My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding (7 page)

Right. I touched my dark brown ‘do, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “My mom fixed it.”

He touched a lock at my shoulder. “I like your wild child side.”

“It’s still there.” I couldn’t get away from it. “Only now I recognize myself.”

Pleasure tickled down my spine when his eyes swept over me. “Well you look sexy as hell.”
 

I felt it. I’d waited thirty years for a man to look at me like that.

He leaned down and brushed my lips with his once, twice. I sank into him, teasing the nape of his neck with my fingers, feeling his hands slide up my back and skim around my side until one of his hands cupped my breast. His thumb brushed over the nipple, teasing it, and I felt it down to my toes.

“You’re going to burn your bacon,” I said against his mouth.

“I like it crunchy,” he said, drawing me closer, deepening the kiss until I couldn’t think of anything else either.

His hard length pressed against my stomach and I ground against it, wishing we had a bed or a couch or hell—a kitchen table so that I could feel it where I needed it most.

I slid my hand down to cup him, and he jerked against me.
 

I could do it. I could take him right over to that table.
 

If the room had a lock. And soundproof walls. And was located in another house entirely. I trailed up his length, wriggled around the apron and began to slide a hand down the front of his jeans.

“Elizabeth Gertrude Brown!” My mother choked.
 

Dimitri and I broke apart, only I couldn’t quite get my hand out of the front of his jeans, so he ended up dragging me with him.

Hillary stared at my hand, to us, back to my hand.

I wriggled it out as my entire body flushed pink. This was so not how I wanted her to meet Dimitri. Or Dimitri to meet her.

Holy Hades.

Meanwhile, he’d turned back to the stove, probably to hide his giant erection.
 

There was nothing I could say to make this better, so I cleared my throat and went for the obvious. “Hillary, I’d like you to meet Dimitri.”

She brought a hand to her chest. “I…I did meet him earlier. He made me a delicious Greek coffee. Thank you, Dimitri. We had a lovely conversation.” She talked as if she were on autopilot.

I stifled a groan. Come on. What did she think I was? A virgin? I was thirty years old. Engaged, for goodness sake.

It’s not like she caught us on the kitchen table—her favorite spot. Sure, maybe I’d thought about it, but she’d actually done it.
 

That should count for something, right?

“Your mom was telling me about your first date,” Dimitri said, changing the subject as he finished flipping the bacon.

Oh, no. “Mom, you weren’t telling him that.” She did want this man to like me, right?

She winced. “Not so loud.” She nudged around me and found the coffee pot.

Dimitri only smiled and began checking on some scrambled eggs he was keeping warm in the oven.

Yeah, okay, I could tell Hillary wasn’t feeling so hot. Her hair was perfect. Her sleeveless eyelet shirt was pressed. But there was a slight rounding to her shoulders, and she was at least two shades paler than usual.

Maybe I could convince her she’d hallucinated the whole hand-in-the-pants incident.

Or maybe I was getting a tad bit desperate.

Still, I had to know, “What’d you tell him?”

“Little things,” she mused, pouring herself a cup. She leaned back against the counter. “Like the first time you tried to say something romantic.”

“Ugh,” I said, as she calmly sipped at her coffee. I knew where this was going.

“Remember?” she asked, as if I hadn’t tried to forget. “You called your little boyfriend, Matt Peterman. First you wrote a long letter to read to so you’d know what to say.” My stomach tightened. I remembered. “And then you started reciting the letter when he answered the phone.”

Yes. “I can’t believe you told him that.”

I glanced at Dimitri, who was calmly taking the bacon off the stove, as if I wasn’t about to sink into the floor.

My mom didn’t even notice. “Only it was the boy’s dad who answered, and you confessed your love to Mr. Peterman instead.”

Yes, yes. I knew. I was there.

“He handed the phone to Matt,” I said, more to Dimitri than to her. It still stung to think about it.

“But you’d already hung up and ran.” She turned to Dimitri, who thank heaven, wasn’t enjoying the story either. “She’s always been a little emotional,” my mom said, by way of warning.

“I think it’s sweet,” he told her. “As long as you’re not still dating him.” He leveled his gaze at me.

