Kit nodded, deciding not to question in front of Jonny how I could possibly know that.

When I released her, I added, “I’ll do everything I can. I promise.”

“I know you will.”

Jonny didn’t seem quite so confident, but he did have the decency to apologize for his behavior. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

“Don’t give it a second thought. You’re upset. I understand upset.”

He nodded, probably relieved I wasn’t threatening to file a complaint against him.

After waving them off, we hurried back in and closed the door before God and all his creation saw us in our robes.

Reyes walked up to us, and Cookie, suddenly self-conscious, tried to smooth down her hair. It was a bit like trying to tame a hurricane. He wrapped an arm around my waist and I leaned into him, reveled in his heat.

“Did you see him?”

When he finally tore his gaze off the door, he raised a brow in question.

“Mr. Wong. He’s here.”

The slight lifting of one corner of his mouth would suggest that he already knew.

“How long has he been here?”

“Since this morning. You didn’t feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The shifting of energy.” He turned toward Mr. Wong, though we couldn’t see him from where we stood, as there was an adobe wall between us. “I just wonder what he’s doing here.”

“Me, too.”

“Me, three,” Cookie said, wringing her hands.

I took another look at her, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I burst out giggling.

“What?” she asked, patting her hair. “I’m getting ready. What’s the big deal?”

I strode forward and gave her one of my larynx-crushing hugs. “You,” I said into her robe. “You are the big deal.”

“I think two of the three people standing here would argue with you on that,” she said, crushing my larynx back.

The door reopened. A frazzled Gemma tiptoed in and closed it behind her. My blond-haired sister was already sporting her wedding attire, a powder blue cocktail dress with matching ankle boots, only she’d added huge, dark sunglasses that didn’t make her look like an insect at all, and she’d gathered her bangs into a pointy ponytail. She’d always loved unicorns growing up, but this was taking it a bit far.

She stopped when she noticed us. “What are you doing?” she said in a hisslike whisper, and I could’ve sworn she slurred her words. “Cookie, you’re getting married in an hour and a half. What are you doing down here? In your robe? With your hair?” Horrified, she pointed at Cookie’s head. Then her demeanor changed. “Unless that’s how you’re wearing it, in which case, it’s so pretty. I love it. It looks really good on you.”

I laughed out loud and she slammed an index finger over her lips. “Shhhh,” she said, hushing me way longer than was necessary.

“Are you hungover?” I asked her softly, appalled. “How many drinks did you have?”

“I don’t know. I lost count at three. Or twelve. I’m just not certain.”

“What were you doing?” My astonishment knew no bounds. “Why would you drink that much when you knew we had a wedding the next day?”

“I was trying to keep up with Cookie.”

“Are you insane?”

She swayed back against the door and shushed me again.

“Cookie’s like a competitive connoisseur. The last guy who tried to outdrink her ended up in traction for a month.”

Cookie came to her own defense. “Only because a man named Jose Cuervo convinced him he could fly. Not my fault.”

But Gemma wasn’t listening. “What is up with your hair?”

“Gemma, she’s not wearing her hair like that.”

“Oh, thank God.” She placed a hand over her chest to still her racing heart. “I was worried. Okay, in, in, in.” She shooed us forward. “We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

I turned toward Reyes and raised a brow. “Some more than others,” I teased. He could go naked for all I cared, though I doubted Uncle Bob would appreciate that as much as us girls.

Reyes gave me a quick squeeze, then left us to it.

“Where’s Denise?” I asked. Not that I cared where my stepmother was, but I wanted to be prepared for her grand entrance. It always caused an unsettling sensation in my stomach.

“She’s out back, ordering the decorators around,” Gemma said.

“Sweet. Keeps her out of my hair.”

With a chastising sigh, Gemma placed her manicured hands on her hips. “Charley, you have to promise me, for Cookie and Uncle Bob’s sake, you will be nice to Mom today.”

“What?” I asked, incredulous that she would even say such a thing. That she would trust me so little.

Her expression didn’t change. I caved. She was going to be one of those stern mothers all the kids on the playground talked about as though she were something to be feared.

“Okay, whatever. I’ll be nice. At least until the wedding’s over. But once the rings are on the fingers, it’s every evil stepmother for herself.”

Gemma rolled her eyes. “You guys need group therapy so bad.”

“Oh, hell no,” I assured her. “I’ve had more than enough of that woman over the last eight months.”

Denise had been coming out to the convent several times a week. Each time, she had another excuse. She noticed we were out of dish soap or she wanted to make sure I was okay. She was apparently a pediatrics nurse when she’d first met my dad, and that gave her another reason to invade my much-loved privacy. To bombard me with questions about how I felt, my blood pressure, was I taking the vitamins she brought, did I have any swelling? She had never, in my entire existence, paid so much attention to me. I’d learned long ago to be wary of any attention she tossed my way. Everything she did had an ulterior motive. Perhaps without my dad around to give her a sounding board for all things horrid and bizarre about Charley Davidson, she had no one else to turn to. But I was hardly a good alternative.