Page 63 of Brutal Vows
“So we’ll say two hundred per side, is that fair?”
Gianni protests, “We’ll need more than that!”
“Why, if you have such a small family?”
Gianni looks at Quinn with his brows drawn together. “Who said we have a small family?”
When Quinn sends me a pointed, disapproving glare, I smile. “I might’ve fibbed about how many relatives we have.”
“Among other things. Are you a pathological liar, or is it more like a hobby?”
“It’s closer to a protective evolutionary adaptation, like the stripes on a tiger.”
After a beat, he says, “You live in a jungle, you learn to camouflage yourself.”
I shrug. “Survival of the fittest and all that.”
He says darkly, “Aye. And you’re one bloody fit tiger, aren’t you, woman?”
Leo and Gianni are looking at us like we’re two psychiatric patients babbling to each other in a padded cell.
Ignoring them, I say, “So two hundred a side. I’ll handle the invitations for our side. I trust you have someone you can delegate that task to for yours?”
Looking pensive, Quinn nods.
“Good. Any suggestions where you’d like the rehearsal dinner to be held? I’m not familiar with Boston.”
“I know a place.”
“We’ll keep the list for the dinner limited to the immediate families and whoever’s in the wedding party, so it doesn’t haveto be as big as the church. What else?” I think for a moment. “Marriage license.”
Quinn says, “It’s already taken care of.”
“What about the wedding reception? Where will that be?”
More blank looks.
“You know what? Leave it to me. I’ll find somewhere close to the church that can hold four hundred gangsters and has good security. Maybe there’s a federal prison nearby.”
Quinn shakes his head. “Let me handle that. I know someone who can put together big events on short notice.” He pauses. A crack appears in his stormy demeanor. His smile is faint, but it’s there. “She’s a boss. Reminds me a lot of you, actually.”
“Really? She runs a zoo, too?”
“Aye. Keeps all us monkeys in line.”
“I’m sure we’ll have a lot to talk about. What about the ring?”
Gianni and Leo look at Quinn, who’s looking at me with his brows drawn together.
“What about it?”
As if I’m speaking to a toddler, I say with exaggerated patience, “You’ll purchase one, I assume?”
“I suppose.”
“Yousuppose? Do you want everyone laughing at you during the part in the ceremony where you should be putting a ring on your bride’s finger, but you can’t because you forgot to buy her one?”
He looks at the ceiling, as if calling on a higher power for patience. Then he scowls at me again. “I’ll buy a ring.”
