“Generous,” I say.
“Practical,” he says. “You’re getting a night. Take it.”
“What’s the catch?”
“The catch is that you go where Aoife booked, and you don’t change venues without telling her.” He holds my gaze. “And if a man with an expensive watch who doesn’t belong smiles too easily, you text Tiernan a black heart. You don’t try to teach anyone a lesson.”
“I never try to teach lessons,” I say.
“You do,” he says. “You’re very good at it. Not tonight, though.”
“You think something is going to happen?”
“I always think something is going to happen,” he says. “That’s why things happen less than they might. And where you’re concerned, I plan to be obsessive over security.”
I don’t argue because I like being alive.
Nico appears again like a bad penny. “Dinner?” he says lightly. “Where are the lucky two going?”
“Family table,” Cayce says without giving him a location. “You have other plans, I’m sure.”
“Do I?” Nico asks, eyes on me. “I thought I might come and toast the bride.”
“You won’t,” Cayce says. No rise in volume. No change in temperature. The way he says it makes the subject end.
Nico smiles at me instead, softer. “If you change your mind about this,” he says, “call me. I won’t make you queen. I’ll just make you mine.”
I don’t get a chance to answer because Pru materializes like a weaponized fairy and hooks her arm through mine. “We’re going,” she says to the world at large. “If anyone asks, I said it and I’ll say it again.”
“Dinner,” Cayce repeats to me, as if the Nico line didn’t happen. “One hour. Then your night.”
“Where?”
“Fitz’s.” He tips his head, a small concession. “I’ll have them put the Gaelic football on so the uncles forget to ask you questions that will make me kill them.”
“Thoughtful,” I say dryly.
“Self-preservation,” he says. “I can’t kill everyone right before the wedding.”
Aoife slides in with the clipboard. “Roll call for the dinner car,” she says. “Bride and groom in one, Pru in another with me, Tiernan in something unmarked that looks like it belongs to a dentist.”
“Why do I have to ride with you?” Pru asks.
“Because you’ll fight with Tiernan if I put you together,” Aoife says. “And because I’m fun.”
“You are,” Pru admits. “But I’d still rather fight with Tiernan.”
“Later,” Tiernan says smoothly, appearing behind her. “Save your energy.”
“I have plenty,” Pru says. “I hydrate.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Aoife mutters, and checks off boxes like she’s herding cats and mobsters. “You two are worse than the bride and groom.”
Nan rises and taps her purse. “I’ll see you at home,” she tells Cayce. “I’m not eating with men who argue about sports like it’s war.”
“It is war,” says a passing uncle.
“Then enlist,” Nan says, and sweeps out, leaving the scent of tea and iron.
