Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Izzy
I’m learning to accept the many different sides of me. Tonight, I’m the Mafia princess. Ready to do whatever Dad wants without question. Even if it means playing dress up in a gown Waverly left me.
Thanks to a teenage pregnancy, I missed out on all the typical rites of passage—no prom, no homecomings, no fancy graduation parties. Yoga pants, Crocs, and faded T-shirts are my mom uniform. I’ve embraced being a mom much easier than a Mafia princess—the uniform is way more comfortable.
Still I kinda get the appeal of being fancy. But the nicest outfit I own is a black dress I bust out for funerals. Definitely not the right vibe for a high-society wedding. Thankfully, Waverly has a closet full of dresses and gave me a loaner for the night. It hugs my curves with a soft squeeze, making me feel regal and sexy. There’s no way to resist it. I twirl, and it flows out like flower petals in the wind. This dress has an excellent twirl factor. I would rate it eight and a half out of ten. Very nice. The dress satisfies my inner princess.
The shoes are a different matter altogether. The black strappy heels are torture. They pinched my toes within fourteen seconds of putting them on. I’m counting every single second until I can kick them off, flex my feet, and get back into my Crocs.
Drew is playing Minecraft in the living room with Specs. At least our other bodyguard doesn’t mind being the babysitter for an evening. This is the first time I’m leaving my son alone since my ex became hellbent on ruining my life.
I shouldn’t leave him. But I have to.
I walk out of my bedroom and take a deep breath, waiting for their critique.
Drew glances back over his shoulder at me. “You look weird, Mom.” I’ll never get a positive response from my spawn. I frown, and he backtracks, “But in a good way.”
Specs turns around and gives me a low whistle. “You clean up nice.”
The last man in the room clears his throat.
I almost stop breathing. Lance stands there in a black suit, black tie, and perfectly pressed white shirt. He’s styled his hair off his head with more volume than he normally does. And he’s every one of my late-night fantasies come true.
Stop that! I am a responsible adult with a task to complete. I must ignore the flipping of my stomach and the heat scorching up and down my back.
Focus. Get through the wedding.
When it’s over, and I’m home, I’ll turn on some music to overcompensate for the sound of my vibrator, imagine Lance taking my thong off, and take care of this myself.
He’s my bodyguard, not my personal plaything. And I won’t risk him losing his job—or worse—because I can’t keep my hands to myself.
His smile is different today. It is not the one I’m used to seeing when he picks me up from work. Or the smile when Drew gets all his homework right.
Lance rubs his chin, and I can feel his gaze as he appraises my body. “You look amazing,” he says, glancing sharply over to Specs, who is fully focused on Drew. If Specs heard, he doesn’t react.
So no, all of this is completely fine, completely normal. Bodyguards who are in the friend zone often look at their clients like they want to eat them. Yep, totally normal.
“Um, we should get going.” I motion to the door. “Make good choices,” I say to Drew and kiss the top of his head.
Specs grumbles, “Follow your own advice,” before turning back to Minecraft.
“Be awake when we get back,” Lance says to Specs—the opposite advice to a typical dad’s ‘don’t stay up late’—as he holds the apartment door open and ushers me out.
When we walk through the lobby, he holds the door open for me again. I can’t tell if it’s a leftover skill from working with celebrities, or if it’s him being polite, but his fingers brush my back as he closes the door behind me.
I should ignore it. It was probably accidental contact. But there it is again as he holds the car door open, and I settle myself into the passenger seat.
The car has that “fresh” scent—nondescript but also distinct. It’s an SUV, but not one of the company ones. Maybe it’s his personal car. Weird.
The strangeness of the car, the dress, the whole night has me on edge. Being away from Drew at night amps up my mom guilt. I can’t tell if my nerves are because of Lance, leaving Drew, or over the concern that I’ll fuck this up and bring shame to my family. “I haven’t done this in such a long time.”
He smirks as he slides into the driver’s seat, using the momentum to give me a little nudge. “Going out with human beings or going to a wedding?”
“A little from column A, a little from column B.”
I give him the address of the church, and he pauses. “Is this a Catholic church?”
I shrug. “Of course. We’re all Catholic. What else would we be?”
Lance frowns. “Well, at least I’ll get some cardio in during this wedding.”
All the standing and sitting, the shaking of hands, the kneeling. It’s a workout.
“Truth is, except for funerals, I haven’t been to church since Drew was born, I mean, he was baptized and all—my family would completely disown me otherwise—but since then, I haven’t been.”
