And then Deanne dropped a bombshell. “Oh, Aunt Syl, I invited Michelle to eat with us and come to the fitting. She’s just running a little late. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t. I haven’t seen her in weeks, it seems. But she’s so very busy with school, the poor dear.”

I’m so very busy with school too, Candace grumbled inwardly. I’ve never been your poor dear.

Okay, she was feeling entirely too sorry for herself. Her freaking cousin was coming, and Candace could still taste Brian’s lips, still feel his fingers lodged inside her, still hear his erotic enticements in her ear to tell him all her fantasies…

“Hi, everyone!”

Blowing out a breath, Candace stood to face her ravishing cousin and waited her turn to give her a hug. When Michelle finally enveloped her in a cloud of perfume and chestnut brown hair and soft bosom, Candace held on tight for a second longer than she needed to.

“Hey, there, little cuz. Where’ve you been lately?”

“Here and there,” Candace said, trying to sound bright and not as if she was about to burst into tears any second. She’d been a freaking moron to tell her mother about Brian. Stupid stupid stupid…

Michelle stepped back and her brown eyes—the same gold-flecked color as her hair—roved over Candace’s face as concern filled her expression. “Oh, honey, are you okay? You haven’t been sick, have you? You don’t look like yourself.”

No, and she didn’t feel like herself either. Her mother was watching her like a hawk. Just waiting to hint at the bit of news she was privy to? If she said anything about Brian, anything at all, Candace was going to throw a glass of water in her face and tell Deanne to hell with the wedding. She was in no mood for their crap.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Better shape up in the next couple of weeks,” Deanne chimed as Michelle and Candace took their seats across from each other. “You’ll go with me and the girls for a spa day next week. We’ll get manicures, pedicures, facials…the whole thing.”

“I’m so glad you’re in,” Michelle said to Candace. It was probably the first genuine thing that had been said at this table. “We’ll have a good time. And we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Candace replied, trying to pour some truth into the words. She’d love to catch up with Michelle, but preferably some other way that didn’t involve a crappy pastel bridesmaid’s dress and dyed pumps and hanging out with a bunch of people she couldn’t stand. She’d have to train herself to walk in the shoes so she didn’t wind up face down on the floor of the church.

Michelle turned to her sister. “So you never told me why Becky’s out. What happened?”

Candace picked up her water glass to take a sip, thinking this was probably going to be a riot.

Deanne rolled her eyes heavenward, lifting her hands for emphasis as she bellowed: “She got a tattoo!”

The mouthful of water Candace was in the process of swallowing jammed in her throat and came back up. Frantically, she grabbed one of the heavy linen napkins and pressed it to her lips, certain she was turning beet red as she tried to catch her breath. Michelle was grinning knowingly at her, but Deanne and Sylvia were both too caught up in their horror over the situation to notice.

“It’s on her upper back. Right here.” Deanne indicated the spot on her left shoulder blade. “I said, ‘Rebecca! Oh my God! The dresses are off the shoulder. I can’t have you walking down the aisle like that! It’s trashy.’ I mean, you’re all wearing up-dos. That thing will be right out there for everyone to ogle.”

Sylvia was shaking her head as if being faced with all the suffering in the wide world. “How dreadful. Those things are hideously unattractive.”

“Oh, Aunt Syl…” Michelle began indulgently. She’d always been so much better at dealing with Candace’s mom than Candace herself. She was so easygoing about everything, taking it all in stride. Of course, that was the best way to survive in this family. “They’re the norm now. You might as well face it.”

“I will not. People are ruining their bodies with those wretched things. Candace Marie, if I ever hear of you—”

“Aunt Syl, before you say anything, don’t forget I have three.” Michelle was laughing, having a great time. “Of course, you don’t date a tattoo artist for over a year and not walk away with a few souvenirs.”

“What did he do, hold you down and tattoo you against your will?” Deanne asked. A dreamy smile—remembrance?—spread across Michelle’s lips and there was no denying the flush that crept up her cheeks. Her entire demeanor had softened.

Oh, crap. There were still feelings there. Candace had just witnessed Michelle silently go to pieces at the mere mention of him.

Thankfully, Sylvia’s lips were currently sipping water, but her narrowed, accusatory gaze flickered over to Candace.

“At least yours aren’t anywhere I can see,” Deanne finished.

Michelle managed to pull herself out of her own Brian-induced funk. If only Candace could do the same. “So what are you saying? If they were, I couldn’t be in your wedding? Your own sister?”

Deanne sniffed and pursed her pillow lips. “It would depend on what they were. I guess.”

“What did Becky get?”

“I don’t even know.”

Michelle shook her head, giving Candace a wink as the waiter came to take their orders. Still feeling stuffed from her late breakfast, she ordered a garden salad and earned an approving nod from her mother that made her not want, but need to tear the woman’s hair out and then order the most fat-laden item on the menu.

“Good for you, Candy. Better to have to take the dress in than let it out, I always say. And you do look as if you’ve put on a few pounds these last couple of months.”

She did not just go there in front of everyone. Are you kidding me?

“I don’t think she’ll need too many alterations,” Deanne said, eyeing Candace critically from the neck down. “You’re basically the same size as Becky, I think. Maybe take the bust in a bit.”

Of course. Because I have no boobs. But remember, I’ve got ass.

If she didn’t get through this day without hitting someone or screaming, she had far more self-control than she thought.

Chapter Nine

Brian must’ve been wearing one hell of a thunderous expression. When he stalked into the shop that evening, his employees glanced up at him, opened their mouths to speak, apparently thought better of it, and went back to whatever they were working on.

Shit. They were swamped. Everyone had a client and there wasn’t an empty seat in the waiting area.

So much for going back to his office or his studio and unwinding by drawing and blasting the music until his eardrums bled, which had been his plan when he’d forced himself to leave his apartment. All he’d been doing there was pacing like a caged animal, thinking about calling Candace and apologizing for being such an ass this morning. He hadn’t necessarily wanted to interact with anyone, but now that he was here, he couldn’t go into the back and hide while his guys were working their asses off. That’s something the old Brian would have done, the one he kept insisting didn’t exist anymore. Hell, the old Brian wouldn’t have gotten off the couch tonight in the first place. He’d have wallowed in his misery, or drowned it in booze.