He doesn’t look at me, but I sense a huge change in him from when we last spoke. He’s glowering and agitated, drumming his fingers restlessly on the tabletop, a thundercloud of temper settled over his features.
Honestly, the man should see a doctor about his mood changes. A girl could get a broken neck trying to keep up.
Gianni glances at him as if waiting for permission to speak. When it doesn’t come, he says abruptly, “We’ve decided to move up the wedding date. For Lili’s own safety and—”
“I agree,” I interrupt, calmly stirring an enormous pot of carbonara sauce.
Quinn’s sharp gaze snaps in my direction. My body temperature rises several degrees. No one says anything for several moments, then Gianni clears his throat.
“Well…good. She needs a gown. And she’ll have to be all packed and ready to go to Boston. Her clothes and belongings, whatever she needs.”
“Of course. I’ll take care of everything. How much time do I have?”
“A week.”
My stirring falters for only the briefest of seconds before I start up again. “I see. The venue?”
Quinn says gruffly, “The Old North Church in Boston.”
Shocked, I glance up at him, meeting his penetrating gaze. “A church? Is that safe? Somewhere so public?”
“It’s our home parish. If the head of the Mob can be safely married there, so can his men.”
When I look at Gianni, he nods. I suspect they’ve had in-depth discussions about the exact safety precautions that will be put in place for the ceremony. Discussions I won’t be privy to, so I’ll just have to trust they know what they’re doing.
I don’t, but I’ll have to try.
“What about the rehearsal dinner? Where will that be held?”
Looking stumped, Gianni glances at Quinn. “Do we need a rehearsal dinner?”
Quinn examines my face for several seconds. “What do you think, Reyna?”
I almost drop the spoon in surprise, but manage to compose myself in time. “We definitely need a formal meeting between the two families before the wedding.”
Gianni says, “I’m making the trip to Boston tomorrow to meet Mr. O’Donnell.”
“That’s fine, but you’ve got to get the women involved, too.”
Gianni looks irritated by that. “Why do we have to get the women involved?”
Leveling him with a stony stare, I say, “Because we’re joining our families, and it’s respectful to include us in something so important. Because it will help Lili adjust to her new life in Boston if she’s already met some of the women she’ll be spending time with. And because we’re the ones who decide if your home lives are heaven or hell, so you should accommodate us once in a while.”
Sighing, he says, “Fine. We’ll have a rehearsal dinner.”
“Thank you. Quinn, will you please put me in touch with your contact at the church so I can make arrangements for flowers, music, and the other ceremony details?”
“Aye.”
“What about the guest list? Who’s handling that?”
I get a bunch of blank stares in response to that question.
Seriously, how are men in charge of anything? They’re totally incompetent with logistics. Did they think we’d send out carrier pigeons?
Trying to rein in my temper, I say, “How many people does the church hold?”
“Four hundred max,” says Quinn.
“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 have to 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.”
“You suppose? 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.”
“A nice one,” I insist. “Not just a simple gold band. Make sure it has diamonds.”
Leaning back in his chair, he crosses one leg over the other and gazes at me in silent, tight-lipped fury.
Finally, his teeth gritted, he says, “Any particular carat size you’d like, Madam Queen?”
My smile is so sweet, it could cause cancer. “The bigger the better. She’ll need something to show off to her friends, and it certainly isn’t you.”
His look turns black. The thunderclouds over his head start to boil.
I’m about to move on to the next item on my list when he says suddenly, “You’ll come with me to pick it out.”
I stop stirring the carbonara sauce to grimace at him. “It’s too personal. You have to choose something you think she’d like.”
A muscle in his jaw flexes. He stares at me in brooding silence, then says gruffly, “I don’t know what she bloody likes, do I?”