“We do actually have to step in to save the wedding,” Chloe said. “That’s what the money is for.”
“I don’t know about the work part.” Cristian sat back in his chair. “I was down for a quick snatch and grab but—”
“This is how we’re doing it,” I told him. “If you don’t like it, you can leave. That just means an extra . . .” I trailed off because math had never been my strong suit. Luckily, Anil jumped in for the save.
“We would each get $833,333.33 plus $41,666.67 for the wedding planning fee, for a total of $875,000 per person.”
“Did you just do all that math in your head?” Emma asked.
“Numbers make more sense to me than people.”
“Damn, dude,” she said. “That’s impressive. We should give you Cristian’s share just for working all that out.”
“I didn’t say I was leaving,” Cristian protested. “I’m still in.”
I was disappointed to hear it. I still didn’t trust Cristian, especially not after he’d blackmailed his way into the heist. Nothing about him screamed loyal, reliable, or valuable member of the crew. “You can handle—”
“Schmoozing and keeping the mama bears occupied while they suffer through the existential angst of realizing no one will ever look at them the way everyone is looking at the young twenty-somethings in their strapless dresses and stiletto heels?” Cristian offered. “I’m in.”
“Um. No. I thought you could manage the catering staff—snacks for the bridal party while they get ready, chocolate strawberries and nibbles while pictures are being taken, the banquet, the late supper . . .”
“Food?” He folded his arms over his chest. “That’s not an important job.”
“Italian weddings are all about the food,” I said. “I went to an Italian wedding that had a fourteen-course meal, followed by cake, a mobile espresso cart, pastries, a candy buffet, and then, just before midnight, they served a second meal.”
“But it’s a behind-the-scenes job,” Cristian whined. “I’ll be stuck in the kitchen. I want to be part of the action, meeting and greeting all the horny drunk people who’ll be looking for some love.” He grabbed a rusty pipe, jumped up on the table, and crooned Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
He didn’t look like Elvis. He didn’t sound like Elvis. Even his hips—and Cristian could move his hips—didn’t move the way Elvis’s hips moved. I refrained from clapping to avoid another painful repeat performance.
“We’re going to have to keep an eye on him,” Chloe whispered.
Cristian grabbed his crotch and did a pelvic thrust.
“Honestly,” I said. “I’d rather not.”
“What have you got for me?” Emma called over the crooning.
“You can handle the transportation and parking,” I said. “That gives you a chance to walk around the property. We’ll need room for a huge trailer. An elephant will be involved.”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “Will I get to drive this elephant?”
“People ride elephants; they don’t drive them. And no. It will have a handler.”
“What about me?” Anil moved to the edge of his chair, one leg shaking in nervous anticipation.
“You’re in charge of entertainment—I’m thinking string quartet while pictures are being taken, maybe a jazz band after the ceremony, and a DJ for the dance floor. You’ll ask to see the electrical box and the breakers ostensibly to ensure there is enough power outside for the sound system, but really in case we need to cut power during the heist—all things in a mechanical engineer’s wheelhouse.”
Anil’s delight was almost palpable. “We won’t need to hire a DJ. I can drop my own sick beats.”
“You’re in charge,” I said. “Just make sure Mr. Angelini is happy with the music. He’s not the kind of dude you want to disappoint.”
“I’ll be the security liaison,” Chloe said. “That will give me access to the IT and security systems. I’ll be able to get the information I need to hack the system and find out the number and positions of the cameras, drones, and any other security they might have.”
“What about Gage?” Anil asked. “He should have a job, too. Or is he just here to shoot at people?”
“Gage? Do you have any wedding-related skills?” I tried to make out his expression, but he was standing in the shadows.
“I used to be a priest.”
Silence filled the room.
“You’re joking,” Emma said. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I don’t joke.”
Of course, Emma couldn’t let it go. “Have you performed any actual weddings?”
“One.”
“Were they conscious?”
“Bella was wearing a cross around her neck,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re planning to hold the ceremony in a church. Gage, can you do a church ceremony?”
“The key words were ‘used to be,’？” he said. “I was released from my sacred duties. I can no longer represent myself as clergy.”
“What made you give it up?” Anil asked. “That would have been a serious commitment involving many years of study. Did you lose faith?”
“It had to be the celibacy.” Cristian pumped his fists and rocked his hips in a lewd gesture. “I’ll tell you right now, I could never be a priest. I can’t go more than a day, much less forever.”
“Was it a woman?” Emma joined in the speculation. “Did you fall in love?”
“I’ll bet he never had any trouble filling his church on a Sunday morning,” Chloe whispered, digging her fingers into my arm. “I read an erotic romance series about a sadistic priest and the woman he fell in love with . . .” She shoved her fist in her mouth and groaned. “It was the hottest thing ever. And now my deepest, darkest naughty priest fantasy is coming to life.”
“He’s an ex-priest,” I murmured. “And it’s Gage, not some sexy sadist. He spends most of his time hiding in the shadows glaring at people.”
Chloe fanned herself with her hand. “He had robes, babe. Oh God. I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.”
“Does anyone else have a secret past they want to share?” I asked. “Hand up if you are an undercover agent or in witness protection. Do you have the ability to shoot lasers from your eyes? Are you the secret heir to the throne of some European country? Are you an expert in ancient languages because you had to research them for a secret New York Times bestseller that you published under a pen name? Any members of the Illuminati? Ninja warriors or alien princes, please step forward.”
“Jack’s got that weird thing for plants,” Gage offered. “He knows everything about them. You should get him to handle the flowers.”
Where was Jack? Why was he never around when we were planning things, only to show up at the most inopportune moments, make my blood boil, and disappear again? He’d put me in the limo last night after the ball with only the barest brush of his lips on my cheek as a good-bye.