My Big Fat Supernatural Wedding by Charlaine Harris, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Jim Butcher, P. N. Elrod, Rachel Caine, Esther M. Friesner, Susan Krinard, Lori Handeland, L. A. Banks Page A
Authors: Charlaine Harris, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Jim Butcher, P. N. Elrod, Rachel Caine, Esther M. Friesner, Susan Krinard, Lori Handeland, L. A. Banks
Tags: Anthology
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the door again. She sat up, realized that there was no graceful way to get out of a hammock, and nearly ended up on her butt on the floor. Ian grabbed her arm to hold her upright, and she blinked at him in surprise.
Ian was all togged out, and on him, it looked . . . breathtaking. Most things did, though. He flashed a blindingly confident grin. "Better get ready, Cess. I think they mean it."
She looked at the tangle of clothing at the end of the bunk. The long pinkandwhite striped skirt wasn't too horrible, but the tightlacing black bodice was downright terrifying. She was staring at it miserably when the door banged open again. This time it was Lockhart, flanked by Argyle.
Lockhart sighed and turned to Argyle. "I told you to get her dressed."
"Aye, sir, well"
"Next time I see her in men's trousers, Argyle, you'll be the one wearing the dress."
"Aye, sir," Argyle said, and touched his forehead. "Sorry, sir."
Lockhart dismissed it and focused on her. "Well then, Miss Welles. Do you intend to be wed in breeches?"
"Will Iwhat?" She clutched the bodice tight in both hands. "Um . . . ?"
"Be wed," he said, very clearly enunciating the words. "Married. Joined in sacred union. Tie the knot. Become one flesh, so help ye God."
"I don'twhat, you mean now? Right now?"
Ian, who was cautiously settled on the edge of one of the hammocks, frowned.
"What's wrong with now?"
"Well" Nothing, she supposed, except that she felt icecold at the prospect, barely able to control her shaking knees. "All right." She tried raising her head. It made her feel seasick again, and she hastily tucked her chin back in a less exposed position. "Um ... I think I'd like to change, in that case. Please leave me, gentlemen."
"Leave?" Lockhart raised an eyebrow. "Aye. Five minutes, and then you're coming out; dressed or naked is all the same to me."
He banged the door back shut. Cecilia, openmouthed, stared after him.
"Maybe you'd better get dressed, Cess," Ian said. "Sounds like he means what he says."
"You, too," she said. "Please. Out?" She wasn't used to giving him orders, and it sounded more like a plea. Or maybe a question.
But after a few seconds, he sighed. "Women," he said, and went to the door. To her surprise, it opened right up, and he ducked out. She heard the sound of male chuckles. Great. So much for chivalry, or gallantry, or whatever it was.
In five minutes, she was struggling with the ties. She overflowed the lowcut, tightly laced black bodice by a considerable margina lot more than most wedding consultants would have considered suitable, she was sure. The striped pink and white skirts were heavier than she'd thought, but they felt. . . nice. Almost formal.
At least with the bodice laced tightly, she had an excuse for feeling faint and being short of breath.
This time, it didn't surprise her when the door banged open again. Lockhart, who'd been meaning to deliver some cutting remark, paused and actually blinked.
Even the dry Mr. Argyle cast a significantly surprised look at her.
Lockhart cleared his throat. "Good enough, I suppose. Out with you, and let's be quick about it."
He stepped away, and she sailed through the open door, attempting regal and missing it by tripping on the fabric of her heavy skirts. Ian and Argyle were already halfway down the corridor. She felt a hot blush of shame and knew Lockhart would be sneering at her. She kept her chin up, somehow. That was a major victory.
Outside on the deck, a dizzying breath of sea air swept over her. It ruffled her hair and made her weak at the knees. Fresh, cool, misty air. She hadn't realized how starved she was for it until it slid over her skin. Spending a few hours in that cabin had been worse than a week penned up in her cubicle at work.
Lockhart jostled her elbow impatiently, and as she moved farther onto the open deck, she looked up . . . and fell in love. Magic, she thought numbly. This is what magic looks like. It wasn't the ship, or the quaintly costumed
Ian was all togged out, and on him, it looked . . . breathtaking. Most things did, though. He flashed a blindingly confident grin. "Better get ready, Cess. I think they mean it."
She looked at the tangle of clothing at the end of the bunk. The long pinkandwhite striped skirt wasn't too horrible, but the tightlacing black bodice was downright terrifying. She was staring at it miserably when the door banged open again. This time it was Lockhart, flanked by Argyle.
Lockhart sighed and turned to Argyle. "I told you to get her dressed."
"Aye, sir, well"
"Next time I see her in men's trousers, Argyle, you'll be the one wearing the dress."
"Aye, sir," Argyle said, and touched his forehead. "Sorry, sir."
Lockhart dismissed it and focused on her. "Well then, Miss Welles. Do you intend to be wed in breeches?"
"Will Iwhat?" She clutched the bodice tight in both hands. "Um . . . ?"
"Be wed," he said, very clearly enunciating the words. "Married. Joined in sacred union. Tie the knot. Become one flesh, so help ye God."
"I don'twhat, you mean now? Right now?"
Ian, who was cautiously settled on the edge of one of the hammocks, frowned.
"What's wrong with now?"
"Well" Nothing, she supposed, except that she felt icecold at the prospect, barely able to control her shaking knees. "All right." She tried raising her head. It made her feel seasick again, and she hastily tucked her chin back in a less exposed position. "Um ... I think I'd like to change, in that case. Please leave me, gentlemen."
"Leave?" Lockhart raised an eyebrow. "Aye. Five minutes, and then you're coming out; dressed or naked is all the same to me."
He banged the door back shut. Cecilia, openmouthed, stared after him.
"Maybe you'd better get dressed, Cess," Ian said. "Sounds like he means what he says."
"You, too," she said. "Please. Out?" She wasn't used to giving him orders, and it sounded more like a plea. Or maybe a question.
But after a few seconds, he sighed. "Women," he said, and went to the door. To her surprise, it opened right up, and he ducked out. She heard the sound of male chuckles. Great. So much for chivalry, or gallantry, or whatever it was.
In five minutes, she was struggling with the ties. She overflowed the lowcut, tightly laced black bodice by a considerable margina lot more than most wedding consultants would have considered suitable, she was sure. The striped pink and white skirts were heavier than she'd thought, but they felt. . . nice. Almost formal.
At least with the bodice laced tightly, she had an excuse for feeling faint and being short of breath.
This time, it didn't surprise her when the door banged open again. Lockhart, who'd been meaning to deliver some cutting remark, paused and actually blinked.
Even the dry Mr. Argyle cast a significantly surprised look at her.
Lockhart cleared his throat. "Good enough, I suppose. Out with you, and let's be quick about it."
He stepped away, and she sailed through the open door, attempting regal and missing it by tripping on the fabric of her heavy skirts. Ian and Argyle were already halfway down the corridor. She felt a hot blush of shame and knew Lockhart would be sneering at her. She kept her chin up, somehow. That was a major victory.
Outside on the deck, a dizzying breath of sea air swept over her. It ruffled her hair and made her weak at the knees. Fresh, cool, misty air. She hadn't realized how starved she was for it until it slid over her skin. Spending a few hours in that cabin had been worse than a week penned up in her cubicle at work.
Lockhart jostled her elbow impatiently, and as she moved farther onto the open deck, she looked up . . . and fell in love. Magic, she thought numbly. This is what magic looks like. It wasn't the ship, or the quaintly costumed
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