Page 22 of Grift

Her face relaxes, and she rushes to say, “You too” before a pink flush deepens her peaches and cream skin. I can’t help it, I wink.

Thankfully, the minister begins his carefully curated speech. You’d think the man wouldn’t have much to say. There are no great stories about how we met, the proposal, or why we are perfect for each other. But his words still hit the mark.

“As the world becomes larger and more complex, connections are more fleeting. Family is everything. It’s the foundation, the safe harbor, the reclaiming of a life that’s for us and for those that we choose to spend our days with. A refuge from the constant busyness, the relentless bad news, the dizzying pace of change. Today, Patrick and Jessica come together to form a new family, joining the Kensingtons and the Carneys into an extended unit that can support one another and work together to make the world a better place. And more importantly, joining their lives together, so that they may build something that brings them joy, peace, and solace.”

The ceremony goes on, and eventually a few people do readings. The last one is my sister.

“Catriona Carney,” the minister says, and I want to gut punch him for the appreciative note in his fifty-something voice as croons her name. Men being creepy to my sister isn’t new, but I draw the line at the officiant of my own damn wedding.

Say what you will about my sister, she knows how to make a splash. Catriona’s cleavage strains the top of a dress that’s slightly too tight. Her heavy eyeliner throws her green eyes into stark contrast against her dress, and wild curls make her hair too big for the restrained vibe of the day. But it’s an effect, and every man in the room is fighting to keep his eyes off her. I know she can handle herself, but I still want to kill them all.

“A reading from the Bible,” the minister says.

The knot that’s formed in the pit of my stomach unfurls. Catriona is a wild card, the X factor in any situation.

I knew Marlana had put together the ceremony, and anything she chose should be safe. Plus, I’m rusty on my Sunday School, but if it’s from the Bible it’ll be fine.

Catriona is perched at the podium, flashing a starlet smile at the crowd and reading in a clear, strong voice. “The Song of Solomon.”

Oh shit. I see the move coming seconds before it happens, as she murmurs “hmm, that’s not quite right” and flips to another page.

Some parts of those verses are used all the time in weddings, but some are racy.

“Ah yes, here we are,” Catriona says, her voice sparkling with delight. “Songs of Solomon, 7:1-3.”

Behind me there is a hissed intake of breath.

“How beautiful are your sandaled feet, princess!

The curves of your thighs are like jewelry,

the handiwork of a master.

Your navel is a rounded bowl;

it never lacks mixed wine.

Your waist is a mound of wheat

surrounded by lilies.

Your breasts are like two fawns,

twins of a gazelle.”

Catriona’s voice rings out, polished perfect and using the amazing acoustics of this place to the perfect affect. When she says breasts, Callan suppresses an honest to god choke.

I stare straight ahead, my eyes taking in the rising pink on Jessica’s cheeks. Instantly, I feel like an asshole. This isn’t funny. This is her wedding day, and ruse or no, I won’t have her shamed.

She’s had enough of that. But as I really look at her and decide what to do, I realize the shaking hands and the tightly pressed lips aren’t anger. They’re something else entirely. She’s fighting to keep from laughing. She’s just embraced the ridiculous moment in a way that lets me feel like I can breathe again. I’m grinning at Jessica as Catriona shamelessly goes on.

“Song of Solomon, 7:4 – 8,” she continues.

Your neck is like a tower of ivory,

your eyes like pools in Heshbon

by the gate of Bath-rabbim.

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