The waiter returned with our drinks, and Gemma downed her mojito in three gulps, wiped her mouth, and smiled at the waiter who was gaping at her in quiet astonishment. "I'll take another one of these and the chicken fingers from the kids’ menu please."
"You are such a menace," I hissed at her as my mother made her order.
She gave me an eyebrow raise and replied under her breath, "I am not happy about this, Fudgecake. She clearly hates me."
"She hates everyone," I whispered through tight lips.
"One year," Sylvia said suddenly, smiling tightly. "That gives us time to find an adequate venue. I already have a tour set up for tomorrow." She pinned Gemma with a hard glare that brooked no argument. "I strongly suggest you come with me. Their waiting list is exceptionally long."
Gemma sighed, and I could almost see her folding up her crazy and tucking it back in her mental drawer. "Yes, I suppose I could do that. Where is it?"
"A beautiful location," Sylvia said with a sudden surge of energy. This was her domain—lavish parties, enormous events. She'd been itching to plan my wedding for years, and I had no doubt she already had every detail solidified and ready to go. It would just be a matter of getting Gemma to comply.
Which was no small feat.
"It's up in Happy Valley," Sylvia smiled. "Very posh, very elegant. You'll adore it."
"Hm," Gemma said, taking a sip of her second mojito.
I reached over to take Gemma's hand, and with full honesty, I said, "You don't have to go, Gem. It's our wedding."
Sylvia clicked her tongue. "Nonsense. Your father and I would behonoredto pay for the wedding. We've waited so manyyears, after all." Her icy eyes narrowed smugly. "And of course, as a wedding gift, we would love to sign over the apartment to your ownership. Something to celebrate after all the wedding planning."
I felt Gemma's hand tighten just as my body did the same. Clever woman, my mother. This was what we were here for, and she knew it. Gemma spoke up before I could and said, "In that case, I'd love to join you."
Dammit. This was what my mother wanted. She wanted us dancing to her tune and playing along with her games, but it didn't sit right in my stomach. Yes, ownership of the apartment would solve our problems. But I didn't like the idea of Gemma spending the day alone with the wolf. "I'll come too," I said just as swiftly as Gemma had.
Sylvia gave me a glare. "Oh?"
"It's my wedding, too," I replied before taking a sip of water. I should have gotten a stronger drink. Gemma was far smarter than I was, clearly.
My mother's eyes fell to where I held Gemma's hand on my lap, and then back up to me with so much tension, she might as well be a trebuchet about to release its attack. "How very heartwarming."
Gemma gulped her mojito. "Here's to love."
Chapter twenty-three
Gemma
Rule #20: Ask Gemma before you play games.
Sunlight poured through the ceiling-high windows, drenching the opulent room in metallic tones of gold and bronze. The scent of fresh flowers mingled with sweet, ammonia-heavy cleaner, and I tried to keep my mouth from hanging open the entire time we toured the wedding venue.
It was just as Sylvia had described it—lavish. The ballroom we were currently touring had rows and rows of white-covered round tables and beautiful brocade-padded chairs lined up against the walls. The carpets looked like something I'd seen in the British royal family's house, and gigantic, sparkling chandeliers hung at regular intervals along the three-story-high ceiling. Windows faced the rolling mountain range on oneside and lush, green gardens on the other. Even this close to Halloween, the grounds had been expertly manicured.
Sylvia sighed in pleasure, her head rotating as she took in the splendor. "Can you see why I insist on a spring wedding?" she asked like that was patently obvious. "Imagine the flowers."
I gave the woman a critical eye squint. "Aren't there usually flowers at a wedding anyway?"
This lady was on my shit list. Anyone who knew their son had been sexually harassed and assaulted by an adult and had donenothingabout it had earned themselves a permanent brown streak on said list, too. If she hadn't offered to give Knox the apartment as a gift, I would have gotten up and left the table last night. As it was, I had no choice but to keep my sass to aslightminimum. Given the tight-lipped look Knox was giving me, I might have overcharged my minimum sass balance, though.
Sylvia let out a fake, staccato laugh that made me grit my teeth in annoyance. "Ofcoursethere are flowers. But imagine a ceremony out in the gardens with the gardenias." She sighed again dreamily. "Oh! Look! A roulette table. My God!" She put a hand to her buttoned-up, black peacoat that matched the black felt hat she wore. "Can you imagine a poker night? How elegant."
Poker night for a wedding? This chick was definitely a few cards short of a full deck. "I mean, I guess so," I said through gritted teeth. What did it matter? I just had to see this through long enough to get Knox his house.
The man in question had my hand wrapped in his warm one, which just managed to ward off the chill inside the spacious room. Without an event taking place, it was cold as a tomb, and despite its swankiness, it had a detached kind of coldness I wasn't fond of. It was like the rich-person equivalent of the color beige. It would appeal to anyone with more than 100k in their bank account.
Well, except maybe Knox. I was pretty sure he had that much money, but he looked as unenthused as I felt. "It's… nice," he managed to force out. Because we were walking behind Sylvia, I got away with copying him silently, mouthing, "It's nice," with a stuffy, exaggerated expression. Knox gritted his teeth and reached for my neck, and I danced out of the way.