He clicks his tongue and gives me a sad, slow head shake. “Premarital sex and skipping church? Wow! There’s going to be a special place in hell for you.” He nudges my shoulder and gives me a little smirk.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one in my family with a reserved seat there.”
As soon as we pull into the church parking lot, multiple traumatic memories of my childhood smack me at once. I remember holding my mom’s hand as we walked down the aisle to sit in our place in the second pew. Squirming at all the other parishioners’ judging eyes and whispering mouths. Nothing escaped criticism. There were comments about what we wore, how we had the nerve to be there.
Still, there were hints of reverence for my family, with the respect that only comes from mob activity. We were bad people, but we had put a new roof on the mission building. We had always looked good in this civilized society, even while blood dripped from our knuckles.
As we enter the building, Lance seems uncomfortable for different reasons. He busies himself scoping out the exits and entrances, watches every movement people make in his vigilant threat assessment. His gaze lingers on a ninety-five-year-old woman, with her rosaries, like maybe she’s secretly a ninja.
There’s a new dread inside of me, ninety-five-year-old ninja aside. Maybe it’s not my life that’s in danger, maybe it’s something worse. So here I am, in church, with Lance checking for ninja assassins, the weight of the message my father sent me to deliver perching heavily in my soul.
The music starts, and the bride walks down the aisle draped in Vera Wang, with cottage core flowy ruffles and ivy and flowers embroidered into the train. It’s got a country-fairy-princess sort of vibe. Like the most popular Pinterest dream board.
Lance whispers to me, “Five bucks says we drink out of mason jars.”
I snort and whisper back, “With twine wrapped around them, and flowers in the center of the table with a tea candle floating in water.”
“You’re on. My bet is there’s not even going to be cake. There’s going to be pie.”
No cake? I will go anywhere and do anything for cake. To be at an event where the expectation is cake, and no cake appears? That’s blasphemy, and an insult of the highest order. I whisper back, “If there is no cake, I am leaving this wedding.”
“If there’s no cake, I’ll take you out for dessert afterward.”
“Do I get to pick?”
“I’ll get you anything you want.” His voice dips into a low growl, turning my insides to jelly. But he regroups like it never happened, and in a playful tone, he adds, “There’s an ice cream place nearby. We can go after the wedding.”
Somehow it does more for me than the sexy, growly voice from a few seconds ago. The comment seems so innocuous, but it means he has plans for us after the wedding. Just me and him. The thought makes my knee bounce.
But in all my inner chaos, I’m not nearly as stressed as Lance. He’s stiff, eyes darting from side to side. This is more than a basic threat assessment. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s a sin to lie in church,” I tease, but it doesn’t help.
“I hate sitting in crowds, too many blind spots. But we can’t move because it’ll draw too much attention. Plus, you know, God.” He motions toward the ceiling, “We’ve never been on a first name basis. And I’m pretty sure there’s gonna be singing.” There’s a panic in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Beads of sweat form at his brows. He cracks his knuckles in a steady beat.
Everything about this night is a mistake. We should leave. “Why did you agree to come?”
He turns to me and blinks away his fear. A sweet smile appears on his lips, and he leans in. “You asked me.”
His hot breath against my neck and my earlobe makes other regions of my body just as warm.
Calm down.
Keep it professional. I must ignore the growing dampness between my legs and the fact I can smell his aftershave, and he looks especially good in a suit. It doesn’t matter how he makes me feel. He’s doing his job.
The wedding ticks on. We stand, shake hands, and move aside so people can walk past us for communion—another neon sign that we don’t belong here. The whole event is a special sort of torture, socially awkward and physically painful. My toes want to escape Shoe Jail, and it’s making me extra squirmy.
Watching the bride and groom get married and confess their undying love for one another makes me bitter. That hasn’t been my experience, and trying to ignore the way Lance makes me feel only adds to my frustrations.
We meet the bride and groom in the receiving line. Both give us a polite but confused ‘Do we know you?’ glances before the bride recovers and gushes, “Thank you so much for coming.”
I give her a polite and practiced smile while Lance shakes the groom’s hand, and we move on.
I have an entire speech ready. I’ve rehearsed in the shower for a week now, but the receiving line is not the time to say it. No, it needs to be at dinner, as a grand gesture. I will not let Dad down. When the bride and groom are eating and want to be alone, I’ll walk in front of them and relay the message that I am, in fact, the representative from the Four Families. And I’m finally living up to my family’s plans for me.