Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(4)

I fixed it already, Sonya thought, and set the phone down.



* * *



On her second glass of wine, Cleo circled the living room. Long legs in tiny white shorts covered the ground. She had her mass of curling burnt-honey hair bundled back in weekend-at-home mode.

Her jungle-cat eyes flashed.

The more incensed she became, the more the traces of her Louisiana childhood flowed over the heat. And the calmer Sonya felt. This, Sonya decided, was love.

“That bastard. That lying, cheating, sonofabitching bastard. And Tracie? I don’t even have words slimy enough. Your own cousin! And that—that miserable, big-titted slut was helping me plan your wedding shower.”

“She ugly cried.”

“Not enough. Not close to enough. Oh, oh, she’s going to hear from me. You’d better believe she’s going to feel my wrath. Two-faced whore-bitch.”

“I love you, Cleo Fabares. You’re the best.”

“Oh, baby.” Dropping back down on the couch, Cleo set her wine aside to pull Sonya into a fierce embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.”

“I know.”

“What do you want to do?” Cleo pulled back, looked at Sonya with her long-lidded tawny eyes. “Tell me what you want, and it’s done. Murder? Decapitation? Castration?”

For the first time since she’d walked in the door, Sonya smiled. “Would you use your great-grandfather Harurto’s samurai sword?”

“With pleasure.”

“Let’s keep that in reserve.”

“Why aren’t you screaming? Why aren’t you kicking something? I want to kick something. I want to kick Brandon in the balls. First, I want to go buy a pair of combat boots so I can wear them while I kick him in the balls. Then I want to go buy brass knuckles so I can wear them when I punch Tracie in the face.

“But that’s just me,” she added, and picked up her wine again. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m doing it. I’m sitting here drinking wine and watching my best friend get pissed off and outraged for me.” Sonya took Cleo’s free hand. “She ugly cried; I didn’t.”

“If you need to, I’ve got a shoulder right here.”

“I don’t. I’m not sure what that says about me. It was like walking into a scene in a movie. The clueless bride-to-be discovers her fiancé and one of her bridesmaids naked in bed.”

“You’re not clueless.”

“Well, I was about this, so … Beyoncé’s ‘Video Phone’ was playing.”

“Come on.”

“Seriously.”

Cleo struggled against the laugh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. When I think … If I hadn’t canceled that appointment, if I hadn’t walked in on them—”

Now Sonya pushed up to circle the room, and her legs in running-Saturday-errands cropped jeans ate up the floor. She gestured with her wineglass with one hand, shoved the other through her hair.

And dragged out the tie that held her maple-syrup-brown hair out of its long, straight tail.

“That’s what gets me, Cleo. Really, fucking gets me. I’d have gone through with it. I’d have married the cheating asshole. And I’d’ve married him his way, and that kills me. The hotel ballroom he wanted, the big, slick production of it he wanted, the stupid five-tier wedding cake with the fondant and gold sugar design he wanted.

“How the hell did I let myself get lost in there?”

“Looks like you’re found now. I liked him. I actually liked him, and that kills me. Maybe I thought the wedding was over-the-top, for you, but hell, it’s the day, right? So why not? But—and before I get to the but, let me say it’s good to see you found your rage again.”

“Oh, never lost that. I just liked seeing yours take over awhile.”

“Okay. But. You did cancel the appointment, you did walk in on them. And you’re not going to marry the asshole. The fates looked out for you.”

“If fate looked out for me, I’d have told him to get lost a long time ago.”

“You need more wine.”

“Oh, I’m going to get it. And a lot of it.”

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 s?r. 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.”