"Also," Jonathan added, "I hate to bring this up, but you might want to put some shoes on before the wedding."
Clary looked down at herself. He was right, she was barefoot. Barefoot, and wearing a pale gold dress. The hem drifted around her ankles like a sunset-colored cloud. “I-What wedding?”
Her brother’s green eyes widened. “Your wedding? You know, to Jace Herondale? About yea high, blond, all the girls looove him-” He broke off. “Are you having cold feet? Is that what this is?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Because if it is, I’ll totally smuggle you over the border into France. And I won’t tell anyone where you went. Even if they stick bamboo shoots under my fingernails.”
"I don’t-" Clary stared at him. "Bamboo shoots?"
He shrugged eloquently. “For my only sister, not counting the creature sitting on my foot”-Val yelped-“I would do it. Even if it means not getting to see Isabelle Lightwood in a strapless dress.”
"Isabelle? You like Isabelle?" Clary felt as if she were running a marathon and couldn’t quite catch her breath.
He squinted at her. “Is that a problem? Is she a wanted criminal or something?” He looked thoughtful. “That would be kind of hot, actually.”
"Okay, I don’t need to know what you think is hot," Clary said automatically. "Bleh."
"Right," he said. "Like I didn’t have to suffer through years of ‘Oooh, Jace is so cute. Do you think he liiikes me?"