Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(102)

Now I’m not only surprised, I’m flabbergasted. “Maid…maid of honor? Me?”

“You and Nat both.”

My voice is strangled with emotion. “You’re having two maids of honor?”

Her eyes shining, she says softly, “You’re my sister, dumbass. Of course I’m having you as one of my maids of honor.”

When she sees the tears gathering in my eyes, she takes pity on me. She sits up straighter and says haughtily, “Everyone would think I’m a dick if I didn’t.”

Trying to hide how overwhelmed I am, I say, “Everyone already does think you’re a dick.”

Her smile is self-indulgent. “Don’t be ridiculous. Everybody loves me.”

I fall flat onto the mattress and pull the covers over my face again. Only this time, I’m laughing.

I keep forgetting that this is Sloane’s world. The rest of us mere mortals are just living in it.





I get fitted for the dress. It’s long, silk, sleeveless, and hugs my body like a glove.

It’s also black, so it can double as funeral attire when the wedding with warring Irish and Russian gangsters in attendance hits the inevitable bumps, and the bullets start flying.

I’m trying to be optimistic, but seriously. This seems like a bigger mistake than the twelve publishing houses made that turned down JK Rowling before Harry Potter was finally published.

The day of the wedding, what seems like five hundred Irish gangsters in tuxedos show up at the house.

Spider’s there, too. He looks great in a tux. He also won’t look at me, which hurts but might be for the best.

I help Sloane into her dress, an insanely gorgeous floor-length chiffon gown with a plunging neckline that shows off her cleavage. It also has a split in the front of the billowing skirt that shows off her legs when she walks.

It’s not white, because this is my sister we’re talking about. Every bride wears white.

Sloane’s dress is vivid, bold, blood red.

Dripping in diamonds, with her hair cascading down her back and a real freaking tiara on her head, she looks like a goddess. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

When I tell her that, she smiles. “Right? Declan is so lucky. He doesn’t deserve me.”

I say drily, “If zombies ever take over, you’ll be safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“They only eat brains.”

We ride together in a limo to the church. We’re surrounded front, back, and sides by black Escalades filled with heavily armed gangsters in tuxedos, who Sloane keeps waving at like she’s the queen of England in a Christmas parade.

When we get to the beautiful old stone church, I’m shocked to see the front steps swarming with people.

Looking out the window of the limo as we drive into the parking lot, I say, “Um. Sloane?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Why are there four thousand people here?”

“Because this is Boston, and the head of the Irish Mob is getting married. It’s an important event. People are here from all over the country, plus overseas.”

I turn to her, goggle-eyed. “I thought you said you were planning a small ceremony?”

“I was.” She gestures smugly to her diamonds and dress. “But then all this glory would’ve been wasted.”

“Do you know all those people?”

“No. They’re mostly Declan’s work friends.”

“His work friends? You mean those are all gangsters?”

“And the affiliates, yes. Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’ll be fine.”

“Hair is fine. A Catholic church stuffed with armed mafioso is a True Crime docuseries about to happen!”

She pats my hand reassuringly. “Listen. Declan is handling it. The security is top-notch. There are even snipers. All we have to do is look stunning and enjoy the attention. And if anything happens—which it won’t—just duck.”

I stare at her. “Duck? That’s your survival advice?”

She shrugs. “Always works for me.”

Dear god. She’s actually serious.

I blow out a shaky breath, wondering if I can steal a gun off one of the goodfellas milling around in front of the church before they’re confiscated by security.

We’re hustled from the limo into the church by a circle of bodyguards three deep. I keep expecting a bomb to go off, but we make it inside without incident and settle into a room in the back reserved for the bride’s quarters.

Our bouquets are waiting there, nestled in white boxes with tissue paper and cotton. Mine is a perfect sphere of pearl-dotted Stephanotis. It smells heavenly.

Sloane’s bouquet is a dramatic cascade of hot pink orchids studded with Swarovski crystals. It’s glamorous and over-the-top, just like her.

Two minutes after we arrive, so does Nat.

The moment she comes through the door and spots Sloane in her dress, her face crumples, and she starts crying. “You look like a princess.”

Sloane smiles. “Bitch, I’m a queen. Get your butt over here.”

She opens her arms. Nat runs to her. The two of them stand hugging in the middle of the room for so long, I wonder if the wedding will have to be delayed.

Then Nat turns to me. Her watering eyes widen as she looks me up and down. “Riley? Little Riley? Holy cow.”