Saints Astray

Page 30

She ground her teeth. “I understand that, sir.”
“Of course you do.”
“It’s your height,” Pilar supplied helpfully. “You’re very, um… statuesque, right? If I were a guy, I wouldn’t be surprised that you could kick my ass. I mean, you’ve got that whole killer ice queen dominatrix vibe going on.”
A familiar muscle twitched below Sabine’s right eye.
“What?” Pilar protested. “It works for you. It does.”
“Surprise is a virtue,” Magnus interceded, hoisting his wineglass. “Let us hope that tomorrow holds none not of our planning.”
They clinked glasses.
“What are you going to be doing, Magnus?” Loup asked. “Ah… Mr. Lindberg?”
He contemplated the depths of his wineglass. “Praying.”
The wedding took place at four o’clock on the following day. Pilar spent most of the afternoon fussing with her hair.
“Guys like it down, they do, I know they do. All guys have a long hair fetish. But it looks like shit with this dress. Shit! I’m not sure. I’m out of practice. What do you think, baby?”
Loup glanced up from her travel book. “Up, but with swirlies.”
“Swirlies?”
She gestured. “Hanging down.”
“Like this?” Pilar coiled a few loose tendrils around her fingers, then let them dangle.
“Perfect. Why are you so nervous? All you have to do is flirt with this guy. You could do that in your sleep, Pilar.”
“I don’t know.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s always been fun. The only time it wasn’t was with Rory Salamanca, and I don’t feel good about that. I hurt you, and I wasn’t exactly fair to him, either.”
“I know.” Loup kissed her cheek. “But this is totally different. You’ll be using your awesome flirting superpowers for good instead of evil.”
Pilar smiled reluctantly. “You think?”
“Yep.”
“Do I look okay?”
“Model for me,” Loup said. She watched Pilar stand and turn on high heels. Her dress had a bold floral pattern and a plunging neckline, and it clung to her shapely ass like a lover. “You look more than okay. You look hotter than fucking hell. And you’re not wearing any underwear, are you?”
“No. Okay, quit looking at me that way. I’m gonna get all turned on and distracted.” Pilar smiled again, more relaxed. “And you look really pretty, too. Like an ice cream caramel sundae.”
“Huh?” Loup glanced down at herself.
“Cool and sweet and lickable. Okay, I’m shutting up now.”
The wedding took place in a Renaissance cathedral. It was formal and interminable and involved a great deal of kneeling while the priest droned on in Italian. Loup looked around at the wedding guests, trying to identify their targets from the backs of their heads. She spotted Vincenzo Picco’s distinctive gray mane. She studied the pink marble columns, carved at the top to look like fish scales.
She thought about the church at home and wondered what Father Ramon and all the Santitos were doing. She wished there was a way to tell them that the world was changing, that things might not always be as they had been, and that Miguel Garza might turn out to be a hero after all.
At last it ended. When they went through the receiving line, Fiorella greeted Sabine like a long-lost friend, hugging her and kissing her on both cheeks. She exclaimed over Loup and Pilar, and made a point of introducing them all to the wedding party.
“How delightful!” Pasquale Picco kissed Pilar’s hand, lingering long enough to peer down her cleavage. “I hope to see you at the reception, signorina.”
She giggled. “You Italian men are so charming!”
He smiled at her. “Some more than others, I hope.”
On the groom’s side of the wedding party, Gustavo Vittori glowered briefly, replacing the expression with a smooth mask of courtesy to greet the next guest.
The reception was at a country villa twenty minutes outside of town. They drove in a long convoy of cars, Sabine at the wheel.
“Well, you definitely made the right first impression,” Loup offered.
Pilar shuddered. “Ick.”
“At least he’s better looking than the photos in his dossier. Hey, do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.”
“Yeah, but he’s one of those guys who look at you in a way that makes your skin crawl.” Pilar fished in her decorative little purse and handed Loup a small bag of mixed nuts. “Sorry. That’s all I could fit.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Sabine said irritably. “There will be food at the reception.”
“Yeah, and I don’t want to have to wolf it down like I’ve been on a deserted island, okay? I’m trying to be discreet.”
Sabine’s lips thinned. “Fine. Just try not to gawk at the villa.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The villa was gorgeous, the reception impossibly luxurious. The guests mingled on the expansive pool terrace while servers in white tuxedo shirts and crisp black pants circulated with trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. When Pasquale Picco arrived, he made a beeline for Pilar.
