“I object.”

The voice came from the back of the sanctuary, accompanied by the creaking of the pew as the speaker stood.

“Who?” the minister mouthed to James, his brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Her ex,” James said, almost apologetically.

The minister gave the bride, Felicity an accusing look.

“I didn’t invite him!” Felicity hissed, barely managing to keep her voice down.

“What do we do?” James whispered desperately.

The minister gave a helpless shrug. “I have no idea,” he admitted a bit sheepishly. “This has never happened before.”

“Oh for fucksake!” Felicity snapped.

“Language!” the minister thundered indignantly. “This is still a holy sanctuary of—”

His voice trailed off as Felicity hiked up the hem of her wedding dress and kicked off one heavy boot. It somersaulted upward as if conjured. Felicity snatched it from the air and hurled it across the sanctuary with the speed and accuracy of an Aboriginal boomerang, Steve squarely in the forehead. Dropping him faster than a used condom.

Steve’s eyes went wide, crossed and then glazed, before crumpling to the floor in an unconscious heap. The boot, still somersaulting, followed him down a moment later.

“Holy shit!” the minister blurted above the startled gasps of the wedding guests.

James gaped at his bride.

Felicity gave another kick, and the second boot came tumbling up. She caught it deftly, holding it aloft threateningly. Eyes scanning the assembled guests in the sanctuary.

“Anyone else?” Felicity challenged darkly.

No takers.

Felicity dropped the other boot to the carpeted floor, straightened her bodice, and gave the minister a smile that managed to convey just the right amount of sweet innocence and bat‑shit crazy.

“You may continue,” she told him.

Silence descended on the sanctuary, broken only by the sound of James swallowing audibly.

The minister cleared his throat nervously. “Do you, James, take this woman…”