The Flame Game (Magical Romantic Comedies #12) - R.J. Blain Page 0,1
really is prettier than everyone else here. You’re a very lucky woman.”
Oops. I shrugged, but I also smiled. “It’s true. I can’t help it. He’s in a suit. He can’t wear dress uniforms at home. I get ideas. I am enjoying this while it lasts. Someone is going to take a picture of him in his suit, and I will end up being bribed for copies of the pictures. I’ll have to ration the pictures out. I make him late for work if he wears anything other than his normal uniform. He has to change at work.”
Well, maybe I couldn’t keep my blabbering mouth under control, but I could make people laugh. The entire audience had a field day with my runaway commentary, but beyond blushing over my nervous tendencies, I resisted the urge to dash for the door. If I bolted, Quinn would catch me, drag me back, and laugh about it for the rest of eternity.
It amazed me how much could change in such a short period of time. Six months ago, I’d been bitter, alone, tired, and hungry more often than not. I no longer worried about what I’d eat; if I skipped a meal, Quinn chased me down and hovered until I did what he wanted, which involved eating whatever offering he had brought for me.
Greasy fries and burgers showed up almost as often as healthier fare. He even tolerated me trying to shove fries down his throat, as he deserved to enjoy greasy goodness, too.
I had issues.
I had a lot fewer issues than six months ago.
I deserved a gold star and an entire bucket of napalm for how much progress I’d made.
Quinn chuckled, which captured my attention, and he stole a gentle kiss. “Don’t worry. I’m going to have as much trouble as you when I get you into a dress uniform.”
I loved my gorgon-incubus doohickey. “Serves you right, you freak.” Aw, damn it. There I went, calling my husband a freak on our second wedding day. “I’m blaming the absurd number of cops in this building for my inability to behave like a normal adult.”
The cops snickered, which helped mitigate most of my urge to run away and hide from my ability to thoroughly embarrass myself. Then again, if I did run away and hide, Quinn would cheat and use his body to lure me to our room. Running so he’d chase me tempted me, but I stood my ground for a rare change.
Sometime within a few hours, he would lure me to our room, and I would be rewarded for handling our second wedding with a little more grace than our first. Mostly. Maybe with less grace but properly dressed. I could work with properly dressed for our second wedding.
Then again, if we got through the vows without Quinn’s relatives brawling with each other, we would be way ahead compared to our courthouse wedding.
The Elvis impersonator grinned, waited for the laughter to subside, and resumed his lecture. To my relief, he wound the whole sermon thing down, beginning the important exchanging of vows part. Thanks to my general inability to handle life normally, I’d made a single request: short, sweet, and to the point.
Wedding number three could be more elaborate after Quinn had a year to help me get over some of my more problematic issues. Blurting random shit out in the middle of my own wedding counted as one of those issues.
After some deliberation and some whining from the Devil, we’d settled on Catholic vows with some alterations offered by Quinn’s various relatives.
My husband smiled at me and said, “I, Samuel Leviticus Quinn, take you, Bailey Ember Gardener, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”
While I had issues, memorizing my lines, such as they were, wasn’t one of them. “I, Bailey Ember Gardener, take you, Samuel Leviticus Quinn, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”
Considering who my parents were—the pair I actually liked—the death do us part thing might cause us some trouble. Could the daughter of two divines and two horrid humans complete with a shapeshifting problem actually die? Did fire-breathing unicorns with a fetish for magically enhanced gasoline with some delicious additives age? What about gorgon-incubus doohickeys?