“You must let me show you the grounds, signorina,” he said smoothly, taking her arm.
She went with him, rolling her eyes when he wasn’t looking.
“Vincenzo Picco called that one right, huh?” Loup said to Sabine.
“So it appears,” she said absently, glancing around. “Gustavo is the one I worry about. Did you see his expression in the cathedral?”
“The one where he looked ready to explode?”
“Yes.” Sabine gave her a serious look. “Keep a sharp eye on him, Loup. If you have to make a move without my signal, do it. Tonight, I will not begrudge you your speed. Our reputation is at stake.” She paused. “Also, Magnus agreed to certain terms. We will not get paid if we cannot avert violence.”
“Okay. You might not want to mention that to Pilar. She’s already a little nervous.”
The newlyweds arrived. There were innumerable champagne toasts. Pasquale returned to offer one, temporarily freeing Pilar.
“You okay?” Loup whispered to her.
“Mildly groped, but otherwise, yes. You?”
“Yeah.” She nodded at an increasingly florid-faced Gustavo Vittori. “Just trying to keep an eye on him.”
They were ushered in to dinner without incident. Loup, seated at a table without anyone she knew, watched Pilar flirt shamelessly with Pasquale, while at yet another table, Sabine made an attempt to engage the glowering Gustavo.
“So, Canada, eh?” A young man seated to her right smiled at her. “What is it like there?”
“Cold. Lots of wolves.”
He blinked. “Wolves?”
“I’m kidding.” She returned his smile. “Joking. You know joking, right?”
“Of course,” he said. “Maybe you will dance with me later, Canada?”
Her smile turned rueful, knowing the odds were good he wouldn’t like it if she did. It made her miss the easy camaraderie of her cousins. “Maybe.”
There were more toasts after dinner. Vincenzo Picco gave a lengthy one. He caught Loup’s gaze toward the end and closed one eye in a deliberate wink. She smiled despite herself. The bride and bridegroom glowed, joyous and happy.
And then it was back to the terrace, now adorned with hanging lanterns, for more champagne and dancing. The pool shimmered with wavering blue-green light. A string quartet in formal attire played.
The bride and groom danced alone to the first song.
Then others danced.
Pasquale held Pilar close, whispering in her ear. She giggled obligingly.
Gustavo’s shoulders hunched and twitched. He conferred with a handful of men around him, then moved toward the dance floor.
“Loup—” Sabine began.
“On my way!” She threaded her way quickly and deftly through the wedding guests and intercepted Gustavo Vittori, blocking his way. “Hi.”
He stared at her. “Che cosa?”
She slid her right hand up his left arm and pressed hard on a point on his inner elbow with her thumb, smiling sweetly at him. “You speak English, right? Well, I’m this wedding’s guardian fucking angel. And you’re not going to make any trouble, are you, signore? Because if you are, I’m going to have to press hard enough to do permanent damage to the nerve center and you’ll never use this hand again. It’s already numb, isn’t it?”
Gustavo glowered.
Sabine arrived, gliding behind Loup. “I believe your car is waiting, signore,” she said, smooth and diplomatic. “You would be well advised to say your farewells and leave.”
He hesitated, still glowering.
“If it’s any consolation, your new brother-in-law is so not getting laid tonight,” Loup added with another sweet smile, maintaining pressure. “This wedding has more than one guardian angel.”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Truly?”
“Absolutely.”
It was enough to make him relent. He gathered his men, said his farewells, and left peaceably.
“That was brilliant!” Fiorella effused. “I don’t know what you said to make him leave quietly, but I like it very much.” She gave Loup a hug and kissed her on both cheeks, then drew back, startled. “Oh!”
“I know, I know,” she said, resigned. “I feel weird. Sorry.”
The bride wore an odd expression. “That is not the word I would use.”
“Ohh-kay.” Loup took a quick step backward. “Hey, where’s Pilar?”
They looked around the terrace. There was no sign of Pilar or Pasquale.
“Ah… try the conservatory,” Fiorella said, still looking somewhat flustered. “It is on the ground floor past the great hall, a room with a large piano. Pasquale plays very well, and it is his favorite pretext for getting young women alone.”