Say Forever (11 page)

Inez comes up to me and places a chubby hand on my belly. When she leans over, breathing against my neck, I can smell the strong residue of wine on her breath. "Pssst," she whispers rather loudly to me before nodding her head toward Tia. "Her oldest boy was born seven months after she married."

"Inez!" Tia shrieks before throwing a towel at her.

"What?" Inez shrugs before slanting a sideways grin. "I didn't always pay attention in school, but I can add seven plus two."

Tia's tanned cheeks flush pink. "He was premature."

Inez rolls her eyes. "He was ten pounds!"

"Enough," Tia holds out both hands before picking up her glass and gingerly taking a sip. "We need to plan the wedding."

"Uh," I say as I anxiously eye one woman, then the other. "My mom hired a wedding planner, and I'm not sure who she's getting to cater the wedding."

Inez looks at me with an arched brow. "Find out who she's using and cancel them. The Cruz family caters all of our own weddings. "

"I'll let them know," I say with a hesitant smile, though I already suspect what my mom will say. She was pretty adamant about those shrimp puffs.

Tia looks at me expectantly with one hand on her hip. "Your mom is planning the whole wedding?"

"Most of it," I barely manage to squeak.

I don't like the accusation in her voice, like I've done something wrong. If Tia only saw my mom take charge, the unstoppable wedding express, maybe she'd be more understanding. I heave a sigh as I lean against the kitchen counter. My special day has turned into a runaway train, and all the details are racing further and further away from me. Soon, I'll be reduced to a spectator at my own wedding, just doing what others tell me. Thankfully, I managed to wrest control over the dress—my dress. A smile tugs at my lips when I think of it. I might be forced to eat seafood pastries, but at least I'll look amazing while I'm retching up my meal.

"What about your dress?" Tia asks.

My mouth falls open at the expectant look in her eyes. No, she will not have any say in my dress. Nobody will. It's the one thing I've got left.

I swallow hard before averting my gaze. "We found a gown today."

"You got a dress? You didn't tell me."

I spin around to see Andrés standing in the doorway. He's holding an empty chip bowl, looking at me with a slack jaw.

I heave a frustrated groan. I'm tired. My neck hurts. What's the big deal about the dress? "You've been at work all day."

"You could have sent me a message." He flashes a crooked smile, one I guess could be considered playful, but I'm not in the mood to play right now.

"You
never
answer my texts," I say in an accusatory tone that sounds too severe even to my own ears.

I cringe when he takes a step back, looking at me as if I've wounded him with a verbal knife.

I know my fuse is short, and I fear it may get even shorter unless Andrés takes me home. It's been a long day and I want to go to sleep, so I can be rested for our drive to San Antonio tomorrow.

He shrugs. "I guess it doesn't matter. I'll see it when we get home."

Inez gasps and crosses her heart before muttering something in Spanish. "No, you can't see it. It's bad luck, Andrés."

"I'd like to see it." Tia steps forward, squaring her shoulders.

When I look at the hurt in her eyes I feel like a balloon has popped in my chest. I hate that Tia is upset, but I don't understand why she would be.

"It's at the apartment. You can come by and look at it anytime." I reach behind my head and rub my sore neck and shoulders. Why did I think planning this wedding would be fun? So far, it's turning out to be a big pain in the neck—literally.

"I'll come with you, Tia."

I stifle a gasp as Marie steps from behind Andrés. She leans against the wall in a casual pose, one leg crossed over the other. She's got this smug look on her face, and I swear the glare she gives me is hot enough to melt lead. Oh, this is so not good. I don't want Marie to come to my apartment. In fact, I don't want her anywhere near my dress.

The image of that bride pointing her cigarette at me flashes through my mind. And now I know exactly what she was trying to tell me: this runaway train is heading for disaster.

Chapter Ten

Christina

"What's wrong, mija?" Andrés grips the steering wheel as we drive down Highway 35. He keeps his gaze focused on the road, but I can tell by the way he works a tic in his jaw he's got a lot on his mind.

"I'm tired, Andrés," I say on a sigh. "I just need some sleep."