“Ha. No,” I said, amazed at his ability to deflect my mother. Maybe I could take lessons.

And for her information, I wasn’t emotional. I was controlled. Ice. I’d relentlessly fixed that part of myself, to the point where I’d almost lost Dimitri, and the biker witches. Even now, I found it hard to open up.

As I was figuring out how to say that, Dimitri walked over and gave me a hug. He pressed a kiss against the top of my head, then against my ear. “I don’t care if you have a sordid past. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I snickered against his chest, needing him like my next breath.

Hillary cleared her throat, but before she could say anything, Ant Eater’s rusty voice called out. “Hey, eggs first. Then you can get all smoochy.”

A bunch of the hung over witches filed into the kitchen. “You’re alive,” I said.
 

Barely.
 

They were wearing the same tea party clothes they’d had on yesterday. Only now, their ribbons were gone, their buns were flopping to the side and their lipstick—while never quite classy—had smeared. They looked like retired hookers.

Dimitri leaned close. “By the way, you’re going to have to tell me what happened here.”

As if I could explain it.

My mom straightened as best she could. Still, I noticed she’d propped one hand on the counter, like she needed it to hold her up. “We went a little overboard with the tea party yesterday. I know I stayed up too late.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I can’t do this like I could in the 70’s.”

“My eyelashes hurt,” Grandma said. She rested her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.
 

Bob pulled up, with Pirate riding on his lap. As soon my dog saw there was no food on the table, he jumped down and dashed for the stove, as if we’d somehow run out of breakfast before he could beg for it.

Ant Eater collapsed into a chair, eyes bloodshot, her chin pointed down.
 

“Nice look,” Grandma said.

The scribbled-on biker witch glanced at Frieda, who had rested her head on the rough wood table. “I got
her
beat.”

Yes, well, I wasn’t the one who’d told them to drink so much tea.

Luckily for them, breakfast was ready. It looked amazing. Dimitri had made his special scrambled eggs, with tomatoes and onions and cheese. There was thick sliced bacon and toast.
 

He served while mom and I handed out the plates. Every once in awhile, he tossed a bacon sliver down to Pirate, who ate it like he’d never see food again.

When everyone had been served, we each took a plate and joined the witches at the table. Dimitri sat next to me, and my mom, directly across.

I watched as Ant Eater dug a small pouch out of her sock. I mean, who wears socks and motorcycle boots with a dress? She tipped some grayish powder into her drink glass and passed it on to Grandma.

Hillary touched a perfectly manicured hand to her forehead. “I think I’m coming down with the flu.”

Somebody was going to have to explain to her about the tea.
 

Or not.
 

I glanced around the table to the biker witches, who seemed busy looking at everything but me.
 

“Creely?” I prodded. She was the one who started it.
 

The engineering witch gave me an innocent look that wouldn’t have even fooled Pirate. “Eat some bacon,” she suggested to Hillary. “The grease will settle your stomach.”

Hillary picked at her plate. “I don’t normally eat bacon,” she said, eyeing it wistfully. “At my age, everything goes straight to my hips.” She tasted a small bite of eggs. “Oh, my.” She tried another small bite. Then another.
 

“It’s a Greek recipe,” Dimitri told her. “Strapatsatha. My mother taught me. It’s basically American scrambled eggs, only with feta, tomatoes and some onion grilled in olive oil.”
 

My mom’s eyes brightened and her cheeks flushed. “You spent time in the kitchen with your mother?”

Okay, maybe these two would get along.

Dimitri grinned. “She taught me everything I know.”

“Did you hear that, Lizzie?” She asked, as if I wasn’t sitting right there. “He cooks. He listens to his mother. And look at how he’s dressed. He’s wearing nice pants and a nice shirt.” She directed a pointed look at my wrinkled outfit.
 

“Maybe he’ll rub off on me,” I suggested.

“Oh, he’ll rub off on her all right,” Creely snarfed.

My mom’s mouth fell open.

Oh, goody. The biker witches were feeling better.

“Please. Do
not
say things like that in my kitchen,” mom huffed.

“Because a kitchen isn’t the place for it, right?” Ant Eater winked.
 

