Page 102 of Monstrosity
"He asked about you three times while we were out the other day" I mention casually. "Wanted to know if you were coming to the wedding, what color your dress would be, if you were bringing a date..."
"He did?" The hope in her voice is quickly squashed. "Probably just being nosey. You know Emil."
"Well, if you ever want to talk about nothing..."
"Thanks," she says, then brightens artificially. "Oh look, my mom’s waving me over."
She escapes to go over to her mom, but not before I catch Emil watching her go with an expression that's anything but nothing.
He actually takes a step to follow her before catching himself.
The next thing I know we’re cutting the cake and it’s chaotic, mainly because Cali insists we cut all the cakes "to be fair."
Rio smashes a piece in my face, I retaliate, and soon the girls are giggling and covered in frosting too.
"Food fight at a wedding," Everly laughs. "That's a new one."
"Nothing about us is traditional," I point out, wiping chocolate from Florencia's nose.
"Best wedding ever!" Cali declares, licking frosting off her fingers.
As the sun sets and the party continues, I find myself watching our guests.
The club that's become family, the women who've embraced me, the children who play together like siblings.
This is what we've built from loss and pain—something beautiful and lasting.
"Time for the bouquet toss!" Meghan announces, clearly having the time of her life. "All you single ladies, get your asses over here!"
There's good-natured grumbling as the unmarried women gather.
I notice Saga trying to hide behind Tindra, but Meghan drags her front and center.
"No escaping!" Meghan declares. "The universe has plans for you!"
I turn my back, count to three, and toss.
There's squealing and laughter, and when I turn around, Saga's standing there holding my bouquet with a look of absolute horror on her face.
"I triednotto catch it!" she protests. "It hit me in the face!"
"Destiny," I tell her with a wink.
"Now the garter!" Tor announces. "Single men, line up!"
Rio makes a show of sliding his hand up my leg to retrieve the garter, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
The crowd hoots and hollers.
The single men are notably less enthusiastic about participating.
Emil stands at the very back, arms crossed, clearly only there because Tor physically dragged him over.
Rio winds up and lets it fly.
By some miracle—or maybe careful aim—it hits Emil square in the chest.
He catches it reflexively, then looks at it like it might explode.
