Chapter 3
THREE
SADIE
Mr. Titty was a graffiti artist with a penchant for drawing bosoms. His latest tag was bright blue against the carved wood of the church doors, two gigantic globes with teeny tiny nipples, one on each door.
His name was signed in stylized font on the bottom of the right-hand door, with some blue overspray staining the bottom hinges and the surrounding brown brick.
All of us—the reverend, me, Gideon, and all the guests—stood on the grass in front of the church to admire his latest work.
“Reminds me of myself about fifty years ago,” said a woman with the most gigantic breasts I’d ever seen, her voice wistful and pleased. She had hair dyed fire engine red, and her breasts were lifted and smooshed together, displayed prominently above the low neckline of her navy dress.
“Fifty years is a long time,” another older woman grumbled, earning a glare from the well-endowed redhead.
“Jealous, Betsy?”
“Of what?” the other woman sneered, turning her nose up. “Your only accomplishment was growing those huge knockers.”
“This is a travesty,” yelled the reverend. “Mr. Titty must be stopped!”
“Hear, hear!” someone called out.
A hand slid over my arm. Gideon leaned closer. “Let’s go,” he said, a moment before a voice called out, “Gideon can figure it out. Right?”
Gideon let out a small, exasperated breath, eyes circling my face, lingering on my lips, then shifting away to look at the place where the voice had come from.
His hand stayed on my arm, but he loosened his grip slightly, holding onto me as if he were afraid I was going to run away.
He angled his head so his good side was to the crowd, and his voice carried as he said, “The team is investigating.”
“This has gone on long enough,” someone else yelled.
The man who’d interrupted our wedding came into view.
He was in his late fifties or early sixties with a big potbelly and a red, mottled nose.
He pushed his way toward us to point at Gideon.
“We all trust your family with security, and you can’t even stop some tagger from drawing tits all over town.
We’re supposed to believe you have our safety in hand?
Or maybe you only care about your more important clients.
The ones that are ruining this town! And maybe this marriage is nothing but a sham—”
“Ivan, that’s enough.”
The crowd immediately settled, people shifting on their feet.
They parted as if two enormous, invisible hands had shoved them aside, and Etta Mars appeared in the resulting space.
She wore a calm expression—but her eyes scanned the townspeople with a sharpness that betrayed a mile-wide ruthless streak.
She was coming our way.
The three groomsmen drifted over, flanking Gideon and me.
The best man leaned in to Gideon and said, “We’ll handle this.
You can take off before it gets ugly.” His eyes skittered over to me, studying, assessing, and then he winked.
A little girl, I guessed eleven or twelve years old, came running up to him.
His face transformed—it softened and lost its guardedness.
“Daddy,” she said in a loud whisper. “Mr. Popov looks mad.”
The best man just put a protective arm around his daughter and held her near. Gideon watched his grandmother and said nothing.
Grandma Mars stopped in front of the old man who’d complained while the youngest—and friendliest—of Gideon’s brothers leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Ivan Popov. Owns an antique store in town. Mr. Titty hit his shop earlier this week, so he’s mad.
” I turned to nod at him, and he smiled, just like he had when I was about to walk down the aisle.
He had nice hair, light brown and slightly curly, with the same blue eyes as Gideon.
I turned back to the standoff with the irate antique shop owner, watching the way Grandma Mars tilted her chin up, making the peacock feathers tremble and sway.
She was shorter than Ivan, but he still looked intimidated.
Then he stuck his jaw out. “You walk around here like you care about cleaning up this town, Etta, but Mr. Titty is getting bolder. You need to fix this, or else.”
Grandma Mars didn’t raise her voice, but when she spoke, I was sure every single person in the street heard her. “Or else what, Ivan?”
“Or else!” A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his head. He was tall and thin apart from the potbelly, and he wore a striped button-down that looked like it was at least a few decades old. Wispy hair stuck to his skull as he glared at the woman in the big blue hat.
She stared right back, her voice as cold as Gideon’s stare. It was quiet, but it whistled through the street and echoed off the buildings. “You come to me on my grandson’s wedding day and complain about a bit of graffiti.”
The threat in her words was unsaid, but we all heard it. Ivan blanched.
What in The Godfather kind of situation had I gotten myself into?
