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He’d still rather go alone, but that was probably a little pride—pride he wasn’t supposed to feel—creeping in. The only thing that mattered was the mission, so he signaled Storm to follow and again went in search of the information they hoped could save Crimea.
Chapter Two
If I never have to deal with another bride-to-be in my life, it’ll be too soon.
Alana Watson laughed out loud at that thought as she sat alone at her desk. Because she made her living as a wedding planner, never dealing with another bride-to-be was nothing but a pipedream. She loved her job. She loved every aspect of planning and making a couple’s big day be as grand, memorable, and magical as could be. But there was a downside to it, too, when her client turned into a bridezilla. Alana was blessed with incredible patience by nature. But that had a limit. She wasn’t a saint. And today was one of the days she wished she wasn’t a wedding planner.
“I could change careers,” she said to the empty room. “I’m only in my mid-thirties. Become a dog walker or a mortician. I’ll sell my business and enroll in mortuary school. Dead people don’t talk back and complain. Yeah. That’s sweet. I could do that. Sure.”
Her employees were in the back, wisely avoiding her, after the bridezilla had just made them all want to tear their hair out. Fortunately, they weren’t all like the bridezilla, but enough were that the idea of changing professions occurred to Alana at least once or twice a month.
The bell above the door chimed, and Alana almost groaned out loud. Not another one already.
Gathering the remaining patience she had, Alana forced a smile and looked up as she rose from her desk. Her dread melted away instantaneously. Her grin was genuine when she saw the two men who stepped into her shop. They looked around at the various fabrics, décor, and flowers of her samples. They each carried a large bag from Barnes & Noble.
This is a nice change, she thought. Alana was always happy to plan gay weddings. She had never had to deal with a same-sex couple that was as exasperating as some of the brides she’d had to deal with.
None had ever shown up in matching bespoke suits before, either. She recognized the cut of them and the quality, because she’d dealt with her share of tuxedos over the years. Their suits were made from expensive imported Italian fabric and the craftsmanship was exquisite. She already could see big dollar signs dancing in her head. Cha-ching! This wedding would probably be a no-expense-spared sort of event, and she loved having a huge budget to work with. The planning was so much more fun for everyone when money wasn’t an issue.
Both men were tall, well-built, with piercing, light eyes and long, silver hair down their backs. They were both handsome, but the one following a step behind the larger man was stunning. His eyes locked with Alana’s, and a shiver went through her.
He’s clearly taken, you dolt. Leave it to you to get turned on by an engaged gay man. Shame on you, girl.
“Hello, I’m Alana Watson,” she said as she approached them and held out her hand. “How can I help you gentlemen today?”
The one who’d walked in first stared at her hand a moment as if he didn’t know what it was. When the other one slapped his arm, he said, “Oh,” and shook her hand. The stunning man stepped up and took her hand in his large one to shake it firmly. His hand was oddly cool but dry, and once again she chided herself for the little tingle it sent through her.
He pulled his hand back to himself. “We see that you plan weddings.”
“Yes, yes I do.” She gestured for them to come in and sit in the chairs in front of her desk. “Have you two set a date yet?”
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They sat as awkwardly as they’d stood inside her door. The gorgeous one shook his head as if he didn’t understand. “I am Ice Silverkiller, and this,” he said, gesturing to his partner, “is Storm Dreadhowl.”
His accent was slight, but noticeable, and unlike any she’d ever heard before. Was this a joke, or were they using their cosplayer names or something? “Pleased to meet you. Interesting names.”
“Those are the closest translations from our native language.”
“What language is that?”
“Crimean.”
Alana frowned. Didn’t they mostly speak Russian in Crimea? Maybe it was a dialect she’d never heard of. “I see. Well, it’s easier to plan before you set the date anyway, because so many things take a lot of time to set up. Do you have a general idea of when you want to get married, what you want the wedding to be like, those sorts of things?”
Ice’s silver brows drew down. “We simply need to know what motivates two adult people to want to join and have children.”
Huh?
Alana didn’t answer for a moment. Maybe “wedding” didn’t translate into Crimean or Russian or whatever these two originally spoke, and they thought she could help with relationship troubles instead.
She blinked and quickly gathered herself.
“In that case I think you’d get more help from a couples’ counselor than a wedding planner. I’m the one who handles things after a couple decides to commit and get married, not the build-up to it.”
Alana used both hands to pull her long, reddish-brown hair back into a ponytail and hold it there for a minute, a habit of hers when she was nervous or uncomfortable. She’d imagined some fun event planning and a good payday when they’d walked in dressed to the nines, and now it seemed this was a mistake at best, or a joke at worst. She let go of her hair and sighed. “I can help you find someone in the phone book, if you’d like. You can probably get an appointment with a decent counselor within a few weeks.”
Both their eyes widened. “Weeks? We only have a few days.”
