In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(54)

“You’d make a wonderful prostitute,” she whispered. His eyes were a distracting, magnificent blue.

“I get that a lot.” His mouth pulled up on one side, and the knot in Em’s stomach loosened a little bit.

“Good afternoon,” said the justice of the peace, and six minutes later, Kevin and Naomi were husband and wife.

* * *

AT THE VERY FARTHEST table from the bride and groom, the mysterious Russians were cheerfully passing around a bottle of homemade vodka. And Em had thought she was being punished by being seated here! The contraband booze tasted like death, but Em added a healthy glug to her unsweetened, locally grown, fair trade, organic, farm-to-table cranberry juice (which also tasted like death), improving both beverages probably because her taste buds were committing suicide. Still, it was a very jolly table, more so with every passing minute.

“Your hair ees very beautiful,” said Uncle Vlad, the boob-starer from yesterday. He reached out to touch it, winced and withdrew his hand.

“It’s breakable,” Em said. “But thank you.”

Uncle Vlad put his arm around her neck and hugged her, then refilled her glass, God bless him.

Jack apparently had learned Russian in the navy and was chatting away, and it was good, it was fine, because for one, it was a stressful day. And for two, this flirty light stuff he was doing with her...it wasn’t her thing. He kept putting his arm around her and murmuring compliments. It was making her very itchy and scratchy. And tingly.

“How you doing?” he murmured. See? The tingle turned into a nearly painful buzz.

“I’m good! Really good! Yes. Da.” The one Russian word she knew. Well, that and vodka. Yes, vodka! What more did she really need?

“Go easy on that drink,” he advised. “That has to be around one hundred proof.”

“Roger that, Captain,” she said. Hmm. Perhaps it had already taken effect.

She took a bite of the brussels sprout soufflé covered in faux cheese, shuddered and washed it down with another slug of cranberry vodka drink, which was becoming increasingly delicious.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came the voice of the DJ, “please turn your attention to the dance floor, where Mr. and Mrs. Norman-Bates will have their first dance as husband and wife.”

“They’re really hyphenating, huh?” Jack said.

But Em wasn’t paying attention, because once again, a familiar song was starting up.

“Unforgettable” by good old Nat King Cole.

So Kevin wasn’t that original. Big deal.

There went the last of the cranberry vodka. What were those drinks called? Cape Codders? Those Cape Codders knew what they were doing. Emmaline should visit posthaste. Have some clam chowder and drink some Cape Codders. Maybe meet some nice fisherman like, like...like Phil on Deadliest Catch. Wait. Wasn’t he dead? Okay, then. It would have to be Sig.

Kevin and Naomi were very good dancers, all spinny and coordinated and stuff. Smiling, too. Very happy-looking.

Had Kevin really been so miserable when they were together? There had been times when he’d brood, but who didn’t brood once in a while? He had seemed to love her so much. How did that—

Stop thinking about this, the sober part of her brain ordered.

Angela waved to her, a sympathetic smile on her beautiful face.

The song ended; Em applauded dutifully. Cake-cutting time, maybe a dance with her dad, then beddy-bye. She was almost home free. And when she got back, she’d send Jack a big case of...well, something...and thank him for being the best sport ever.

There wasn’t even dessert to look forward to. Naomi had announced with great pride that, like the dinner, the cake was gluten-, dairy-and sugar-free. Brown rice cake with prunes. She wasn’t even kidding. The icing had beet juice in it. Beet juice, for the love of God!

“And now the bride and groom would like to invite their wedding guests to share a special memory of the two of them.”

“Oh, fun,” Jack murmured. The Russians muttered darkly, and the vodka was again passed around. Em smiled and shook her head, but Uncle Vlad ignored her and filled her glass halfway.

“Don’t drink that,” Jack advised. “I’m getting liver failure just looking at it.”

“I may need it,” Em said. “To share my superspecial memories.”

“If I said let’s make new memories, would you hit me?”

“I would. Yes. And don’t forget, I brought my gun.”

He smiled. That was something, that smile. “Show-off.”

The best man, someone Em had never met, was first to share. “The second I saw them together,” he said, “I knew it was the real thing. I mean, Naomi was screaming at him not to quit. And Kevin, he’s benching like three hundred as it was. Right, bro? Anyways, it’s times like that when you really know you’ve got a winner, dude—can I just say?”

“Beautiful story,” Jack murmured. “And loosen up, okay? We’re in love. Stop grinding your teeth.”

“Right. Got it.”

She unclenched her jaw and cracked her knuckles. Maybe she could flirt back if she gave it a shot. Then again, it was just that kind of thing that had her believing she was a fantastic dancer last year at the Bitter Betrayeds’ Christmas party. The footage from Shelayne’s phone had proved otherwise.