Page 103 of Vengefully Matched

“Let us know now if you’re going to make a break for it, though. And maybe don’t run in heels.” Priscilla was serious about that one; she knew firsthand that a getaway in Louboutins was not for the faint of heart.

Vickie threw her a look and laughed. “No chance of that, but I appreciate the tip.”

She held up the sparkly pair of Chuck Taylors that Priscilla had desperately tried to talk her out of. “No one will see them under the dress, and my feet will be comfortable the whole time. Plus, I like to look up at Az and remember how tall he is, and how much I’m into that.” She nibbled her bottom lip.

“Gross,” said Priscilla, pantomiming throwing up. “Happy for you, but that’s my brother. The only use for his height from my perspective is setting up a good guillotine prank that will definitely get him and not me if we’re walking together.”

“Try not to decapitate my groom,” said Vickie drily.

“Of course not!” Priscilla put a hand to her chest. “Always just enough off the top of his hair to piss him off about a short haircut. It’s no fun pranking someone if they’re already dead.”

“Come along, ladies,” said the wedding planner. “I have champagne set up in the changing room.”

They’d gotten Vickie into the dress, and toasted to a good life and happiness for the couple, and before they knew it, Hank from the tea shop was knocking on the door, clad in a charming little cape-and-suit outfit that looked like it could have come straight off Nathan Lane in The Birdcage.

“Thanks for walking me, Hank,” said Vickie, and Hank nodded. If she was sad that her own parents wouldn’t be there, by their own choice, she didn’t say so. And maybe it was better this way: Vickie choosing family who would be there for her the way the Starnbergers never had been.

“It’s my pleasure.” He smiled widely and gestured for Priscilla and Agatha to go ahead.

Uncle Larry had offered, too, but Priscilla thought privately that Hank was a much better choice. Less likely to hit on the bridesmaids, and that was a good thing, too, since the only bridesmaid not related to her was Agatha. Her girlfriend had been upgraded from guest to a member of the party so fast it had almost given Priscilla whiplash.

The thing about Victoria Starnberger was that she loved love, and so she had almost cried when Prissy told her that she and Agatha were serious and would be attending the wedding together. She’d half expected the woman to ask Agatha to move into Hart Manor with them all on the spot. And one day, when they were ready, she’d like that. Living in Hart Manor with her beloved and her brother and his wife, defying expectations about family units in a house. The manor itself was as much a part of her family as her brother was, and she couldn’t imagine ever leaving either.

She was no Uncle Larry, after all, hell-bent on finding strange ass in a retirement community full of it. Good for him, but she’d take her house and her girlfriend.

The ceremony was a lovely, short thing, and the reception was full of delicious food and dancing, though it was all kept relatively simple. There was pie for dessert instead of cake, and it came in more varieties than Prissy could have imagined, each one more delicious than the previous. There was something equally pleasing in the simplicity of Az pressing play on a playlist for the reception instead of having a DJ or live band. Nothing like the elaborate event with hundreds of people that Evelyn had envisioned.

Priscilla sat a circular table next to Agatha, watching Az and Vickie in their first dance, and all she could think of was that this thing, this way of doing it, didn’t seem half-bad.

“I think I’d get married someday,” said Prissy lazily, without even thinking about the implications of saying it to the woman she was seeing. Or maybe, she thought, thinking exactly of the implications. She meant what she had said.

“Yeah,” said Agatha. “Not at this moment, but one day. This has been a beautiful day, but I’d love to have a moment to unpack my emotions for myself tonight.”

“Certainly,” said Priscilla. She’d learned that Agatha both enjoyed and required solitude. At first her instinct had been to demand the time and space, but that felt wrong. She had been nervous that the space meant a lack of interest, but she had reminded herself that feelings were not facts, and taken time to listen. Agatha told her that it was part of recharging, spending some time on her own. And in the end, it wasn’t relieving to fixate on her anxieties. What felt better was to listen to the person she loved.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Agatha said. “But for now, would you like to dance?”

She was about to get up and show Agatha Vanderbilt Voisin what an incredibly talented dancer she was, but Priscilla paused at something out of the corner of her eye.

A puff of purple, glittery smoke.

“Lex,” said Agatha, meeting Priscilla’s eye. “Rain check on that dance, then. Come on, let’s make sure he doesn’t wreck anything.”

“He was invited, believe it or not. I don’t think he ever sent back in his RSVP card, though.” Vickie and Az had had a heaven of a time trying to figure out how to reach him to check whether or not he’d be here.

Lex was leaning against a pillar at the outskirts of the room, making himself as nondescript as possible, typically glittering purple smoke almost clear, and only visible to a trained magical eye. Devils had this way of appearing around mundanes so that they seemed like slightly more than human, but not enough to raise suspicion. Pretty, shiny bait, setting a trap for bargains.

She walked over to him, his arms folded over the dark purple suit that matched Agatha’s corset-top flutter-sleeved gown.

“Priscilla Hart, I must say, I love that color on you.” He waved a hand, and a flick of purple magic flashed, there and gone again in a moment.

“Come now, Lex. You can’t expect us to believe you showed up just to compliment my outfit.” She eyed him suspiciously, though she was beginning to trust that he had actually turned over a new leaf in pursuit of being a better devil.

“I’m here to congratulate the happy couple, as I believe is human custom for a wedding, no?” He picked a nonexistent bit of lint off his dapper tuxedo jacket before blowing at a flop of curly hair that had fallen over his eye.

That hair was getting a bit longer, and she wondered what that was about.

“Fine,” he relented, without even any further prodding. “I need to warn you about something.”