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  ***

  I cringe at the sound of 80s Christmas music filtering in from speakers overhead. My mom and the wedding planner are drinking red wine, chatting like old friends in the back of the restaurant. Behind them, an expansive window offers a beautiful view of Lake Travis and its multi-million dollar homes. But I don't give a damn about the lake right now. As I look into the wedding planner's familiar thin veneer of a fake smile, all I care about is getting the fuck out of this restaurant, after I expose the witch to my mom.

  Mom stands when I approach. She's practically beaming ear to ear when she motions to the jackal sitting across from her. "Christina, this is Nora Richards, our new planner."

  Nora abruptly stands up, nearly knocking over her chair in the process. Uh, oh. Someone's been hitting the red wine early today. No surprise there. Nora was always a lush.

  "Hello, Christina, darling, it's so nice to see you again." She runs a hand through her dyed brassy red up-do and then spreads her arms wide, as if she's expecting me to hug her.

  As if.

  Un-fucking-believable.

  I take a step back and scowl. Nora's face is so tight from excessive plastic surgery, it's hard to gage her reaction, but I think I see her lips twitch in annoyance. Either that, or her collagen air bags have sprung a leak.

  I look at my mom, trying my best to keep my tone even. "Nora is my adoptive mother's best friend."

  Mom gasps and splays a hand across her chest. "What?"

  I cock my hand on my hip and shoot Nora another glare before turning back to my mom. "Can we go now?"

  I don't want to spend another second in this woman's company. When I was a kid and my dad had to go out of town on business, Nora would come over and get shit-faced with my adoptive mom. On those nights, she would order me a pizza and force me to stay in my room. I didn't squawk. It was better than watching them pop pills and badmouth their husbands.

  I'd usually find them sprawled on the living room floor, along with a few empty wine bottles. The DVD player would still be showing some porno with several guys with big dicks banging one chick. One time, I even found a vibrator in the bathroom sink. It was still buzzing around and rattling the drain. I never used that bathroom again. When I got older, I'd spend the night at Karri's house when Nora came over. I'd come home to find condom wrappers in the garbage. This was after my dad raped me, so I didn't tell the asshole. He probably knew about it, anyway.

  "Nora." Mom looks at the planner with horror in her eyes. "You're Vivian Duval's best friend."

  Surprisingly, Nora's still keeping a straight face. It must be hard for her to maintain the illusion that she's not a total bitch for this long. Either that or her surgeon's done a heck of a job tightening up her skin so she can't move her facial muscles. I swear I could bounce a quarter off her cheek.

  When Nora reaches for her wine glass, I take another step back and brace myself. I also shoot my mom a warning look. Last time Nora had a glass of red wine in her hand, The Cobra took it from her and threw it in my face.

  Nora tosses the liquid down her throat before setting the glass back on the table. She picks up a cloth napkin and daintily dabs her lips. She clears her throat and then looks my mom and me in the eyes. "Former best friend. After seven years of blackmailing me, I can finally say I'm free of that awful woman." Nora makes a face that so horrifying it's comical. If she screws up her mouth any tighter, she's sure to pop a stitch. "It cost me my twenty-three year marriage, but Christina, I don't blame you for your hesitation." She clasps my shoulder. "I wouldn't want to be friends with anyone who associates with that snake in the grass, either."

  I look down at her hand on me, at those long, gaudy hot pink fingernails with rhinestone flowers on every tip. I imagine those little flowers are poisonous, and she's burning my flesh.

  When I jerk out of her grip, I think I see a flash of venom in her gaze, but it's quickly gone. Even though she's smiling at me, her eyes are eerily empty. Maybe she's not The Cobra's friend anymore, but I still don't trust her. After all, what kind of a woman would be friends with that snake in the first place?

  "Nora, do you mind if I speak to my daughter alone?"

  Nora smiles at my mom as she smooths a hand over her hair helmet. "Of course not. I need to use the powder room, anyway." She sweeps out of the room with her exaggerated swagger, her "I'm not really drunk, but a washed up runway model" walk.

  I scowl as she leaves.

