Paris’s face lit up. She grabbed the crown and jammed it onto her dark curls. “Thanks, Aunt Shelly!”
As Paris skipped away, Shelly closed the door and leaned against it with an exaggerated sigh. “That’s crisis number seventeen averted. We’re still two hours out.” She looked me up and down, her expression softening. “God, Theresa. You look amazing.”
“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” I admitted, pressing a hand to my stomach. The slight curve there was still my secret—one I planned to share tonight at the reception. Only Shelly knew.
Shelly crossed the room and took both of my hands. “Wedding day nerves or morning sickness?”
“Both. Plus, the realization that I’m about to be responsible for twelve kids.”
Shelly laughed. “Fourteen sometimes.”
“Not helping,” I said, smiling despite the nausea.
Building a massive ten-bedroom house in San Ramon had been practical. Patrick’s rental was too small for our combined families, and my house held too many memories of Marco. We needed fresh ground—neutral territory where we could build our new life together. San Ramon was a wonderful place away from the big city. And a great school district.
Patrick had insisted on handling the purchase himself. “Consider it a wedding gift,” he’d said, shutting down my protests about contributing. “You saved the company. Let me save our family.”
Our family. The phrase still sent a thrill through me.
Before I could dwell on it, the door banged open again. But instead of a child, a cloud of acrid smoke rolled in, followed by my mother, Willow. She was wearing a dress that looked like it was made entirely of recycled hemp and optimism, waving a burning bundle of sage the size of a baseball bat.
“Clear the chakras, clear the path!” Mom chanted, coughing slightly as she waved the smoke toward my ivory silk dress. “I felt a disturbance in the aura downstairs. Very jagged energy near the catering tent.”
“Mom!” I swatted at the smoke. “Please don’t smoke-damage the place. And the jagged energy is probably just Mrs. Kowalski reorganizing the silverware for the third time.”
“That woman has a very blocked heart chakra,” Mom observed gravely, extinguishing the sage in a potted plant I didn’t know I owned. “I offered to align her crystals, and she looked at me as if I’d suggested ritual sacrifice.”
“Theresa?” Michael appeared in the doorway, looking sharp in his tuxedo but slightly watery eyed from the sage smoke. “Is something burning?”
“Just negative energy, Michael,” Mom said, patting his cheek. “You look stiff, darling. Have you been doing your grounding exercises?”
Michael ignored her, shaking his head with a bemused smile before looking at me. He was pulling double duty today. Walking me down the aisle and standing as one of Patrick’s groomsmen. He stopped dead when he saw me.
“Wow, Tess,” he breathed. “You look great.”
I blinked back sudden tears. “Don’t start. Lisa spent forty-five minutes on my eyes.”
Michael grinned. “No crying. Got it.” He crossed the room and took my hands, squeezing them gently. “How are you holding up?”
“Nervous. Happy. A little terrified. Excited.” I laughed shakily. “All of the above.”
“That sounds about right.” Michael’s expression turned serious. “Marco would be happy for you, you know. He’d want this for you—for all of you.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
Michael squeezed my hands tighter. “Patrick’s a good man,” Michael continued. “The way he looks at you... it’s the real thing, sis.”
“I know,” I whispered.
Another knock on the door, louder and more insistent this time. “Mrs. C!” It was Alec, Patrick’s oldest, his voice urgent. “There’s a problem with the cake!”
“What kind of problem?” I called back, already moving toward the door.
“Eoin and Rome decided it needed upgrades.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Please tell me they didn’t?—”
“Toy cars,” Alec confirmed. “The ones with the detailed treads. They made tracks across the frosting.”
