I hobble to the kitchen, sink into a chair, and lay my head on the table.
"Rough day, mija?"
I prop my chin on my palm and eye the big bowl of guacamole dip in front of me. "Can I just walk down the aisle barefoot?"
"I don't care what you wear as long as you marry me." Andrés laughs and then fluffs what appears to be Spanish rice. He's using the new pots and pans I bought him, which makes me feel all giddy inside. Whatever the reason for his initial reaction to his presents, at least he's using them.
"I wish your aunt was as easy to please as you are." I search the table, disappointed to find there's only carrot and celery sticks to go with the guacamole. Bleh. If I wasn't so damned tired, I'd search the cabinet for corn chips. "Did you talk to her?"
I cringe, not knowing if I want to hear his response. His heavy sigh as he covers the pots isn't reassuring. I jerk back when I hear a loud grumbling noise coming from my midsection. I settle my hand over my stomach. My gut feels like a hollow drum, ready to implode at any minute. I guess that soup and club sandwich followed by the fudge brownie I ate today (yes, I went back for another World's Best Brownie) wasn't filling enough. I scoop out a big chunk of guacamole with my finger and lick it off. Luckily, Andrés still has his back to me.
"Yeah, that didn't go over so well." Andrés turns off the burners, grabs a half-empty beer off the counter and sits across from me. I don't want to say anything, but he seems to be drinking a few beers every night now. When we'd first started dating, he was just a casual drinker. Not that I'm bothered by a few beers each night, but I know a few can turn to several as the years progress. It's exactly what happened to my former parents.
"What did she say?" I ask, knowing now isn't the time to start nagging him about the drinking, but I know I need to address it soon.
Andrés levels me with a glum expression. "She's not coming to the wedding."
I gape at him for a long moment. "Omigod. Really? Over a dress?" I can't believe Tia would do this to us, to Andrés. She has to know this would crush him.
Andrés shrugs, his mouth tilted half-way in an apologetic grin. "She thinks you are shutting her out."
"This is ridiculous." My words are punctuated by a loud grumble from my tummy.
Andrés lays his hand across mine and squeezes. "Don't worry, she'll come around."
The grumbling gets louder. Apparently my stomach isn't convinced. Andrés eyes my gut with a smirk, pushes away from the table, and walks back to the stove.
"And if she doesn't?" I ask. "We can't have a wedding without your tia."
"I'll see if Tio can talk some sense into her." His back is to me, so his expression is unreadable, but I don't like the way his words lack conviction, almost like he doubts Tio will be able to sway her.
I slouch in my seat. "I feel bad, Andrés."
"Don't. This isn't your fault." His dark eyes sparkle with mischief as he sets two steaming plates of food on the table. "I still say it would be easier if we just ran off to Vegas."
"Then my mom would be mad at us, too." I pick up my fork and shove rice and vegetables around on my plate. I'm not in the mood to eat anymore. Too bad my growling stomach isn't on the same wavelength.
"This is our wedding, mija. Our future."
Tears well in my eyes as I look at my fiancé. I'm humbled and wracked with guilt at the sincerity in his gaze. "I wish it was as simple as that."
A shadow falls across his face before he takes another long drink of beer. "Me, too."
Chapter Sixteen
Christina
Two-thousand-five-hundred freaking dollars. That is how much my mom has to pay to dry clean all those wedding dresses. Shit! I feel so bad about all of this, but my mom writes the check without even batting an eye.
I glare at the bridal shop clerk as she smiles serenely while taking Mom's check. She doesn't present my mom with an official dry-cleaning bill, and my mom doesn't ask for one. Anger infuses my cheeks and warms my chest. And the old-fashioned Christmas music that filters from overhead does little to lighten my mood. It's not even Christmas anymore.
"I still can't believe you have to pay this," I grumble, standing beside her at the counter. "Considering it was Nora who gave them the cotton candy."
Mom waves me off. "Nora wouldn't have given your brothers candy in a dress shop."
But I'm not buying it. I've known Nora a long time, and I know beneath the sweet, tipsy façade, is the shriveled up heart of a calloused bitch, just like The Cobra. And even though she swears she's not my ex-mother's best friend any longer, I am seriously having doubts. What if my snake adoptive mother put Nora up to giving my brothers cotton candy? What if this is just the beginning of Nora's underhanded pranks?