  I turn to my mom with a pleading gaze. "Mom, don't trust her. She's just like The Cobra. Just like her."

  Mom's got this sheepish look as she flashes a half-hearted smile. "I've already given her a deposit."

  "You what?"

  Mom heaves a sigh and then falls into her chair. "Christina, Nora Richards is the premiere wedding planner in all of south Texas. Her reach extends from San Antonio to Houston. Every socialite knows her—and uses her. Just think what she can do for our business."

  I pull up a chair and search her gaze, looking for any sign of hope. My heart sinks when she looks away. I am not using Nora Richards as my wedding planner. Hell, no!

  "She's a two-faced whore." I try my best to keep my tone even. I don't want to upset her.

  Mom's face falls, before she casts her gaze down and toys with the edge of her napkin. "She's already booked Domingo Designs for three weddings in February and four in March."

  I clench my hands. "Shit."

  Mom leans toward me and grabs my arm. "Christina, you heard her say they're not friends anymore. Your adoptive mother must have ruined this woman's marriage. I don't know all of the details, but she said her husband filed for divorce after she admitted to an affair that happened twenty years ago."

  I roll my eyes. "I don't buy her story. She's probably had more affairs than that."

  "Well, whatever happened, I bet Vivian knew and was blackmailing her."

  "So Nora finally came clean," I say dryly.

  Mom nods. "Who knows what Nora's had to do to keep that snake quiet?"

  Knowing my sick and twisted adoptive mother, Nora was paying her off, and she was probably tired of financing The Cobra's collagen injections. I almost want to feel sorry for Nora, but how can I trust someone who was friends with The Cobra? Then I remember up until a few months ago, Karri was supposedly my best friend. I wonder if people have judged me because of my association with Karri? If only I could turn off that little voice in my head screaming "Don't do it!" when I think about handing over the most important day of my life to Nora Richards.

  I square my shoulders as I sharpen my gaze. "I still don't trust her with my wedding."

  "Sweetheart." Mom pats my hand and drops her voice to a soft whisper like she's trying to soothe a crying child. "Do you think Nora would risk her company's reputation and sabotage your wedding? Do you think she'd risk the lawsuit? Because believe me, I'd sue that woman into oblivion if she ruined my little girl's special day."

  My mom smiles at me with the sweetest, most angelic expression, and damn me, but the wider her smile, the more my heart softens.

  As much as I hate to admit it, I know she's right that we could use Nora as a connection to boost our new business. Nora's got an in to all of the richest clients in south Texas. The more I mull this over, the more my heart sinks and my stomach sours. Yeah, we probably need to play nice with Nora. I just wish we didn't have to use her for my wedding.

  Chapter Eight

  Christina

  I'm feeling a little better after our lunch together. Nora thinks she can book the wedding at a San Antonio hotel on The Riverwalk. Andrés and I took our first vacation together there, so the beautiful landmark holds a special place in my heart. The more I think about having my wedding on the river, the more I think it will be absolutely perfect.

  Nora was surprisingly polite during lunch, even apologizing several times for the way my adoptive mother treated me at our chance encounter last month. Nora had been there to watch The Cobra throw wine on me and then get kicked out of the country club. Nora e
ven told me that was her turning point. After watching me stand up to that snake, Nora finally summoned the courage to end their so-called friendship and tell her husband about the affair before my adoptive mother beat her to it.

  Nora makes eye contact with me several times while relaying this story. I want so badly to believe her. So why is it that, as my mom and I leave the restaurant and shake hands with Nora one last time, I still have this queasy feeling? I keep telling myself it's the pregnancy hormones.

  At least I hope it is.

  Mom and I drive straight to a bridal boutique we found on the internet. I huddle inside my jacket as we make our way through the parking lot. Yesterday, it was in the low seventies and today it's in the mid-forties. I've lived in Texas my whole life, and I still can't understand the weather.

  When we walk in the door, I sigh in relief when I feel the warmth from the heater, but then my senses are hit with a blast of nauseating oldies Christmas music. Bleh. Even though I'm excited about Christmas in two more days, the holiday music is starting to wear on me. Still, I do my best to shrug it off. I'm looking forward to spending the holiday with my new family, and I can't wait to see my brothers' faces when they open the remote control helicopters Andrés and I bought them.

