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Sonya pressed her fingers to her eyes, not against tears, but sheer frustration.
“Cleo, I have to cancel everything. The hotel, the photographer, the videographer, the cake, the flowers. Jesus, the stupid string quartet I never wanted, the band. I’m going to lose the deposits. Damn it, I just picked up the proof for the invitations. When I think of the hours and hours I worked on that design.”
“Keep it. We’ll put a curse on it, bury it and a pair of his boxers under a full moon. And every time he thinks about roping another woman in, he’ll get a chronic case of jock itch.”
“That’s your Creole granny talking.”
“Bien sûr. I’ll help you cancel everything, and maybe we can sweet-talk some of the deposits back. And you bill the bastard for half of the rest. I never liked that you laid all the money out.”
After huffing out a breath, Cleo slugged back more wine.
“And when I think about that, and I really look? I realize I didn’t like him as much as I kept telling myself I did.”
“He was paying for the rehearsal dinner, the honeymoon. Doesn’t matter. Lesson learned. I could really use some help with the cancellations. Oh God, the registry.”
Because it jittered, Sonya pressed a hand to her stomach.
“We just finalized the gift registry. And we had appointments tomorrow to look at two houses.”
“What we’re going to do is drink more wine. We’ll order pizza. You’ll lend me something to sleep in, and we’ll go over everything that needs to be done.”
“You’re going to stay?”
“Whenever my best friend, my college roomie, my partner in crime and sister of the heart finds her fiancé in bed with her cousin, I spend the night.”
For the first time, Sonya felt tears sting her eyes. But not from sorrow or pain, from sheer gratitude.
“Thanks. Just the thought of dealing with all this makes me want to crawl in a hole. No,” she corrected. “It makes me want to bury Brandon in one. I—” She broke off at the knock on the door, glanced over. “You don’t think…”
Cleo’s tiger eyes flashed. “Let me answer. I wish I had those combat boots, but a knee in the balls works.”
Chapter Two
But when Cleo yanked open the door, prepared for battle, Sonya’s mother, Winter, rushed in. She squeezed Cleo’s hand first, then went straight to her daughter.
“Honey, baby, I’m so sorry.” She wrapped Sonya tight, swayed. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He’s not worth it.” Turning her head, she pressed her lips to Sonya’s cheek. “I know you love him, but—”
“I don’t. I stopped. I don’t know if it’s supposed to work like that, but I stopped.”
“I don’t know either.” Winter drew back, cupped her daughter’s face, studied it. “But if it’s true, I’m glad. Anybody who hurts my girl doesn’t deserve love. I’m so glad you’re here, Cleo.” She reached back for Cleo’s hand.
“How do you know about it?” Sonya asked.
“Tracie—who will hear from me—went straight to her mother. Blubbering. Can I get in on that wine?”
“I’ll get you a glass,” Cleo said.
“Summer called me—after she’d mopped Tracie up and read her the riot act. Sonya, you know Summer loves you, so I hope you don’t blame her. She’s equal parts furious, mortified, and devastated.”
“I don’t blame her. Of course I don’t. Tracie’s an adult. An adult slut.”
“She—Tracie—claims it just happened. Thanks, sweetie,” she said when Cleo handed her a glass of wine. “What bullshit. Landing inbed with your cousin’s fiancé doesn’t just happen. And in your cousin’s house? In your cousin’s bed?”
“Red stilettos, a low-cut white dress, and sexy underwear. Just happened, my ass. She’s welcome to him.”
“I can promise you he won’t be welcome in my sister’s house. Now, I’m going to go strip those sheets off your bed.”
“I already did. I did that after I called Cleo. I thought about burning them, but they’re really good sheets. I’m going to send them out for laundering because I’m not going to wash them myself. Then I’ll donate them.”
