Page 120 of Steal My Heart

“I’m a cannon; I’ve got this,” I say resolutely.

Angelo closes the distance between us and presses a kiss to my lips. He pulls back quickly with a scowl. “You will never impersonate my sister again.”

“Agreed.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Remi

“Monarch court, when we arrive at the riverfront landing, the king and queen will disembark first, and then the king’s court, followed by the queen’s. Please stay in order as we line up behind the mayor and the king and queen for the key ceremony,” a woman with a headset and clipboard announces, almost as officious as clipboard lady from the charity gala.

My heartbeat skids erratically as I try not to look over the edge of the riverboat, while also not trying to look at Angelo and Laurie cuddled up at the front of the pack.

“You’re Alessandra Calvani,” the woman behind me in line taps my shoulder.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too cornbread.

“Heard about the little kerfuffle at the mayor’s party.”

“The what?” I say in a bored tone, channeling Alessandra. Plus, I don’t know what the wordkerfufflemeans.

“Your brother’s arrest, dear. And then your little spat with Dr. Khol.”

“Then I’m sure you heard my brother was released without charges,” I say, internally cringing. Agreed; I’m never playing the role of Angelo’s sister again. It’s too freaking weird.

“Oh, yes. It’s the talk of the town,” she says excitedly. “And with everyone here today, who knows what will happen?”

I follow her gaze, wishing I hadn’t. Laurie’s leaning into Angelo, whispering something in his ear.

It doesn’t mean anything. He’s playing a role. We’re both all in. Stay focused on the grab.

The boat docks, and Laurie and Angelo are the first to exit the gangway, welcomed by a trumpeters’ procession.

You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Ellis is one of the trumpeters, dressed in a court jester outfit.

He’s the fool, not me. Stay focused on the grab.

Pretending to drop something, I dive to the ground and crawl around on my hands and knees “Go on, I don’t want to hold up the line,” I tell the gossip behind me. She proceeds, and I stay down until I’m the last in line.

“Ms. Calvani, you were to remain in order.” Something about clipboards makes people officious; this phenomenon should also be studied.

I rise, straightening out my dress with my hands. “Sorry,” I say, hurrying down the gangplank while gripping the railing for dear life, because not today, Mississippi River.

My cleavage is practically nonexistent, but that doesn’t stop Ellis from attempting to sneak a peek over his horn.

Ugh, he’s the worst.

At the tail end of the procession, I keep my peripheral vision on the mayor as I appear to look straight ahead, climbing the stage stairs. My heart beats in my ears when I line up directly behind him and move my hand, going for the phone on his clip, but there is no phone.

Coming to a stop at my spot on the end, I notice a rectangular bulge in his left pocket.

Nooooo!

Blowing out a breath, I calm myself. I have one more shot when the procession exits.

The emcee takes the microphone to announce the mayor, because apparently, if you’re the mayor, you can’t announce yourself. “Let’s give a warm welcome to Mayor Morrissey.”