I grinned. “Well, that’s impressive.”
“Please, don’t fucking encourage him.” Hiro glared at Kaoru. “Next Claws party we won’t invite them. Isn’t that right, Tora?”
“Next party?” I stared at him in shock. “Excuse me?”
Kaoru waved Hiro away. “Keep on talking andyouwon’t be invited to the Fangs’ party. I just can’t wait to see what our ballroom is going to look like. Probably a huge dragon jaw in the center.”
Yoichi nodded. “And we’ll probably be able to walk into the jaw and eat inside of it.”
Oh no. A Fangs’ party. Who the fuck said that?
Kenji let out a long breath.
Kaoru finally sat his ridiculous ass down.
The doors at the other end of the ballroom opened and eight waiters glided out, all in matching black tuxedos with gold satin pocket squares and white gloves. Each carried a silver tray held high on the fingertips of one hand.
The first two waiters passed beneath the talons carrying a perfect row of champagne flutes filled with creamy cheesy grits and crowned with blackened shrimp.
Reo sniffed the air and gestured to the waiter. “I’ll be having two of those.”
I chuckled.
The next two carried mini chicken and waffles glistening with bourbon-honey. The next pair had the braised oxtail baos.
Hiro grinned so hard his cheeks must have hurt. “We have to do this weekly.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You will.” Hiro winked. “You love us too much.”
The final pair of waiters passed out honey-butter cornbread madeleines stacked like little gold seashells in a black napkin.
The band broke into a quick syncopated number where the piano played hide-and-seek with the trumpet. And the saxophone laughed out a fun melody.
Hiroko's three assistants walked in side by side, draped in floor-length black gowns embroidered with tiny white pearlsalong the sleeves. They wore black lipstick, kept their heads high, and carried a small bouquet of black orchids.
Aww. I’m glad they came. I know they’re sad about Hiroko.
I caught what wasbehindthem.
Oh my god.
Zo strutted into the ballroom in full drag. A long blonde 1920s wig fell in finger-waved curls down past his shoulders. His dress was gold.
Sparkling.
Screaming.
Chandelier-bright gold.
Sequins from his collarbones to his ankles. Fringe hung at the hem and swung with every step. The dress was cut low at the front, low at the back, and slit up to his thigh on one side.
Zo had clearly seen the black theme, looked at it, and decided to set it on fire.
His heels were six inches and sparkling. Gold ankle straps wrapped his calves. His makeup was full glam—winged liner, false lashes, lips painted the deepest red.
Zo saw the huge claw over us, did a flirty shrug at it like he was considering seducing the massive dragon, and then for no damn reason at all. . .he spun right there in the doorway. The fringe rippled.
