What did I ever do to you?”
“I’m so screwed.” With a groan, she dropped her forehead to the high counter. “I need a warm body as a plus-one, like, immediately . I’m thinking I’m going to have to either call an escort service or kidnap someone off the street.”
Darius tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh. “Do they have guys at escort services?”
“No idea, but at this point I’d be happy to rent anyone with a pulse.”
“Renting a person. Is that legal?”
“Since I’m also open to kidnapping, I think it’s pretty obvious that at this point, I’m not too picky about legalities.”
She heard Darius snort without a shred of sympathy. The jerk. “Wait. What about your nosebleed guy?”
Her head came up as if it worked on a spring. Ivar again. “No.”
“If you’re really that desperate, you might want to rethink that.”
“Why?”
“Because he just walked through the front door.”
Her attention snapped around to the building’s entrance. Sure enough, Ivar was making a beeline right for her, looking coolly polished in tailored dove gray pants and a matching slim-fit vest, a blue long-sleeved button-down shirt with a starchy white collar and a casually knotted navy silk tie. With gleaming leather boots and gold watch strapped to his wrist, he looked like he was ready to hit the runway.
Or a party.
“Kidnapping it is,” she muttered.
Ivar had attended far too many family gatherings to be happy about going to another one. The only good thing about finding himself at this particular get-together was that this family wasn’t his. The moment Scout had told him she needed a date for a family celebration, his blood had iced over and it hadn’t thawed out yet. From his experience, hell’s cruelty was usually unleashed when biologically related people were forced to meet within the confines of the same room.
That he’d agreed to go was a measure of his desperation to get what he needed from Scout.
It was odd, though. After an hour of what he’d thought would be a tension-filled hate-fest, there still hadn’t been a single cruel comment, moment of poorly veiled hate or agonized silence of unbearable tension.
The Panuzzi family was clearly very different from his.
With his social mask firmly in place, he looked around the venue that had been chosen for the anniversary party. The cavernous dance hall wasn’t much to look at from the outside—just a long, industrial-type box of a building that could have passed for a warehouse. But on the inside, two dance floors were ringed with linen-covered banquet tables and draped in lush garlands of flowers. A large stage with a hyper, micced-up DJ—currently exhorting the crowd to join in something called the Electric Slide—stood opposite a busy open bar. Overhead, a disco ball, soft lights and multi-colored spotlights assaulted the eyes without mercy. In one area off to the side of a crowded dance floor, a kitschy photo booth had been set up for the partygoers, and beyond that, tacked up on the wall was a massive piece of heavy-duty paper. On this paper someone had painted the depiction of a leafless tree at least six feet tall, its many bare branches stretching out in all directions. Beside this tree mural were three tables marked Biological , Strays and Friends . Each table had its own roll of paper towels, a box of wet wipes and a bowl containing what Scout had told him was water-soluble finger paint, a different color for each table. As he watched, partygoers chose whatever color described them, dipped a hand into the paint and created a “leaf” on the Panuzzi family tree with their handprint.
The mess it made was shocking. No one in his family would even dream of doing such a thing. But people here were lining up to make messes of their hands, the wall and, in some cases, smearing it on their faces like war paint.
And laughing about it.
How bizarre.
The guests of honor—an elderly couple with the improbable names
“I’m so screwed.” With a groan, she dropped her forehead to the high counter. “I need a warm body as a plus-one, like, immediately . I’m thinking I’m going to have to either call an escort service or kidnap someone off the street.”
Darius tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh. “Do they have guys at escort services?”
“No idea, but at this point I’d be happy to rent anyone with a pulse.”
“Renting a person. Is that legal?”
“Since I’m also open to kidnapping, I think it’s pretty obvious that at this point, I’m not too picky about legalities.”
She heard Darius snort without a shred of sympathy. The jerk. “Wait. What about your nosebleed guy?”
Her head came up as if it worked on a spring. Ivar again. “No.”
“If you’re really that desperate, you might want to rethink that.”
“Why?”
“Because he just walked through the front door.”
Her attention snapped around to the building’s entrance. Sure enough, Ivar was making a beeline right for her, looking coolly polished in tailored dove gray pants and a matching slim-fit vest, a blue long-sleeved button-down shirt with a starchy white collar and a casually knotted navy silk tie. With gleaming leather boots and gold watch strapped to his wrist, he looked like he was ready to hit the runway.
Or a party.
“Kidnapping it is,” she muttered.
Ivar had attended far too many family gatherings to be happy about going to another one. The only good thing about finding himself at this particular get-together was that this family wasn’t his. The moment Scout had told him she needed a date for a family celebration, his blood had iced over and it hadn’t thawed out yet. From his experience, hell’s cruelty was usually unleashed when biologically related people were forced to meet within the confines of the same room.
That he’d agreed to go was a measure of his desperation to get what he needed from Scout.
It was odd, though. After an hour of what he’d thought would be a tension-filled hate-fest, there still hadn’t been a single cruel comment, moment of poorly veiled hate or agonized silence of unbearable tension.
The Panuzzi family was clearly very different from his.
With his social mask firmly in place, he looked around the venue that had been chosen for the anniversary party. The cavernous dance hall wasn’t much to look at from the outside—just a long, industrial-type box of a building that could have passed for a warehouse. But on the inside, two dance floors were ringed with linen-covered banquet tables and draped in lush garlands of flowers. A large stage with a hyper, micced-up DJ—currently exhorting the crowd to join in something called the Electric Slide—stood opposite a busy open bar. Overhead, a disco ball, soft lights and multi-colored spotlights assaulted the eyes without mercy. In one area off to the side of a crowded dance floor, a kitschy photo booth had been set up for the partygoers, and beyond that, tacked up on the wall was a massive piece of heavy-duty paper. On this paper someone had painted the depiction of a leafless tree at least six feet tall, its many bare branches stretching out in all directions. Beside this tree mural were three tables marked Biological , Strays and Friends . Each table had its own roll of paper towels, a box of wet wipes and a bowl containing what Scout had told him was water-soluble finger paint, a different color for each table. As he watched, partygoers chose whatever color described them, dipped a hand into the paint and created a “leaf” on the Panuzzi family tree with their handprint.
The mess it made was shocking. No one in his family would even dream of doing such a thing. But people here were lining up to make messes of their hands, the wall and, in some cases, smearing it on their faces like war paint.
And laughing about it.
How bizarre.
The guests of honor—an elderly couple with the improbable names
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