Page 92 of Incisive

Maybe I also shouldn’t savor the satisfaction rolling through me over the fear I see in her parted, trembling lips and wide, muddy brown eyes.

Stella’s nostrils flare and I’m certain wheels are spinning in her brain, trying to figure out how to get around my edict.

That’s when I can tell it finally hits her Mom and Dad aren’t arguing with me.

They’re solidly onmyside this time. Not hers.

Stella’s chin tips up just a little, a sign she’s struggling to rein in her defiance. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Mom and Dad. I…didn’t want you to feel bad about not coming down the night before.”

Her gaze never leaves mine and I know she’s lying—so do my parents, I’m nearly certain—but this isn’t the time to call her out on that when she’s already done too much damage for one day. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

She finally turns to them and her smile also doesn’t fool me. “I know you don’t like the political crowd and there were a lot of them here last night, seriously. It was more an Ellis appreciation society meeting than anything. You would have hated it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings. I was trying to spare you having to put up with all that bullshit.”

I spot the moment Mom decides to let the lie stand when she smiles and reaches out to hug Stella. My gaze locks on Stella’s as they embrace, so my sister’s death-glare is for me alone as they hug.

I give back as good as she’s getting and make her blink first.

Then she hugs Dad. “Sorry, Dad.”

Dad stiffly accepts her hug, barely patting her on the shoulder, looking even more uncomfortable hugging than he usually is with her. “You need to get your head out of your ass, Stella,” he says. “Why can’t you be more like your brother and get along with people?”

Another jaw-dropping, eye-widening moment my sister and I share, for totally different reasons, I’m certain.

Okay, this has been a day of first, for sure.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters again.

I open my arms to her for a hug and she reluctantly steps in.

Keeping my voice down so I know Mom and Dad won’t hear, I hold her tightly so she can’t get free while I whisper in her ear. “Donotfuck with me or them today. If you hurt their feelings or embarrass them again, Iwillmake your wedding day the first worst day of your life, followed by many, many others. To the point that you will be so professionally radioactive you’ll be lucky to land a job handling PR for a chicken slaughterhouse in North Dakota. Then, I will personally come down here and heavily campaign door-to-door so that Ellis will be lucky if he ever gets elected to a local homeowner’s association, much less any other public office.”

I’m smiling when I straighten and release her and raise my voice. “Love you, Stella.”

She warily eyes me, eventually nodding. “Love you, too,” she mutters.

* * *

Don’t get me wrong—Iknow damned well this doesn’t mean my sister has had a complete and miraculous change of heart. My extremely serious threat won’t keep Stella in check any longer than through the end of today. She has the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to not getting her way. She’ll return to her usual tricks once the stress of the wedding has dissolved, she starts settling into life as a congressman’s wife, and she tries to plan her next run at me to use my office for her and Ellis’ gain.

For today Stella does straighten up. I’m certain the grateful looks her assistants give me after our family come-to-Jesus talk aren’t my imagination, either.

Turns out Stella does have a maid of honor, who’s one of Ellis’ relatives. The poor woman’s dress looks like someone took all the scraps left over from making the tropical fruit skirtsuits, mixed them up, and blindly grabbed them from a bag to stitch them into place.

I wish I was kidding.

Even my mother has to stifle her nervous laugh when we first catch sight of the poor woman’s dress. It’s a very poufy thing, too, a throwback to some psychedelic mix of ’80s retro and antebellum aspirations that only accomplishes one thing: ensuring Stella’s dress looks gorgeous in contrast.

Just before being seated we’re briefly introduced to Ellis’ family, including taking a quick group picture of me and my parents with them. Ellis’ father, Ludlow, is seated in a wheelchair and being tended to by a male nurse. The nonagenarian appears practically catatonic and has to have drool wiped off his chin several times before the pictures are snapped.

Fuck.

I swear to myself to never do something like that to my parents, trotting them out for a photo opp. Especially if they’re ever at the point where they’re unable to make decisions for themselves any longer.

The wedding is being held in a huge ballroom at the country club. Close to the time for the ceremony to start, Mom and I are escorted to our seats in the front row, leaving one chair empty on the end on Mom’s other side for Dad to occupy after he walks Stella down the aisle. I notice that Ludlow’s not wheeled into a spot on the groom’s side of the audience until just before the music starts.

The male nurse leaves the wheelchair parked at the end of the row of seats, on the center aisle, and quickly steps back off to the side. Ellis and his best man take their places on the riser, as does the minister, who’s apparently the head of a mega-church down in Ft. Lauderdale and has an internet TV show that pulls in modest numbers.

I feel Mom’s hand tighten around my arm. Looking down, I realize she’s desperately trying not to laugh but she’s not looking at me. That’s when I follow her gaze, across the aisle.