"Laurell K. Hamilton - Anita Blake 12 - Incubus Dreams" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

Frankly, I thought we all behaved ourselves really well. She just didn’t seem very
comfortable around men, or around me. Maybe it was the gun I was wearing.
But none of the groomsmen, myself included, had done anything for her to
complain about. This was Larry’s day, and none of us wanted to screw it up. Oh,
and Tammy’s day.
The bride entered the church on her father’s arm. Her mother was already in the
front pew dressed in a pale melon orange that actually looked good on her. She was
beaming and crying, and seemed to be both miserable and deliriously happy all at the
same time. Mrs. Reynolds was the reason for the big church wedding. Both Larry
and Tammy would have been happy with something smaller, but Tammy didn’t
seem to be able to say no to her mother, and Larry was just trying to get along with
his future in-law.
Detective Tammy Reynolds was a vision in white, complete with a veil that
covered her face like a misty dream. She, too, was wearing more makeup than I’d
ever seen her in, but the drama of it suited the beaded neckline, and full, bell-like
skirt. The dress looked like it could have walked down the isle on its own, or at least
stood on its own. They’d done something with her hair so that it was smooth and
completely back from her face, so that you could see just how striking she was. I’d
never really noticed that Detective Tammy was beautiful.
I was standing at the end of the groomsmen, me and Larry’s three brothers, so I
had to crane a little to see his face. It was worth the look. He was pale enough that
his freckles stood out on his skin like ink spots. His blue eyes were wide. They’d
done something to his short red curls so they lay almost smooth. He looked good, if
he didn’t faint. He gazed at Tammy as if he’d been hit with a hammer right between
the eyes. Of course, if they’d done two hours’ worth of makeup on Larry, he might
have been a vision, too. But men don’t have to worry about it. The double standard
is alive and well. The woman is supposed to be beautiful on her wedding day, the
groom is just supposed to stand there and not embarrass himself, or her.
I leaned back in line and tried not to embarrass anyone. I’d tied my hair back
while it was still wet so that it lay flat and smooth to my head. I wasn’t cutting my
hair so it was the best I could do to look like a boy. There were other parts of my
anatomy that didn’t help the boy look either. I am curvy, and even in a tux built for a
man, I was still curvy. No one complained, but the wedding coordinator had rolled
her eyes when she saw me. What she said out loud was, “You need more makeup.”
“None of the other groomsmen are wearing makeup,” I said.
“Don’t you want to look pretty?”
Since I’d thought I already looked pretty good, there was only one reply, “Not
particularly.”
That had been the last conversation the wedding lady and I had had. She
positively avoided me after that. I think she’d been mean on purpose, because I
wasn’t helping her keep the other groomsmen in line. She seemed to believe that just
because we both had ovaries instead of balls that we should have joined forces.
Besides, why should I worry about being pretty? It was Tammy and Larry’s day,
not mine. If, and that was a very big if, I ever got married, then I’d worry about it.
Until then, screw it. Besides, I was already wearing more makeup than I normally
did. Which for me meant any. My stepmother, Judith, keeps telling me that when I
hit thirty I’ll feel differently about all this girl stuff. I’ve only got three years to go
until the big 3-0; so far panic has not set in.
 Tammy’s father placed her hand in Larry’s. Tammy was three inches taller than
Larry, in heels, she was more. I was standing close enough to the groom to see the