Page 4 of The Imp Act
CHAPTER FOUR
NOELLE
It was obvious to me that Enzo is rich. I saw his penthouse, and he explicitly told me that money wasn’t an issue for him. In fact, his money is a major reason I agreed to this whole situation. And he mentioned imp society and reputations enough that I got the idea his family is important.
But I didn’t realize that my wedding would be the event of the year.
I wanted something small; hell, if we could have eloped, that would have been perfect. Unfortunately, his mother—whom I’ve only met twice, and who is intimidating as shit—insisted that we put on a show .
Like…the whole enchilada. The big white gown, the string quartet, the four-course dinner. Flowers everywhere. Three hundred guests. This isn’t just a wedding. It’s a production.
I haven’t had a say in any of it. Mrs. Rossetti hired a wedding planner to take care of every last detail, even the gown. I’d always assumed I’d design my own dress if I got married; after all, that’s what I do. But one, there wasn’t time, and two, Enzo’s mom wasn’t having it. She wanted me in haute couture by a well- known house. She and the planner selected the dress they liked and had it sent to me.
I suppose I could have objected, but why bother? This wedding isn’t the real thing, so I have no problem playing along with his mother’s wishes. Hey, maybe it’ll even get me on her good side. Enzo warned me that she would disapprove of me on sight, because I’m not an imp. I was concerned about that, but he didn’t care. He threw an arm around my shoulder, said I was the right choice for him, and that was that.
And now, here we are, on our wedding day. I walk down the aisle of Monstrocity’s premier hotel’s ballroom in half an hour.
Enzo’s sisters are my bridesmaids, and their daughters are flower girls, which is fine. I don’t have any family in the city, and although I do have friends I might have asked to stand with me, it’s also fine that they aren’t here. I’m not that close to any of them. Being so focused on school and my future career meant I didn’t take time to socialize. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, and now it’s working in my favor.
For example, I don’t have to explain to anyone why I’m marrying a guy I’ve only known for a month. A guy whose mother seems to hate me. A guy who’s rich, which kinda makes me look like a gold digger.
Of course, Mrs. Rossetti ran a background check as soon as Enzo told her about me. Luckily, there wasn’t much to find. Yeah, I have some debt, but I’m not a divorcée, I don’t have any secret children, and there are no skeletons in my closet or arrests on my record, so she had to be satisfied with me in that regard.
“How are you feeling?” Enzo’s sister, the youngest of the three—he’s the baby—asks me. I think she’s Sienna. If I have it right, Ravenna is the oldest and Elena is in the middle. Ravenna is married to a fellow imp and has three children—I think. Elena is married to a male I haven’t met, but apparently he’s not an imp. Despite that, it seems he passed Mrs. Rossetti’s inspection with flying colors. He and Elena have two kids. And Sienna and her imp husband also have a couple of kids. At least, I think I have all that right. Enzo gave me a crash course, since I haven’t spent much time with his siblings.
“Oh,” I say, surprised Sienna bothered to check on me. Maybe the sisters are nicer than I’ve given them credit for. I shouldn’t assume they’re dragons (metaphorically, of course; the actual dragons I’ve met are lovely) like their mother. “I’m fine. Why?”
She gives me a soft smile. “It’s your wedding day, and Mother has gone out of her way to make it the most extravagant society event this year. It’s natural to be nervous. Even I’m a little antsy, and I’m just a bridesmaid.”
I shrug, causing the strapless bodice of my gown to shift. Good thing I’m wearing a frothy corset under it to hold things in place. “Maybe I should be, but I’m not. I feel good about the whole thing.”
“Ah, the power of love,” she says in her soft voice. Sienna is the gentlest, least forceful sister. And she seems to believe my relationship with Enzo is the real deal. That bodes well for me.
Ravenna steps forward and taps Sienna’s shoulder. “Come on. We should get downstairs and get ready.” She turns to me. “We’ll give you a few moments to yourself. Meet us down there when you’re ready, okay?”
