"Make him wear Hank's mom's dress," she suggested.
The car went silent. My eyes grew wide and I almost screamed with joy.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," I babbled and punched Hank in the shoulder. "Your mom likes Dwayne way better than she likes me… maybe she would be thrilled for Dwayne to wear her gown."
"Essie, I am so staying out of this," he said with a healthy fear of all women in his eyes.
"Probably smart," Dima chimed in. "Do you think she would go for it?"
"If Dwayne suggested it she would. She thinks he's the Second Coming," I said.
"Jesus Hesus number two?" Dima inquired with a silly grin.
"Yes," I said with a laugh. "Definitely Jesus Hesus number two."
With a hearty high five and a fit of giggles, Dima and I sat back in relief. Her being truly concerned that I didn't look like the Pillsbury Dough girl on my wedding day made me like her even more. It would be a challenge to get Dwayne to wear the fugly dress, but he loved me and I planned to beg… and beg… and beg… and beg.
"Are we there yet?" I asked an amused Hank.
"Are you serious?" he shot back with a raised brow.
"Yep."
Hank shook his head and chuckled. "In a half hour we'll be there."
"Half hour more of death-free existence," I said as I turned up the radio. "You like the Clash?" I asked Dima.
"Yes, I do. I also like AC/DC, Johnny Cash and Maroon 5," she added.
"You are my kind of girl," I said with a grin. "My kind of girl."
Chapter 19
"While the concept is interesting, the implementation is horrifying," Dwayne said as he mulled my proposition over and shuddered at the thought. "Dima, I am going to assume this was your suggestion."
"Um, well, I…you know… " Dima stuttered.
"While my Essie is quite brilliant, it would take a mind both devious and intellectual to come up with it," Dwayne explained to a very nervous Dragon.
Clearly she remembered Dwayne was a skilled mind melder and enjoyed blowing up Dragons.
"Wait," I cut in, a little put out. "Are you saying she's smarter than me?"
"I'd suggest zipping it, Ester," Dwayne advised as he bit back a smirk. "You might be winning at the moment."
I zipped it and gave Dima a nudge to continue.
"Well, I just thought since Essie was so incredibly devastated at having to wear a dress that wasn't the one of her dreams on her special day—a day which will only happen once in her lifetime—that you might find it in your heart to help a girl out. I heard you were wanting to wear a dress, which is delightfully brave and sexy. Soooo… I thought you could save Essie from a massive tantrum and the crying fit which would go hand in hand with her wearing Hank's mom's dress."
"You forgot the words butt-ass fugly," Dwayne said with a raised brow which would have reached his hairline if he’d had hair. "And you should have said dead heart since I'm a Vampyre and therefore technically dead."
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"No problemo," Dwayne assured her. "It was an impassioned plea. I'm quite impressed and slightly grossed out at the thought of wearing a poofy dress. With my pecs I should be in a strapless sheath, but I shall take it under consideration. I'm fairly sure with the right heels I could pull off pretty much anything. However, it would go a long way toward convincing me if I knew I was going to perform Lady Gaga in full drag at the reception."
"Done," I shouted as Hank winced and shook his head helplessly.
"Can I throw in a Cher and a Dolly Parton set?" Dwayne negotiated shrewdly.
I thought about it for only a brief second. He could have said he wanted to perform Miley Cyrus naked with a wrecking ball hanging from the ceiling and I would have said yes. Anything was fine so as long as I didn't have to wear the puffed out dress from hell.
"Deal. Shake on it," I demanded. "In front of witnesses."
"I have got to score an invite to this wedding," Dima said as she took in the grand decor of the Great Room of another of Dwayne's homes. She walked the room and ran her hands over the furniture and knickknacks. Dwayne watched her with an odd expression on his face.
"If you live, you're invited," I promised as I tried to figure out what was going on.
"Awesome. Yet another reason to kill my dad."
Dwayne fluffed some pillows and gave me a look indicating we needed to talk in private, but as always he was the polite host.
"So Dima, how old are you?" he asked.
Well, kind of polite…
She pursed her lips and gave him a look. "I'm assuming since you're asking you already know," she said.
"Possibly."
"I'm four hundred and ninety-nine years old. I'll be five hundred in nine months. If I don't find a mate, which by the way is very difficult to do considering my father has killed every male Dragon I have shown even the smallest amount of interest in, I'll die on my birthday."
"Dude, that's harsh," I said seriously.
"Yep," she agreed. "No male Dragon wants to be in the same room with me, so I'm gonna have to kill Pappy."
"It certainly won't be a loss if he's no longer in the world," Dwayne muttered. "Are you prepared to rule your people?"