I can see you typing. Step away from the phone and go have fun. That’s an order.
See? Witch. For sure. I put the phone face-down on the table.
“You’ve been staring at that thing all weekend,” Declan said, raising an eyebrow. “Hot sexts from Trixie?”
“Wedding stuff.”
“It’s your bachelor party, Chris. The wedding is in a week. Whatever it is can wait.”
He wasn’t wrong. But every time I tried to relax, my brain started cycling through everything that could go wrong. The construction delays. The weather. The seating chart. Whether the caterer understood what “vegan but also crowd-pleasing” actually meant. Trixie kept telling me to chill, that it would all work out, that Ciara had everything under control.
Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one who’d promised her future wife the wedding of her dreams.
Before I could spiral further, the lights dimmed and an androgynous MC in a red velvet coat climbed onto the stage.
“Welcome, Kingmans and friends, to The Siren’s Den, the crown jewel of the French Quarter.” They spread their arms wide. “We have prepared a very special show for you gentlemen this evening. Our ladies are here to rock your world and melt your minds. You are going to want to look andstrongly encouragedto touch. I present to you... Les Belles de la Maison Kingman.”
They leaped off the stage like gravity was optional and disappeared into the shadows.
Wait. Strongly encouraged totouch?
“I am not touching anybody,” Flynn announced, looking horrified. “Tempest will murder me. She will beat me with achanclaand I will deserve it.”
“If some dancer puts her hands on me, Marie’s going to deep fry parts of my anatomy and serve them as appetizers,” Johnston muttered, eyeing the boudin balls with sudden suspicion.
Declan, who had one the snacks half way to his mouth stopped and glared at Johnston before eating it anyway. Sausage balls is sausage balls man.
I felt vaguely ill as the curtain drew back. A dozen female silhouettes posed against deep blue lights. The tallest one in the back slowly raised a microphone and began to sing the opening notes of “Lady Marmalade.”
I knew that voice.
I shot Declan a look. His eyes were as wide as mine.
It couldn’t be.
The singer powered through the last note of the intro, the beat dropped, the lights blazed to life, and...
OH. MY. GOD.
There was my future wife.
Trixie came strutting down the stage in rhinestones and strategically placed fabric, shaking everything she had. Even her glasses were bedazzled. Behind her, the other women fell into formation, Kelsey, Willa, Penelope, Tempest, the whole crew, but I couldn’t process any of them because my brain had short-circuited at the sight of Trixie Moore in a burlesque costume.
She spun a chair around, high-kicked over it, sat down, and winked directly at me.
My heart actually stopped. I think I died for a second. Dead.
Kelsey belted out the song while the ladies performed a routine that was obviously well-rehearsed. When had they even found time for this? Twice-weekly book club my ass.
I turned to Hayes. “You were in on this?”
“Sure was.” He grinned, turning back to the stage. “That’s my wife! Go Willa, baby!”
The absolute betrayal. The beautiful, wonderful betrayal.
My brothers had lost their minds. Declan was staring at Kelsey like she’d hung the moon. Flynn’s earlier panic had transformed into delighted shock as Tempest worked her way toward him. Even Johnston had relaxed, Marie now visible at the edge of the stage, definitely not about to deep fry anything.
And Trixie, my Trixie, was having the time of her life up there. Confident, radiant, sexy as hell. She’d planned this whole thing. Probably coordinated with Hayes for months. All so she could show up at my bachelor party and blow my mind.
