Page 9

“Plan B. Heatherington, get the groom. Ms. LaFontaine? Smile and grab some of those fake flowers.”

I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS . One of the agents takes his place at the small organ and begins playing Pachelbel’s Canon . That’s not the part I disbelieve, since most of it is only the same handful of notes played over and over. No, what I can’t wrap my head around is that this is really happening.

Kim walks out holding a handful of white roses and leaves that I recognize—both side rooms must have matching vases full of fake flowers. She approaches me with a glowing smile that belies the worry in her eyes.

The Wedding March begins, and everyone rises, including the old dear sandwiched between two confused-looking thugs.

If I had to guess, I’d say she’s the church secretary and that she led those men to the chapel after they were denied admittance, understandably confused.

I’m certain the Feds didn’t tell any unnecessary personnel that the wedding was an excuse to interview a witness for a deposition, and the church was the most believable meeting place.

This charade is taking improv to a whole new level. The young agent who I passed the time with is now standing next to me with a broad smile, trying to make this whole thing look “normal.”

Therese walks out, beaming, eyes smiling, the remainder of the fake flowers making a pink and white bouquet in her arms. Her handler gives her away with an enthusiastic smile as another suited stranger takes his place behind the lectern and opens with those dread words— “Dearly beloved.”

Wait, what? Are we actually going to go through with a fake wedding in front of Delgado’s goons (or maybe Estrada’s spies)?

I don’t even know what to do! I don’t have a ring!

Out of habit, I slap my breast pocket and find the kippah that I wore to someone’s wedding or bar mitzvah still inside.

I swallow hard and put it on. I look the part—but that still doesn’t solve the ring issue.

Kim takes her place across from the “best man” and me. Something gold flashes in her hand, and she passes it to Agent Asshat.

In a fog, Therese stands next to me, and I take her arm, feeling her wet palm on mine. I squeeze because that’s what you do when there’s a woman in crisis. You comfort. (At least if you’re me.)

I hear a five-minute “sermon” on loving, honoring, respecting, protecting, and how it’s wonderful that “Therese and Reggie found each other after struggles in love.”

I blink once, and Jakob Minegold is standing before us, reciting the sheva brachot with a strained look on his face.

I meet his eyes, trying to keep my face impassive as a feeling of elated panic consumes me.

This shouldn’t be happening.

But it is.

“The rings, please.”

Asshat pushes something into my palm, and Kim does the same for Therese. They’re rings all right—hoop earrings. My eyes dart up to Therese’s ears and see that they’re bare. I smile at her, and there’s a chuckle in my voice as I parrot back vows, trying to sound smooth and sincere.

I’m going off-script. “Therese, you’re amazing. There’s no more beautiful, brilliant woman in the world. I’m lucky I found you. It’s my privilege to love, honor, cherish, protect, and respect you.” I fight the urge to look over my shoulder and see what’s happening in the congregation.

This is a show. They’re the audience.

I can’t act!

This is a mission. You’re undercover. You can do that. You were made for that. You’re doing your sacred duty again, and it has been blessed. Let’s see how Therese does.

I say that, but there’s no true question in my mind. In my gut, I know she’s going to be amazing.

I shiver while forcing my body to be still.

I’ve never felt like this about anyone, let alone a woman.

I trust her as I trusted her ancestors, my life force bound to hers by ancient magic that bullets can not break.

I hope my somber expression reads “groom who takes his marriage seriously” as opposed to “bodyguard in conflict.”

“Reggie. The second I met you, I felt so safe and secure. You were the stability I’d been searching for. I’m lucky I found you. It’s my privilege to love, honor, cherish, comfort, and respect you.”

I’m absolutely not tearing up. I’m just impressed as hell, that’s all. Therese didn’t miss a beat. Artie would have been so proud of how brave she is. It’s only that sense of pride that makes me reach to gently cup her cheek. That’s what I tell myself.

She beams at me and catches both of my hands in hers. With a tremulous smile, she pushes one of her hoop earrings over my ring finger. I see her lips twitch as she feels my finger shrink and elongate to fit the hoop.

A wayward part of my brain suddenly wonders if she’d appreciate the way my body can change and shift to suit any purpose. Golems are uniquely malleable. Designed for the needs of those they serve.

I swallow. Do not think of serving her, Reginald. Not like that.

“You may kiss the bride.”

A split-second hesitation is all I can afford. It wouldn’t be normal for a groom to check the room or hesitate in showing affection to the woman he’s just claimed to love and who just claimed him right back.

Doesn’t have to be flashy. Just go for it.

JUST DO. DON’T THINK .

It had to be my imagination, but Reggie looked like he was moved to tears during the strangest wedding in history.

No notice, no real bouquets, hoops for rings, and a preacher who was ordained by the Marshals, not the church.

Mr. Minegold, oddly enough, seemed to be the most authentic part of it all—except for what I’m feeling in my chest.

And the kiss. The kiss is the only tangible thing that’s real.

My lips slowly lift and press to Reggie's as they sink down. My mind takes a much-needed break from stress.

He’s a really good kisser. Matteo was an absolutely sinful kisser who made me feel like any minute, public nudity was about to occur.

The X-rated movie thrill was nice, but also not my speed when I wasn’t on my third drink.

Reggie's mouth is slow, steady, and firm, pressing my lower lip between his and nuzzling into me for a second before we separate.

I want more of that. There’s a startled look in his eyes, like he knows what’s going through my head.

Blushing bride has an entirely new meaning.

“Mazel Tov.” Mr. Minegold places a cloth (I think it’s his pocket square) over a glass—the vase that formerly held fake flowers. I guess vampires really are fast.

He places the cloth-covered glass at Reggie’s feet, and Reggie takes a deep breath and stamps on it.

Everyone claps and rises as Minegold beams and ushers us away from the front of the church. The cheering continues as we walk down the wide center aisle.

Two men in the back get up and leave, and a short, stooped older lady dabs at her eyes with her long, floral sleeve. “A beautiful wedding! God bless!”

“Thank you!” I hope God listens to that old lady. We’re going to need all the help we can get.