“Thanks. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to talk later today.”
She shook her head. “Not in person, at least not today. I have an errand to run, then I am flying back to Serenity.”
Well, crap. That sucked. While I could probably talk to any of the secret service agents, I liked and trusted Baker. “Is there anybody specific I should talk to?”
Ever prepared, she reached into the case and pulled out a business card. “Saren Albright will be the agent in charge on this detail. Here’s her card. I’ll let her know that you may be consulting with her later.”
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job.”
10
It took me all of fifteen minutes to decide that I didn’t like the other bridesmaids. Olga and Natasha were Ruslandic royalty. I was betting their addition to the wedding party was political rather than emotional, because neither showed any kind of sincere affection for the bride-to-be.
Natasha was the daughter of a prominent conservative clergyman with major political power. She had been briefly married to King Dahlmar’s son before his death. Olga was the daughter of Dahlmar’s younger brother. Both women were lovely, with dark hair and smooth fair skin, although Olga had a sly way about her that reminded me of the petty little bitches who’d tormented me back in high school.
She and Natasha spoke mostly to each other, and in Ruslandic, knowing nobody else could understand, which was just plain rude. When I decided to tell them so, mind to mind, I hit a solid barrier and guessed that both of them were wearing anti-siren charms. That was very interesting, since those types of charms are difficult to make and even more difficult to obtain. It was pretty much an insult for them to wear them under these circumstances. On the other hand, it should have made them immune to the anti-siren sentiments that most women feel, yet both radiated a low level of hostility. Either the charms weren’t working or there was some sort of problem. Maybe I should—
Don’t.
Adriana’s birdlike voice in my head was calm and patient.
They’re being obnoxious.
She didn’t bother trying to deny it. If my mother can ignore it, so can you.
I looked over at Queen Lopaka. Her expression was serene. She turned to meet my gaze and smiled. She spoke out loud, to my surprise. “We are most fortunate that both of Adriana’s possible choices for a wedding dress had already been delivered. It would be much harder to find a suitable bridal gown than attendant dresses on short notice. The previous dresses were pale gold, quite lovely, but all wrong for your complexion, Celia. I think perhaps we should consider jewel tones this time. What do you think, Adriana?”
“I agree that gold won’t work. Perhaps Amelie will have some suggestions.”
“But I liked the gold,” Olga whined.
I kept a smile pasted on my face and gritted my teeth. If Adriana could put up with having those two in her wedding party and the queen could be pleasant to them, then I could and would shut up and smile, even if it was through gritted teeth.
I was so relieved when the limo stopped and I could at least put a little more physical distance between me and the other bridesmaids.
Since Natasha and Olga were busy ignoring us in favor of chatting with each other, I didn’t feel guilty speaking mind-to-mind to Adriana. I’m surprised there aren’t any sirens in the wedding party. I framed the thought carefully, concentrating hard on Adriana.
Rusland is a land-locked country. Most sirens would not be comfortable there. My best friend was willing to try, but she stepped aside so that you could join the party. It’s probably for the best, as it would have been very hard on her.
Okay, that made sense. But it sucked. A girl wants her best buddies at her side for her wedding, not a group of near strangers.
My friends will be with me for a party prior to the wedding, and at the reception following the ceremonies on Serenity. Although I will admit I find Olga and Natasha tiresome, I would put up with much more to please Dahlmar and make a good first impression on his people.
Fair enough.
Dawna has taught me a lot about shopping. One: clothes don’t have to be expensive to look expensive. And two: expensive clothes can look just as tacky as cheap ones. I recognized Dawna’s lessons at the first shop we visited.
Amelie Annette Bertrand was probably the hottest women’s clothing designer around. She could ask whatever price she wanted and people would pay it. She made sure that she was in the store herself to show Queen Lopaka and Adriana her wares. She was beautiful and charming. Olga was particularly impressed.
I wasn’t.
Maybe I just had plebian tastes. But it seemed really tacky to me for a bridesmaid in a royal wedding to wear a dress that would make a Vegas showgirl blush. Bertrand’s dresses were all too something for me: too low cut, too short, too glittery, too tight, too loud. Whether Adriana and her mother heard my thoughts, or simply wanted to see what else was available, we left Amelie standing heartbroken at the door of her shop as we drove off to our scheduled luncheon.