I nod. They really are being kind to me, especially considering I’m a virtual stranger who’s marrying their baby brother.
I take a deep breath after they leave, but before I can do much else, the door opens again. I turn, expecting that one of them has forgotten something, but instead, my groom slips in.
He’s in a tux, of course, and looks more dashing than is fair. By its perfect fit and the way it’s tailored to accommodate his wings, I’m betting it’s not a rental.
“Hey,” he says, smiling at me. It only makes him more devastating. He’s so pretty, it’s not fair.
“Hi. What’s up? You’re not supposed to be in here. It’s bad luck to see me in my dress,” I tease.
He shrugs. “You know how I feel about rules. I live to break ‘em. Anyway, I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re okay and not having any doubts.”
“Worried I’ll run away?”
He leans against the doorframe, his legs crossed. So casual, so confident. “Not really. But I’m here to reassure you, just in case you’re considering it.”
“I’m not going anywhere except down that aisle to marry you. I won’t get cold feet, dear husband.” I grin at him.
“Glad to hear it, wife.” He shoots me a wink and exits, but the door opens again a few moments later. Just how many keycards did this hotel hand out? This is my bridal suite now, but tonight it’ll be our wedding suite, and I don’t think either one of us want people wandering in.
This time it’s his mother. Wonderful.
“Mrs. Rossetti,” I greet.
She just nods. “Stand up,” she commands. “I want to make sure you’re presentable.”
I take a deep breath and plaster a gentle smile on my face. I will not let her find fault with me. I don’t know how she could; most of what I’m wearing came from her. The pearl earrings and matching necklace are straight from her jewelry box, and complement the pearls running down the back of my A-line gown. The dress has touches of lace and seed pearls for glimmer, but nothing so garish as sequins or crystals. My hair is twisted up in a classic chignon, my veil—that she chose—tucked into the top of it. It too is dusted with seed pearls, and when I pull the blusher over my face to walk to Enzo, it will shimmer softly in the light.
I look like a perfect, classic bride.
Aurelia Rossetti walks around me in a slow circle, eyeing me up and down. She doesn’t look particularly pleased, but after the world’s longest inspection, she finally lets out a sigh.
“I suppose you’ll do.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t snap at her. “Is there something I should change? Your daughters helped me with my hair and makeup, but maybe I need a touch-up?” I know I don’t. My makeup is as classic as everything else: soft brown eyeshadow that does nothing to enhance the color of my eyes, pink blush, pink lipstick. A touch of mascara. No false lashes, no colors that actually flatter me. Just the shades that my future sisters-in-law promised would pass their mother’s meticulous gaze.
“No,” she says. “I don’t think there’s any more to be done. Get your bouquet and let’s go.”
Mrs. Rossetti loves flowers. Enzo told me they’re her true passion in life, and she went all out with the décor. The hotel is covered in pink roses, peonies, and hydrangeas, like a fluffy, aromatic blush sea. My bouquet, by contrast, is relatively stark. It’s a small nosegay composed of pink rosebuds, tied off with—you guessed it—more pearls.
Color me just shocked that she didn’t give me an extravagant bouquet to match everything else. For a split second, I consider asking whether there’s anything I can do to meet her approval, but just as quickly, I discard the notion. Who cares if this woman likes me? I only have to tolerate her for a year, and even then, only at family events. It’ll be fine.
NOELLE
The ceremony goes smoothly. I don’t trip walking down the aisle, we don’t mess up our vows, and our kiss is chaste and appropriate. Enzo does wink at me when we’re pronounced husband and wife, and I have to suppress a giggle, but otherwise, we’re the picture of elegance.
Now we’re dancing in the grand ballroom, the diamonds on my finger twinkling in the light. The entire thing is utterly surreal.
“How’re you holding up?” Enzo asks as we twirl.
“So far, so good. Though I’ve never seen so many older ladies give me disapproving grimaces.”
