Chapter 16 Werewolves Can Be Classy, Too #5
As soon as the toasts end, I send Mandy straight to Brett’s room to herd the missing groomsmen down for dinner—and if necessary, to put her newly acquired scissor skills to the test by acting as emergency barber.
While I hurriedly discuss the issue of excess champagne during the toasts with Maryam, the hotel’s head of catering, Sidney’s mom swishes up to me in a beaded halter gown and a sheer, floor-length cape.
Masking my worry, I turn from Maryam to greet the elegant, and evidently agitated, woman. “Hello, Mrs. Barroway. Can I help with anything?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth Barroway’s voice rolls out low and languid. But the tightness of her Botoxed-away jowls makes my own smile freeze in empathy. “I suspect the bridesmaids are… well…”
I brace myself.
“Furries,” she whispers.
“Oh no,” I say.
“Indeed. Could you encourage them to be more… discreet?”
“Absolutely,” I tell Mrs. Barroway, relieved I won’t have to be the bearer of bad and hairy news. “I’ll go over now. I’m sure they’ll be understanding.”
“Thank you. Oh, and Samantha, I think some of the groomsmen might be missing.”
Remembering Sidney’s notes in the survey about her mom’s anxiety, I figure it might be time for redirection.
“The staff is preparing a vintage bottle of Moet to be sent in a gift basket to each of your guests’ rooms. They’re including a courtesy note about the option to enjoy the hotel’s specialty soufflé, which they can order through room service tonight or tomorrow morning.
I’d love you to make an announcement for your guests before the dessert course. ”
“That sounds… understated,” Mrs. Barroway says, but then she makes a purposeful eye at table 4, where Brett’s less-absurdly-rich family is seated, and I know I’m off the hook. As she sweeps away, I’m surprised to think of my own mom, wondering how she’d treat my future in-laws.
Mom hasn’t talked to me for a few weeks, and she didn’t ask about Hanry after I texted her about our first date.
If they were to meet, would she be nice to him?
To his adopted parents? Or would she forget my wedding, the same way she’s missed my last two graduations?
I can’t believe I have to wonder that. Also, why am I thinking about marrying Hanry?
We’ve only dated a few weeks. I’m going to have to leave him for New York soon.
It must be all these weddings. Still, it’s definitely creepy. Stop being creepy, Sab—
Oh god. Am I imagining things?
Did I wish this into existence?
Because in the midst of this room of barely constrained chaos, my eyes have landed on an absolutely un-wolfy, un-drunk, and truly gorgeous man—my very own Hanry Burleson. Here, seated among, and also a head and shoulders above, the guests.
How did I miss him on the guest list? When did he get back from visiting his parents? How does he know Sidney, or Brett, or…?
Doesn’t matter. He looks incredible.
When I used that same word to describe Sidney today, I meant it in an unbiased, objective way.
There isn’t anything objective about the rush of blood coursing through me now as I look at my unofficial boyfriend.
He’s wearing a gorgeously fitted tuxedo with a loosened black bow tie resting around his neck and laughing with unconscious abandon at something his tablemate said.
He must’ve arrived late; I would’ve known if he’d been here since the beginning.
I need to ask him how he knows Sidney and where in the world he gets his outrageously beautiful, bespoke dress outfits.
I step toward him.
Catching my eye across the room, Hanry brightens. Then he winks. And, whoa. I think that smolder just melted my ovaries. I’m absolutely molten.
How am I going to bear leaving him when the time comes?
I don’t know. But first, I’ve got to find Mandy. Shaking myself, I give Hanry a little smile, then spin on my heel and leave the ballroom.
Okay, Sabby. If you were a pixie on a mission who’d gotten off-mission, where would you go? Sugar. I’d search for sugar.
On the way to the end of the hall, where there’s a nook filled with vending machines, I call out Mandy’s name.
Something pokes into the back of my shoulder.
“Man—? Ahh!” I say, turning to a toned woman with long, sparkly red acrylic nails. It is very much not Mandy, but one of the bridesmaids. “Can I help you?”
“What sorority were you in?” she asks me.
I do a double take. “What?”
“I’m Alpha Kappa Alpha.” She edges closer. “Not Chi Omega. Or a Beta Phi. That would be gross.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Because I’m an alpha,” she growls directly into my ear. “What are you?”
“Not interested in your auto-insert Omegaverse fanfiction,” I reply, pushing the were-woman away and retreating at a brisk jog. She calls after me, “You smell really nice!”
It’s the traces of blood left on my Crocs, that’s all. I need to find a hose. But first Mandy, and—
Passing the entrance to the kitchen, I stop short.
Because through an opening in the fabric door, I find myself eye-to-eye with something that isn’t Mandy. It jiggles a sinister aluminum can in its fuzzy white paws. Its body has a vague flimsiness, like a plastic grocery bag.
But of course, that’s not what it is.
It’s my saboteur.