  The salesladies are helping a bride who appears to be having a breakdown.The poor woman is surrounded by a cluster of bridesmaids in hideous foam green dresses. She looks like she's about to be swallowed up by a taffeta tsunami.

  I know it's none of my business, but I can't help but wonder what's causing this woman's breakdown. Mom and I exchange questioning looks before we hear the woman blurt out, "I can't go through with it. I can't!" Then she cries into the fabric of her white gown. The saleswomen are panicking, begging the bride to take off the dress before she ruins it. The bridesmaids are telling her everything will all work out. Two matronly women, I suspect to be the mother and mother-in-law, are off to the side, bickering. I even hear one woman call the other a "meddlesome bitch."

  Wow.

  My heart clenches when I hear the bride sobbing even harder. This is no way to start off the happiest time of her life.

  "Oh, Christina." Mom leans over and whispers in my ear. "Look at that dress."

  I turn at the gown she's pointing to, a big frilly number that looks like a cross between a ballet dress and a vat of cotton candy. Ew. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I force a smile as I follow her toward the monstrosity. I don't know how my petite mother manages, but she actually pulls the dress down without being crushed under an avalanche of fluff.

  It's when my mom removes the big eyesore from the rack that I see the other dress.

  My dress.

  It's perfect. A strapless silk beauty with a modest rhinestone pattern across the bust and a simple satin gown that is dissected at the waist by a pink sash and hugs the hips before cascading straight to the floor. Though the dress doesn't have any puffy hoops, the train that connects to the back gives it a fuller look.

  "Omigod!" I squeal as I pull the dress down. "It's perfect!"

  Mom frowns as she squeezes the big ball of fluff to her chest. It crackles and pops beneath her grip as if it's made of bubble wrap. "Christina." She seems to deflate. "It's so plain."

  "I know." I nod as I run my hand down the smooth fabric. "A blank canvas."

  Recognition flashes in her eyes. "You're going to decorate this dress yourself, aren't you?"

  "I'm an artist, remember?" I look at her with breath hitched. I really hope she approves, because what I have in mind for this gown will completely transform it, and if it doesn't turn out, there goes any chance of a refund. Even though the fabric paint I plan to use is non-toxic, it's permanent. Once the color sets, it's there for good.

  "Why didn't I see that coming?" She laughs as she heaves that other dress back onto the rack. Then she locks elbows with me and leads me to the dressing room. "Let's go try it on."

  ***

  Not only is this the perfect dress, it's the perfect fit. I only wish it was the perfect price. Nearly two thousand dollars for a simple silk gown! Luckily, it comes with an elegant veil made of silk and lace with a pink headband that matches the sash. My mom doesn't bat an eyelash as she swipes her credit card and the clerk hands us the dress. I'm so excited, I practically float toward the door as we leave.

  But then I falter, nearly tripping over my gown as I spy the crying bride over my shoulder. Her mascara is running down her bright pink cheeks in heavy globs and there are makeup stains all over the gown. Both mothers are arguing with a saleslady, who's demanding they pay for the dry cleaning. I feel frozen in place as the bride gives me a knowing look right before she takes a drag from a cigarette. She doesn't even flinch as angry red embers land on her gown.

  She points her cigarette at me before taking another hit. When she looks at me, it feels as if a thousand tiny spiders are burrowing into my skin. I know the meaning behind her gaze.

  You're next.

  The saleswoman screeches and knocks the cigarette from the bride's hand. My mom grabs me by the elbow and hurries me out the door. "We don't want to get caught up in that," she says in a strained whisper.

  "No, we don't," I say. No, we don't.

  ***

  Andrés

  "Hey, doc. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice." I clasp his hand, cringing when he quickly pulls away. Must be my sweat-drenched palm. Why do my hands always go clammy when I visit this shrink?

  "Of course," Doctor Barnes says as he takes a seat in the upholstered leather chair across from me. "Luckily, I had a cancellation today."

