Page 68 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"Yeah." Jasmine rolled her eyes. "That's why you play so much."

"Harvey," her mother called. "We talked about this. If you can't say anything helpful?—"

"Keep my mouth occupied with snacks." Harvey grinned. "I remember, Rosey-mum."

Her mother sighed. "Please don't call me Rosey-mum," she said to Max, in a tone that promised consequences if he did. "I've given up on Harvey, but I can't take it from anyone else."

"I wouldn't dare," Max said, holding out a chair for Violet, and making her wonder what she was supposed to do with it. "I'll call you whatever you tell me to call you."

"Suck up," Harvey said good-naturedly.

Violet, meanwhile, turned to glare at Max, hoping he got the message to leave her chair alone. He grinned and sat down, proving once and for all that telepathy existed. On the other side of the table from Violet, her father held out her mother's chair and she sat down gracefully. How did they do that without him hitting her on the back of her legs with the chair? It was a mystery.

To Violet's right, her grandmother took the seat at the head of the table. Tonight, she was dressed in a peach and white pantsuit made of chiffon and silk that looked like it came straight from the Orient. On anyone else it might have resembled some seriously tacky curtains, on Lian it looked elegant and chic.

Violet was grateful Katrina had picked out her dress for the evening because it was clear she'd missed out on the family gene for understanding fashion. Although… Her attention drifted to her nieces at the other end of the table. They had dressed in, what could only be called, ice-cream parlor chic. They were an explosion of pastel shades that started out at their painted toes and ended in their colored hair. The sight was blinding and bewildering. It also made Violet think she wasn't alone in her fashion ignorance.

"Can we sing?" Poppy demanded excitedly.

"I don't know," Harvey joked. "Can you?"

His daughters groaned.

"You say that every time, Dad," Marigold said, with over-the-top disgust only a fourteen-year-old could muster.

"Yeah," her younger sister added. "You need new material. Now, can we sing?" This time she looked to Violet for permission.

Violet waved a hand. "Have at it." She had no intention of singing, so if her nieces wanted to hog the stage they'd be doing her a favor.

"Not so fast," her father said standing, a glass in hand.

Violet's heart sank. "What are you doing?" she hissed at him.

"I'm making a speech." Her father squared his shoulders. "It's what fathers do when their daughters get married. You might remember it from your sister's wedding."

Jasmine grinned. "There's no getting out of it, sis," she said gleefully.

"We haven't even ordered the food yet." Violet made one last attempt at delaying him.

"I know. I thought it would be best to get the speeches out of the way before the singing started, otherwise we'll never get everyone back to the table to listen to me talk."

"I'm okay with that," Violet said. "I say we let the kids sing."

"Hush," her mother ordered. "Let your father have his moment."

There was nothing to do but sit back in her seat and endure the humiliation. Speeches for a wedding that wasn't real. To a man she didn't love. In the middle of a mission to catch a monster. Violet couldn't help but feel like the universe was out to get her.

Beside her, Max shifted his seat closer and stretched an arm along the back of her chair. He carelessly caressed her shoulder with his thumb. Lian, of course, watched his every movement with intense concentration. Yeah, this was super relaxing.

Her father cleared his throat. "It isn't every day a man is woken from a deep sleep by his wife, who tells him his daughter is getting married and hasn't invited him to the wedding."

Violet let out a low groan and desperately prayed that one of Damien's men would take her out with a head shot. None of them materialized. Although, there was a nondescript guy at the bar who was dressed in holiday khaki and kept looking their way, making it clear they were being watched. So, there was still hope a bullet could end things.

"My first reaction," her father said, "was what did I do to deserve this insult?"

Violet caught Rodrigo's eyes. He was trying not to laugh. Helpful. Very helpful. The least he could do was pretend to head for the restrooms and pull the fire alarm instead.

"I mean," her father continued. "I raised her, provided for her every need, supported her decisions as she matured—even to the point of cheering her on when she took up a career I neither understood nor thought was safe enough for a daughter of mine."