“Of course it’s not…I don’t know what you mean.” Mom said quickly. Whether it was from the topic or because she really did remember what she’d said.

I ran my fingers down Dimitri’s muscular arm—I loved his arms—and lightly caressed the olive skin at his wrist.
 

Dimitri grinned.
 

Mom frowned. “What I’m trying to say, honey, is that we know you like that dress but you didn’t have to sleep in it.”

I glanced down at my wrinkled sundress and noticed the dirt streaking it. Pirate’s paws must have been filthy last night.

She poured cream into her coffee. “A husband always appreciates it when his wife puts in the effort to look beautiful for him.”

Good thing she didn’t see the hot glare Dimitri shot at her. “Lizzie is naturally gorgeous, and I appreciate everything about her.”

Hillary looked as shocked as if her toast had started attacking her.
 

Her eyes caught his and Dimitri stared her down until she found her coffee mug fascinating.

Great.

I touched him on the arm. “Can I talk to you for a sec, sweets?”
 

He didn’t look so eager. Too bad. I led him past the stove, to the corner by the door. Then, as we noticed all eyes on us, he opened the back door and we ducked outside onto the porch.

“You don’t have to defend me,” I said, once the door had closed behind us.

It was a little chilly outside, but not biting. I wrapped my arms over my chest.

Sure, I knew he’d always love me, even when he saw me at my worst. Physically. We’d been to hell and back together and he still loved me. But he had to get along with my mom as well.

He opened his mouth then closed it. He clearly didn’t get it. “That wasn’t a defense. That was me telling the truth.”

Through very rosy sunglasses. “You know what I mean.”

“I can’t help it,” he said, “I want to protect you.” He said it as if it were fact, like he didn’t have a choice.
 

I glanced out over the early morning garden. “Okay.” I’d give him that. His protective, loyal streak was one of the things I loved about him. I knew I could always count on him. “But this is my
mother
.”

He frowned. “And you saw how she acted. You may be used to it, but I’m not. I won’t ever be. If someone takes a swipe at you, I’ll block it. If someone throws an axe at your head, I’ll defend you. Even if it’s against someone who’s supposed to love you.”

I got what he was saying. I really did. “Let’s not start any fights, okay?”

“I didn’t start it,” he reminded me.

“Okay, well don’t engage in any battles with my mom.” That was my job. Even if I wasn’t doing so hot.

He didn’t make any promises. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Ten bucks says your dog’s in there eating my breakfast.”

I wouldn’t take that bet.

“Come on,” he said, opening the back door for me.

We walked in to a loud table of biker witches and a glaring Hillary. And Dimitri was right about Pirate eating his bacon.

“Are you done keeping secrets now?” My mom asked.

“I wish,” I said, taking the chair across from her.

Dimitri loaded up a new plate, and I dug into my semi-cold one. It didn’t matter. The eggs were amazing. I wished I could relax and enjoyed them.
 

I twined a pinkie with his, feeling solid. Dimitri had a way of making me feel safe. “I’m glad you finally made it.”

He glanced at the witches, then back at me. “Me, too. A couple things happened last night,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’ll tell you later.”
 

When we were alone. Okay.

My mom gave a tight smile as Grandma rose from the table and started taking her plate to the sink. “Thank you for the breakfast, Dimitri. Now I think we’ll all agree when I say we have a lot of work to do today.”

While she addressed the table, Creely slipped some gray powder into mom’s coffee cup.

We all finished up at that point, and I managed to catch Creely by the prairie dress on her way out of the kitchen. “What did you just put in her drink?”

“Relax,” she said, tucking a lock of green-streaked hair behind her ear. “It’s a hangover remedy. We broke her. We fix her.”

I glanced back at my mom, who was sipping her coffee with gusto. “What’s in it?”

The witch gave me a pitying look. “Oh honey, you don’t want to know.”

Chapter Seven

This was one case where I’d have to trust the biker witches. Heaven help us.
 

Dimitri and I loaded up the dishwasher, and then I showed him up to his room, the one across the hallway from mine.

“Where’d you sleep last night?” I asked, as we climbed the stairs.