about the coaching and strategy she’d need for it, assuming she could get a good enough job to pay for the extra training and travel. There was definitely no room in that picture for rambling around with rock stars in an unpredictable way.
“How much longer do I have to keep this plastic covering on my tattoo?” she asked Trish quietly, figuring the accountant would know since she had such a huge back piece.
Trish peered at the wrapping on Nell’s shoulder. “Nice lettering. Ghostflower’s work?”
“You know her?”
“I know of her, enough to recognize her style, and I’ve met her a couple of times at after-parties and such. I like my traditional ink, but she does beautiful blackwork and watercolor work. Anyway, I had mine done before these waterproof wraps were a thing, but three to five days is what I’ve heard. You don’t have too much seepage so you could probably take it off soon-ish.”
“Mum wants me to make things legal at the courthouse and keep it quiet so she can tell her friends we got married before anything happened,” Crys was saying to the others. “But I do want a wedding.”
“Your mother’s a trip,” Sally replied, her voice kind, as she put a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder.
Kimmy leaned toward them, obviously horrified at the thought. “You deserve a proper romantic wedding, Crys,” she said firmly. “Whenever it happens.”
All this talk of weddings… Nell tried not to roll her eyes. She’d never been able to understand why people wanted such a show, such a circus of silly outfits and public promises. What was the point? Commitment was commitment, and you either had it or you didn’t — to a person, to a job, to a goal. An exchange of rings and flowery words wouldn’t hold someone who didn’t want to be there.
The man Nell and Eamonn had met on the way in, the one who’d said he didn’t want to get involved, came over to the side of the pool. “You want to get dressed for dinner, Ruby?” he asked. “It’s almost six.”
“Coming, sweet man,” Ruby said, getting out of the water at once.
“Thanks, Trick,” Kimmy added. “We were talking and lost track of time.”
The others chimed in with their thanks too. They all stood, dripping, splashing, and helped Crys to her feet before leaving the pool to find their towels. “The dining room’s in there,” Sally told Nell, pointing to a pair of French doors, just as a man in a white dress shirt and tie — a waiter? — opened them from inside. “We eat at six, so hurry down as soon as you’re dressed.”
Eamonn was back in their room when Nell got there. “Hey, lovely,” he said when she walked in. His voice lilted with happiness, his face full of light and joy despite the stitches in his lip and the bruise developing in dramatic shades of purple and blue around his left eye. “How was the pool?”
“Nice, refreshing. How was…?” She wasn’t sure quite what to call it. A writing session? A reunion? Bonding?
He grinned. “Amazing. They’re so talented. We could have gone on and on. ‘Reaching for Starlight’ has so much potential, I can’t
