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The woman dashing up the aisle towards the convention staff was not only out of Dale’s league, she wasn’t playing the same game. A willowy tan woman in a calf-length white dress covered in giant red roses, with a broad-brimmed straw hat with heavy red roses that looked too perfect to be real haloing the crown, bolted towards the head table.
“Tell me!” she shouted again.
“Who?” Chain said into his mic.
“My fiancée!” she shouted.
A couple seats down, Ralph’s chair creaked as he shifted his weight.
Dale leaned forward. If Pohlman or Amos had been engaged—no, if both of them had been engaged! A wedding planner who thought this isn’t going to work, it’s better if they never get married. No, that was what you’d get if the Sharknado people made a Hallmark movie.
Lilith said, “Ma’am.”
“