Simone’s was a very nice little Italian restaurant that smelled of fresh baked bread and garlic. The tablecloths and napkins in our private room were heavy, cream-colored linen; the silverware, actual silver. They’d had plenty of advance notice, so the chef had outdone himself coming up with a special liquified meal that I could eat. Somehow, Olga and Natasha got seated at opposite ends of the table and were forced to either sit mum or interact with the others in the party. I wound up next to Natasha and found that, minus Olga’s influence, Natasha was a fairly nice girl with a wicked sense of humor. Of course that only lasted through the dessert course. Once we were back in the limo, the dynamic duo returned to their old tricks.
Sighing, I counted to ten again, and settled in for what promised to be a very difficult afternoon as we drove to the next designer’s shop.
Angel Herrera had a very tiny, very exclusive bridal salon where we were served champagne, wedding cake, and strawberries. The bridal consultant absolutely refused to rush and presented us with a selection of impressive gowns. To my surprise, when I saw myself in the mirror, wearing the dress they’d chosen for me, I felt pretty good about the way I looked. A lot of bridesmaids’ dresses are hideous—after all, you can’t have someone upstaging the bride on her big day. Adriana, being a siren, had nothing to worry about on that front, and didn’t want to punish her bridesmaids by forcing them to wear unattractive outfits, and Herrera and her people had taken those instructions to heart.
My proposed maid-of-honor dress was royal purple, a color that looks really good on me. It was cut low enough to make the most of my figure and the slit up the side was high enough to give a glimpse of the ivy tattoo I’d gotten years ago, to honor my deceased sister, Ivy. The dress was much more conservative than the ones at the other shop, but I was still a little worried about showing all that skin. There’s a big conservative contingent in Rusland. What would they think of the foreign bride’s attendants looking so downright sexy?
Then I saw Adriana’s reflection, smiling at me, and figured if she was happy, that was all that mattered. That, and the fact that I looked really good in that dress.
I figured we were good to go. Right up until the bridal consultant told me, “I’ve found the perfect beauty enhancement spell for you.”
“Excuse me?” I tried to make it sound as if I wasn’t insulted, and failed miserably.
“Well, obviously, for any wedding you want to look your best, and for a royal wedding, televised around the world, you’ll definitely need to hide those scars and your fangs.” She gave a delicate little shudder as she said the word.
Lopaka’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Without another word, she rose, which sent everyone else scrambling to their feet. You do not sit when the queen is standing. “We are finished here. Thank you for your time.”
Holy crap.
My cousin gave a brief nod of agreement and the other bridesmaids hustled into the dressing rooms to strip as if they’d been given a telepathic message. They probably had. The queen, after all, was the best telepath in the world. Even if Natasha and Olga had basic anti-siren charms, Lopaka’s mental voice could easily overcome them. And it was highly unlikely that Adriana’s bridesmaids had been given charms made from Lopaka’s hair—I was betting that the queen was very, very careful about who got near her hairbrush.
The consultant flushed, and her face set in grim lines, but I could see the panic in her eyes. Not only was she about to see what was likely a six-figure sale, once shoes and accessories were figured in, walk out the door, the design house’s reputation would be ruined—everyone would know that her faux pas cost her a royal wedding. Worse, we still wouldn’t have dresses. I could only imagine how hard people had worked to set up the appointments with the two salons we’d visited that day and how difficult it would be to make room in Adriana’s and Lopaka’s schedules for any additional shopping, especially considering that the wedding was only weeks away and the dresses needed to be purchased, fitted, and finished as soon as possible. All because of a little insult to me. I looked at my aunt and concentrated. I appreciate the thought, but …
Lopaka didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were only on the consultant and flashed with anger. But nothing. Celia, I appreciate your humility, but you underestimate your position. Right now, you are the most famous siren on the planet. Your heroics have been splashed across the media worldwide and have given us much prestige. You have set right some of our worst sins and the public consider us honorable at last. To allow this insult to stand would be to allow our entire nation and culture to be insulted. And that I will not tolerate.
That took me aback. I hadn’t thought of it that way.
Seriously, I’m not all that humble. Yeah, I know that technically I’m a siren princess. My grandfather had been Lopaka’s beloved brother, but we hadn’t known that until after the vampire bit me and my siren powers started wreaking havoc. I’d grown up poor, with a pretty dysfunctional family. And right at this moment, my mom was in jail, my grandmother wasn’t talking to me, and my sister was (still) dead—and I hadn’t seen her ghost in a while, either. So I just don’t think of myself as a princess. As I told one of my friends when I found out, “That’s just so … Disney.”