I stole a glance at Gideon, who looked grim. His best man was rubbing his temples. To my left, the two other brothers seemed to be trying to do some damage control by tapping furiously on their phones.
“Grandma Mars,” Gideon said, finally letting go of my arm so he could step forward. He nodded at the old man. “Mr. Popov. The team’s on it. I’ll check all the CCTV on the street and find out who did this.”
“You just got married,” Grandma Mars reminded him. She gestured to the best man. “Jack will handle it.”
Gideon sighed, exchanging a glance with Jack, who nodded.
“Not soon enough,” Reverend Strife said, marching his marshmallow self toward us. “Look at my church doors!”
Gideon lifted his arms, and he was swallowed by angry townspeople.
The brothers drifted away—the best man to follow Gideon, and the two others off to a quiet place to the side to make phone calls.
I looked at the boobs on the church doors, wondering what kind of omen this was meant to be. I doubted it was good.
“Welcome to Marswood Harbor,” a sardonic voice said beside me.
I turned to see a woman about my age—late twenties or early thirties—with dark, shoulder-length hair, bright hazel eyes, a bitter twist of her lips, looking over the mob with a bored expression.
She wore an apron that said Knead More Bread, the name of the bakery a few doors down.
Not a wedding guest, then. She glanced at me and arched her brows.
“Regretting your decision to marry into the craziness yet?”
I surveyed said craziness. Gideon had managed to settle some of the more irate townspeople.
He hadn’t flown off the handle the way Henry did when things went wrong, or even raised his voice at all.
He spoke, and people calmed down. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
The late afternoon sun seemed to settle lovingly over his features.
The crowd eddied around him, like he was the nexus of all that mattered.
I was as bad as them all, unable to tear my gaze from him. “Not yet,” I admitted.
She snorted. “Give it a few days.” She stuck her hand out. “Caroline. I work at the bakery. Come by tomorrow and I’ll let you know who to avoid. Although you might have a hard time, considering you’re married to one of them.”
“Uh-oh.”
She grinned, and it transformed her face from angular and intimidating to something witchy and captivating. “This is your chance to slip away. Don’t worry; Gideon will find you.”
That sounded appropriately ominous. I let out an exasperated sigh. “Why is everyone assuming I want to skip my own wedding reception?”
“Maybe we’re assuming you’ve got a brain in that pretty head of yours.” She laughed, and I couldn’t even be mad at her. “See you around.”
She drifted away, and then Gideon was there, looming, huge, unsmiling.
Everything in me tightened, squeezing the breath from my lungs.
“I have to fix this,” he told me, angling his head toward the graffiti.
“There’s food in the church basement. The mob will end up there once they’ve settled down.
They won’t pass up a free meal. I’ll find you once I’m done. ”
His grandmother slid her hand over his shoulder as she joined us, stopping his escape.
Her sharp blue eyes scanned me, then moved to Gideon.
She put wrinkled hands on his stubbled cheeks and pulled him down to press a kiss to his forehead.
“My eldest grandson. You’ve made me a very happy woman. I’m sorry about this ugliness.”
“I’ll handle it,” he said.
“Let Jack take the reins,” Grandma Mars commanded in that soft voice of hers. “It’s your wedding day. Which reminds me, we need to sign that wedding certificate. Reverend!”
Gideon’s lips pinched, as if he’d hoped we’d all forget about the formalities.
The minister hobbled over, and the four of us shuffled back toward the church.
My ankle was still a little sore, but I forced myself not to limp.
It would be fine by the morning. It wouldn’t stop me from signing the paperwork, that was for sure.
Grandma Mars grabbed the grumpy old woman, Betsy, who turned out to be her sister. She nodded at the busty redhead, who was still needling Betsy. “Mrs. Gretzinger,” she said.
The other woman smiled at Grandma Mars. “Congratulations, Etta.” Her gaze flicked over to me, assessing. Gideon’s hand pressed between my shoulder blades, leading me up the church steps. I felt like a circus curiosity paraded around on display for everyone to gawk at.
We took a detour to a small table set up in the atrium, where our marriage certificate waited. Reverend Strife’s head was still very red, and he waved at the certificate as his eyes strayed toward the door. He wasn’t happy about the graffiti.