Kiko, you are really trying to get your cousin and friends killed?
I kept my voice low. "Tell them they better turn around and take their dumb asses back to their respective villas before I get my Claws to handle them."
The helper widened her eyes. “You want me to use. . .those exact words?”
"Exact words with a huge emphasis on dumb asses. And if they remain there and argue with you foronesecond. . ." I pointed to Hiro who was on his third or fourth lollipop drink. "Don’t even come to me. Just lethimknow."
"Okay, ma'am." She bowed and slipped away through the crowd.
Hiro eyed me. "What's going on?"
"A small problem I anticipated."
"What's the problem? You know I will handle it for you."
"I threatened that you would, so I doubt we'll hear any more."
Hiro beamed. "You won't. I’m dangerous. All know this."
“Facts.”
Kenji studied me. “What is it?”
“I got it.”
“Tora—”
“Queen things. This ismydomain.”
He scowled.
I kissed him, and that calmed the Dragon for now.
Kiko must have gotten the message because my helper never returned to Hiro or me about it. She just came back and did the rest of her duties. However, I knew that Kiko hated being dismissed after probably dressing up and preparing to crash my party. She probably thought she would show out. Instead, she was put in her place. I was sure that wouldn't be the last attempt by Maybe-Baby Mama to assert her delusional status.
I can’t wait to find out about this paternity test. Please, God, don’t let it be Kenji’s kids. I don’t think I can take dealing with her anymore.
The band played softer now. It was all romantic. The trumpet player had finally found his rhythm again, though his gaze still wandered toward Deja every few measures.
More food came out.
Nika, in true doing-too-much fashion, called over a waiter and asked for two plates wrapped to take home.
The party drifted forward in a haze of plates, drinks, and laughter. Hours folded into themselves. The candles burned lower. The dragon-shadow appeared again and drifted above us.
And when it was time for dessert, I rose from my seat, clapped my hands twice, and guided everyone to the karaoke space.
The band finally got to take the night off. They had their own table on the side where they sat down to eat.
Soon, we all migrated into the shimmering-curtained area where black-and-gold dessert towers spiraled along one wall—pecan praline tarts, salted caramel pots, mini sweet potato pies, and a chocolate fountain with strawberries the size of my fist.
A small stage sat at the back with a single microphone in a gold stand and a screen that scrolled lyrics in elegant cursive.
Everyone headed to the dessert while Kaoru beelined for the microphone.
His two girlfriends followed him up onto the stage and arranged themselves on either side of him like backup singers in some 1970s Motown special.
And they performed. Kaoru swung his hips and did absolutely too many crotch-thrusts that made his pink ringlets bounce with the beat.
