Page 50 of Four Aunties and a Wedding

“Shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” I say, reaching out for him.

“I’m fine.” He waves me away.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you like that,” Staphanie says with a look that conveys the exact opposite.

The familiar, dark fear clutches at my chest, tightening around my lungs and making it hard to breathe. But then I recall what Big Aunt and Fourth Aunt had told me. About needing to convince them that we, too, are mafia. That we’re not helpless civilians. That we, too, have sharp teeth.

I mean, obviously I don’t, but I make myself stand up straight and meet Staphanie’s gaze straight on. “You didn’t scare me.”

A frown crosses her face, but with Nathan right there, all Staphanie can do is fake a smile and say, “Oh, good. Everyone’s been wondering where you’ve been.”

“Had to go pee. Kind of hard to do in the dress,” I mutter.

“Ah,” Staphanie says. “Well, are you guys ready for portraits?” She turns to Nathan. “Your parents have been asking about them.”

“Oh yes, I forgot to mention. Mum’s very eager for us to do family portraits soon, before my Nan passes out from too much champagne,” Nathan says, smiling apologetically. “Is that okay? Is your family ready for photos?”

“Sure, yeah, of course.”

As Nathan goes to get his family, I crane my neck to look for mine. Big Aunt and Fourth Aunt have located Ma and Second Aunt and pulled them away from Lilian for a bit. They must’ve filled them in on the two men who are currently bound and gagged in the bridal room—because of course there are two men bound and gagged in the bridal room—because Ma and Second Aunt are gaping in the universal expression of “WTF?”

As I watch, Big Aunt and Fourth Aunt whisper urgently to them, and Ma looks dubious while Second Aunt nods and then shifts her position so that she’s standing in a way that somehow conveys belligerence, much like a surly teenage boy. I guessthey’ve just been told of the plan to act like mafia. Ma wrings her hands for a bit, shifting between this position and that position, brushing down her dress, patting her Komodo dragon hat, and fussing until Fourth Aunt snaps at her. Then she straightens, glowering at Fourth Aunt and looking very much like she could kill another human with her bare hands.

Big Aunt goes to Lilian, who’s sampling a few of the hors d’oeuvres, and puts her arm around hers. Lilian looks confused, but Big Aunt says something to her and her face breaks into a huge smile and she nods. My family surrounds Lilian, and together, they make their way toward me.

It’s a struggle to keep the polite smile on my face as they near. How do I describe the sight of them? Even before the whole disaster with Staphanie, my family would have looked ridiculous—okay, that’s mean—eye-catching, what with the matching radioactive-eggplant dresses and the towering Komodo dragon fascinators. But now, the look is compounded by the fact they’re trying to pass for mafia.

Each of them seems to have a different idea of how mafiosi behave. Big Aunt is striding like a twentieth-century aristocrat who’s just received word that her granddaughter was caught being fresh with a commoner. She’s giving strong Maggie-Smith-in-Downton-Abbeyvibes. Second Aunt is swishing her arms fluidly, as if she’s about to launch into some deadly Tai Chi move. Ma is glaring at everyone who glances their way, and Fourth Aunt is strutting, literally strutting, like she’s pounding down the catwalk in Milan. Her lips are pouted and she’s glaring at everything with her trademark “I’m fierce” face.

It’s like watching the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse descend upon you. My insides writhe, especially as heads turn to watch them. It’s as though they’ve got a magnetic hold on everyone’s gazes. No one can look away, and who can blame them?

I’m suddenly aware of Staphanie next to me. With a huge effort, I tear my gaze away from my family and study Staphanie from the side of my eye. She’s frowning at my aunts and mom, and I can’t decipher the meaning. Is she convinced they’re mafia? Then I recall belatedly that I’m not supposed to make her think they’re mafia; I’m supposed to make her thinkweare. I need to seem tough too.

Quick, think of something to say. Something badass that the daughter of a mafia family would say.

What the hell would the daughter of a mafia family say to her wedding photographer who also happens to be mafia and is holding her wedding hostage?

All sorts of movie clichés rush through my head.

Say hello to my little friend?What little friend? I don’t have a gun on me, and that one’s always struck me as kind of weirdly sexual.

Your ass is mine?Is it? Do I even want it? Also kind of weirdly sexual.

“I don’t know what your family’s trying to pull, but it’s not going to work,” Staphanie says in a low voice.

My teeth clack together in frustration. “You’re messing with the wrong family,” I hiss. Wow, that came out really weak. I should’ve said, “You’refuckingwith the wrong family.” “Fuck,” I add for good measure.

Staphanie gives me a weird look before frowning at my family. “Where’s Big Aunt’s fascinator?” she says suddenly.

It’s so far off from what I thought she’d say that for a second, I completely blank out. “Huh?”

“Her hat. Where is it?” Her voice comes out tinged with impatience. “She’s going to ruin the pictures if she doesn’t have it on.”

“Oh right,that’swhat’s going to ruin the photos, not the fact that my photographer’s a complete fraud.”

Staphanie shakes her head, muttering something under herbreath, and taps something on her phone. “Is Second Uncle still up in the room?”

My heart thumps like a wild animal against my ribcage. “I don’t know. How would I know that?”

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