Chapter 11 Caterina #3
“The catch is that you go where Aoife booked, and you don’t change venues without telling her.” He holds my gaze. “And if a man with an expensive watch who doesn’t belong smiles too easily, you text Tiernan a black heart. You don’t try to teach anyone a lesson.”
“I never try to teach lessons,” I say.
“You do,” he says. “You’re very good at it. Not tonight, though.”
“You think something is going to happen?”
“I always think something is going to happen,” he says. “That’s why things happen less than they might. And where you’re concerned, I plan to be obsessive over security.”
I don’t argue because I like being alive.
Nico appears again like a bad penny. “Dinner?” he says lightly. “Where are the lucky two going?”
“Family table,” Cayce says without giving him a location. “You have other plans, I’m sure.”
“Do I?” Nico asks, eyes on me. “I thought I might come and toast the bride.”
“You won’t,” Cayce says. No rise in volume. No change in temperature. The way he says it makes the subject end.
Nico smiles at me instead, softer. “If you change your mind about this,” he says, “call me. I won’t make you queen. I’ll just make you mine.”
I don’t get a chance to answer because Pru materializes like a weaponized fairy and hooks her arm through mine. “We’re going,” she says to the world at large. “If anyone asks, I said it and I’ll say it again.”
“Dinner,” Cayce repeats to me, as if the Nico line didn’t happen. “One hour. Then your night.”
“Where?”
“Fitz’s.” He tips his head, a small concession. “I’ll have them put the Gaelic football on so the uncles forget to ask you questions that will make me kill them.”
“Thoughtful,” I say dryly.
“Self-preservation,” he says. “I can’t kill everyone right before the wedding.”
Aoife slides in with the clipboard. “Roll call for the dinner car,” she says. “Bride and groom in one, Pru in another with me, Tiernan in something unmarked that looks like it belongs to a dentist.”
“Why do I have to ride with you?” Pru asks.
“Because you’ll fight with Tiernan if I put you together,” Aoife says. “And because I’m fun.”
“You are,” Pru admits. “But I’d still rather fight with Tiernan.”
“Later,” Tiernan says smoothly, appearing behind her. “Save your energy.”
“I have plenty,” Pru says. “I hydrate.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Aoife mutters, and checks off boxes like she’s herding cats and mobsters. “You two are worse than the bride and groom.”
Nan rises and taps her purse. “I’ll see you at home,” she tells Cayce. “I’m not eating with men who argue about sports like it’s war.”
“It is war,” says a passing uncle.
“Then enlist,” Nan says, and sweeps out, leaving the scent of tea and iron.
The rehearsal breaks for real. People drift toward the doors. The candles dim with the cooling air. Cayce puts a palm at the small of my back—public, light, nothing anyone could complain about—and steers me toward the side exit where the cars idle.
“Caterina,” Nico says behind us. I stop because I’m polite and because I want this finished.
He steps closer, eyes trying to soften in a way that probably works on girls who like being second. “You don’t have to do this,” he says quietly. “There are other ways to belong.”
“I don’t intend to belong to anyone,” I say. “I intend to decide.”
His gaze flicks to Cayce’s hand where it hovers, and for a second something mean shows. “Decide quick,” he says. “Before the ring he binds you with makes decisions for you.”
“Walk,” Cayce says to me, and I do. Nico doesn’t follow.
Outside, the cold wakes my arms. The car door opens. Cayce waits for me to get in first. I do, because picking the wrong hill to die on is bad strategy.
As the door shuts, my phone buzzes. A message from an unknown number pings the top of the screen:
Unknown: Enjoy your last night out. We’ll buy you a drink.
I don’t show him immediately. I read it twice. The threat is so subtle it makes my skin itch and tighten.
“Problem?” Cayce asks.
“Maybe.” I hold up the screen so he can see. He takes the phone, reads, passes it back.
“Block the number,” he says calmly. “Then text Tiernan exactly what it said.”
“Won’t that cause…drama?” I ask.
“It will cause planning,” he says. “Drama is what happens when men who don’t plan are surprised.”
I forward the message to Tiernan, and then block the number. Pru’s car pulls in behind us; I can see her through the glass, talking with her hands and making Aoife laugh against her will. Tiernan is already on his phone, that steady face turned toward the wind.
“You’ll still go,” Cayce says. “You’ll still have your night.”
“You don’t have to let me,” I say, just to hear what he’ll do with the sentence.
“I’m not letting you do anything,” he says. “I’m not your father. I’m your partner. And I’m going to be your husband.”
The word lands in my ribs and sits there like something I might get used to. The car pulls away from the curb. The church disappears in the rear window. Ahead of us, the city starts lighting up for night.
I’m added to a group chat with Pru and Aoife
Pru: WE’RE DOING THIS. AND I’M STEALING A CENTERPIECE.
Aoife: Don’t tell the groom.
I look at Cayce and keep my face straight. “What if someone steals a centerpiece?”
“I’ll let Aoife fight that war,” he says. “I’m saving my energy.”
“For?”
“Tomorrow,” he says. “And for anyone who thinks they’re buying you a drink tonight.”
“Maybe I’ll let them,” I say, because the small rebellions feel like air being pulled into my lungs.
He turns his head a fraction. “Let them try,” he says. “Then tell me which hand to break.”
I shouldn’t like that. But I really, really do.