  I follow his lead and sit down. As I struggle to get comfortable in the oversized chair, I adjust my stiff shirt collar and breathe a sigh of relief when I loosen my belt. My jeans have been feeling tighter. Must be all the Mexican take-out and sitting I've been doing lately, lots and lots of sitting, as I learn to crunch numbers for my soon-to-be new businesses.

  "So how are you doing?" Dr. Barnes asks me as he picks up his note pad and pen.

  I hate that notepad. I don't want him to scribble down my faults. I want him to look at me and listen. That's it. I think about telling him to put the paper down, but I know he's following protocol, and if four years in the Army has taught me anything, it's to follow protocol.

  "Not good." I drum my fingers on the armrest, gaze averted. If he's going to keep scribbling in that fucking pad, I shouldn't have to watch. "The dreams are back."

  "What's going on?"

  I briefly make eye contact with the doctor before looking away. "I had another dream when we were visiting my fiancé's parents." I stop and bite on my lip. Doctor Barnes doesn't need to hear the rest of the story, how I left a big angry bruise on Christina's ribcage. How close I came to punching her in the gut and hurting our unborn child. Anger and shame wash over me when I recall the image of her rolling out of bed, wincing and clutching her side.

  "Fiancé? So I take it she said yes." I look at the doctor. Thankfully, he's set down that pen and paper, and the lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiles.

  "Yeah. We set the date for February first."

  "Congratulations," he says. "That's right around the corner."

  Doc picks up his pen and starts scribbling again. I fight the urge to lean forward and read what he's writing. Probably something about how we're rushing into this. How we only just broke up and now we're jumping into marriage.

  "We just found out she's pregnant," I blurt.

  I don't know why I feel the need to tell him about the baby. Maybe I'm trying to justify why we're getting hitched so soon, and then I wonder why I'm doing that. Christina and I love each other. That's why we're getting married. The baby pushes up the date, but that doesn't change the fact I want her to be my bride. Now I'm bothered because I'm sitting here silently making excuses for us. What the hell is wrong with me?

  "You've got a lot on your plate," Doctor Barnes says in a flat voice. A voice that doesn't pass judgment. It's bullshit. "So tell me about this dream," he ask
s as he taps the pad with the point of his pen.

  I exhale a shaky breath as I mentally try to switch gears. I remind myself I'm not here to be judged. I'm here to get help. I close my eyes and bring back memories I've been trying to bury. My dreams are so vivid, I feel as if I'm living inside these nightmares. It doesn't take long for me to summon the images of my dying friends, taste copper on my tongue, and see my uncle's mutilated body lying on top of me. "We're back in the Hummer, only this time there's a baby in the back seat. I'm trying to get to him, but I can't. My uncle's on top of me."

  He arches a brow. "Your uncle?"

  "Yeah." My eyes shoot open and then a shudder steals up my spine. "He's telling me to get back to work."

  I think I see a flash of recognition beneath the reflective glare of Dr. Barnes's glasses, but then he plasters on an impassive expression. "You're taking over his businesses, right?"

  "Five of them." I groan when I think of all the work piled on my desk waiting for me. This doctor's appointment is going to put me behind, which means I'll be working late tonight.

  "How's that going?"

  "Rough." I course my fingers through my hair, squeezing at the roots and doing my best to release the pent up tension that's winding a noose around my neck. "Christina was my best artist. I lost her when we found out she was pregnant. I've got to go in and fire a mechanic today. We think he's been stealing parts."

  "Do you like your job, Andrés?"

  I can feel the current of doubt resonate beneath the doctor's question. He knows I don't like my job. I know why he's asking. I know what he's doing. Little does he understand I can't quit. I'm stuck running Cruz Automotive Body and Repair shops. Chained to this future by a strong sense of family responsibility. I can't walk away from my duty. Besides, even if I was willing to shame my uncle, what about Christina and our baby? I have an obligation to take care of them, too.

  "I like the pay," I tell him. I know I'm evading the question, but it's true. I do like the money. My wife and child will be provided for as long as I've got this job.