“Ha,” George says. “I knew it. You won’t really do that, and you need to be realistic about how many guests we’re inviting, because the person who has to deal with the fallout if you slight. . .” He’s still talking. On and on.
I’ve gotten much better at tuning people out now that my head’s constantly full of noise. When the voices get to be too much, I cover my ears and scream. That gets his attention.
He straightens, glowering a little. “Give me a number. I’ll figure out who we can invite, and I’ll only include the ones who are the most important.”
“Fifty.”
He laughs.
“A hundred?”
“Five hundred,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Axel, how many people can fit in the stands you made?”
Humans?
“We need to have room for blessed too,” I say.
“They can fly around,” George says.
We argue back and forth for a bit longer and wind up at two hundred. “That’ll work, but I’m going to have to cancel the plus ones.”
That’s his problem. When I see him out, my dad shoots in.
“It’s harder than I ever thought it would be for me to see my own daughter.” He shrugs. “Heavy is the head.”
I shake my head. “No crowns here.”
“Wings,” he says. “I was going to say heavy is the head that bears the wings.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“The President’s very nervous to come,” he says. “I told him you don’t hold grudges, or at least, not badly enough to harm him.” He touches my cheek. “You look tired.”
I collapse into a chair and explain that Jörð gave me all her magic after I killed her, and I can’t get rid of all the people praying to her, night and day, constantly.
He sits next to me with a wide-eyed expression. “That is really not what I expected to hear you say.”
My laugh’s wry. “Always something new at Casa de Axel.”
“What’s your last name going to be after all this?” Dad asks. “What should I call you? Mrs. Axel?”
“Elizabeth Chadwick,” I say. “That’s the advantage to marrying a man without a last name. I’m certainly not calling myself Odinson.”
“Are you really alright?” Dad asks. “Prayers notwithstanding, you’re okay?” He shifts in his chair so he’s staring right at me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Are you alright?” Mom and I had a fraught few months, but Dad. . .he never didn’t love her. Their whole life was full of ups and downs, but that was a pretty abrupt, pretty hard way to lose the love of your life.
“She was sorry,” he says. “She was so very sorry.” He shakes his head. “Being ensnared was hard on your mother. She never talked to you about this, but her father wasn’t. . .” He clears his throat. “There’s a reason we only really saw my family. Having someone take her decisions from her, that wasn’t something your mother could handle very well. She couldn’t parent you, she couldn’t be the mother you needed in those circumstances. The sad reality is that as parents, we don’t always get to separate our past trauma when it’s time for us to take care of you. Sometimes we just have to try our best to parent through the tempest.”
I glance at my egg. I have no idea what to expect of my future, and I have my own baggage to manage. “I forgave her,” I whisper. “I know she came to you a little broken.” I guess we all do. “And I know she did the best she could with me—for me.”
The next morning, when my dad holds out his arm to walk me down the aisle, he doesn’t look sad. As we walk past the gathered heads of state and presidents, Dad holds his head high. Coral’s behind us, holding our little golden egg on a pillow. Jade’s walking Fluff Dog behind her with the rings tied to her collar.
And Sammy’s behind them both, holding baskets full of rose petals he has basically weaponized to bean the President of the United States in the knee. Watching the old guy flinch as Sammy pelts him with fistfuls of dead flowers is actually hilarious.
I’m smiling when I reach the stunning altar Gordon made with Axel’s guidance.