He rolls his eyes. “Ah, yes, my mother’s sisters and so-called friends. Ignore them. They’re a bunch of rich old biddies who contribute nothing to society, imp or otherwise.”
I try to feel reassured, but it’s hard when it seems like the majority of our wedding guests dislike me—or at least think their golden boy could have done better. I mean, they aren’t wrong. He probably should have chosen some rich imp girl with a perfect family tree. But he didn’t, I think defiantly. He picked me. And they can all kiss my perky ass.
I remind myself of my new mantra, one I’ll be repeating a lot in the coming months, I’m sure: It’s only for a year. It’s only for a year.
I lean close so I can whisper in Enzo’s ear. “By the way, your mother has a keycard to our suite. Thought you should know.”
He sighs. “Of course she does. I’ll take care of it. She may butt into my life more than I’d like, but no way is she interrupting our literal wedding night.”
After the song ends, Enzo dances with his mother and I dance with Enzo’s uncle, who is standing in as the male head of the family, as Enzo’s father passed away several years ago. Then we eat a literal banquet: salad, a soup that’s mostly a light coconut broth, an entrée that has only two ingredients I recognize (watermelon and fennel), and a berry sorbet. Followed by the enormous lemon-and-vanilla cake covered in frosting flowers that Enzo’s mother chose.
Enzo’s loved ones give speeches that I mostly tune out, I toss my bouquet to the eligible imp ladies, and then we finally get to depart. I’ve never been so relieved to see a hotel room.
Enzo calls the front desk to handle the keycard situation, and I retreat to the bathroom. I want nothing more than to shed this costume. I wipe off the makeup, take down my hair, and then carefully remove the shoes and dress. The veil and gown go in their bag, the jewels in their box to be returned to Mrs. Rossetti, and I’m left in my lacy corset, panties, and stockings.
I look fantastic, no lie, and it’s a great look for seducing my new husband. But honestly, after all the food and polite conversation, I just want to collapse in bed. Still, I should probably give him a peek. A little reward for making it through the world’s longest, dullest wedding reception.
At least if I ever get married for real, I’ll know what not to do.
I saunter back into the bedroom, where Enzo is sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, his wings tucked back. He’s removed his jacket, rolled up his cuffs, and loosened his bowtie. The undone look suits him.
He glances up at me and gives a low whistle. “Damn, Mrs. Rossetti. Looking fine.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rossetti.”
He grins, looking me up and down. “Tell me what you want right in this minute.”
I cock my head at him. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to fulfill a fantasy for you.”
“Oh! Um, well…” I trail off, not sure how to tell him I’m not in the mood to get banged.
He shakes his head. “I can see what you’re thinking, but that’s not precisely what I meant. You’ve had quite a day doing me a favor, and now I’m going to give you whatever you want. I’ll order room service, I’ll rub your feet, I’ll peel off that lingerie and ravish you. Your wish is my command.”
I put a hand to my stomach. “No more food, please. I’m already about to burst. The foot rub sounds good, though. And maybe…just cuddling in front of the TV? I know it’s our wedding night, but I’m exhausted. And while I may look like a million bucks, nothing I’m currently wearing falls under the heading of ‘comfortable.’”
He nods. “Me too. That actually sounds perfect.” He stands and begins to strip, revealing scarlet skin and perfect muscles, toned from boxing, of all things. He gets down to his boxer briefs, shoots me a grin, and then shucks them. Then, leaving his chest bare, he pulls on a pair of gray sweats.
Good lord in heaven.
It might only be for a year, but this man is mine. Once I’m not so tired, I’m going to take him up on the whole ravishing thing, because he is working those sweats. Damn.
I follow suit, changing into my pajamas—little shorts and a matching tank—before joining him on the bed and snuggling under his arm. He puts on a movie, and the last thing I remember is the tender way he looks at me and kisses my forehead. Then I’m out.