I know work has been stressful for him lately. The last thing I should do is unload on him, even though I feel like I may break under the pressure of this wedding planning. I lean against the headrest and massage the tension building in my neck. No matter how much I rub, it seems to get worse.

"You didn't look happy tonight. Did my family upset you?"

When Andrés takes one hand from the wheel and laces his fingers through mine, my thin thread of composure starts to unravel.

My throat tightens with emotion when I look over at him and see his eyes darken with concern. I don't want to burden him with my troubles, but he probably should know what's going on, anyway. I turn away and look out at the highway.

"Your aunts are hurt they don't get to help and your cousin does not like me." I hate the whine that slips into my voice. Damn. Why'd I tell him?

Andrés releases my hand and grips the wheel with white knuckles. "Yeah, Marie. I was hoping you didn't catch that."

"Uh, yeah." I definitely caught it. I was drowning in her venom the whole night.

"Don't worry about Marie." Andrés looks at me and winks. "She grew up with a bunch of boys. I think she likes being the only girl, and she's jealous you're getting so much attention.

"Great. So how do I get her to back off?"

"Just ignore her. She'll come around."

But I don't like the edge of doubt in his voice. I also don't like the uneasy tension that clings to him like a second skin. I can see the way his shoulders stiffen and the veins protrude in his neck. Andrés looks like he's got a lot on his mind, too, so I decide to drop the topic of Marie. Talking about her makes my stomach sour, anyway.

"You don't look happy, either, Andrés." It's a statement, not a question, and I wait with bated breath for him to answer.

If anything, the tension in the truck cab thickens, so much that I can feel his nervous energy snaking up my spine.

"I had a rough day at work." His jaw is so tight, I'm amazed he can even speak.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I want to forget it." His tone is clipped, firm, leaving little room for me to argue.

This pregnancy, this wedding, can't be helping his stress, and lately he seems very stressed. I admire how Andrés acts like a different man at work, focused, authoritative. But having worked with him so long, I'm starting to see through his tough guy veneer. Andrés is a strict boss, uncompromising with his employees. I used to think his style was a product of his military training, but more and more lately, I'm noticing the weariness in his eyes, the stoop of his shoulders every time something goes wrong at one of the shops. Andrés hates his job.

"So what's going on with the wedding?" Andrés cuts into my thoughts. I look at him with a weary gaze. His aunts weren't thrilled with my mom's wedding plans. I wonder what Andrés will think. After all, this is his wedding, too.

"We're still looking at February first." I pause as I summon the nerve to hit him with the latest news. I know he wanted the wedding at the ranch. "Nora is talking about having it at a hotel on The Riverwalk."

"We can't do it at Tio's ranch?"

Damn. He didn't miss a beat.

I try to keep my tone even, though my body and soul are weary. I don't feel like discussing this wedding anymore. All I want to do is curl up underneath my blankets, fall asleep, and pretend this wedding isn't turning into a nightmare. "My stepdad has a large family. My mom wants it someplace bigger, more formal."

"The ranch has a lot of room, and you can make it more formal. That's your job now, isn't it?" There's no denying the accusation in his voice. I want to get mad at him, to argue, but he's right. It is my job to decorate weddings. I know I could make the ranch look just as beautiful as any hotel. But my mom is so set on having it in San Antonio. She wants to give me an extravagant wedding because she's missed out on all of the other milestones in my life, and she feels if she spends a lot of money, she'll somehow make it up to me. I'd feel bad denying her that.

"I don't know. I think The Riverwalk sounds nice." I lean over and try to look into his face, but Andrés doesn't so much as blink, much less look in my direction. "That's where we went on our first vacation together, remember?"

"I remember, mija," he says, "but Tia's not going to be happy."

I stiffen my spine. "This isn't her wedding."

He finally looks over at me, and a knot tightens in my chest at the accusation in his gaze. "It's not your mom's wedding, either."

"I know," I say as I look away. The weight of this wedding is pressing so heavily on my chest I fear I may suffocate, especially when I realize there's no way I can make everyone happy.

***

After we get home, Andrés fixes me a virgin sangria. We climb into bed, and he asks me to fill him in on our wedding plans. I tell him all about Nora. I sense he doesn't like the idea of this woman planning our wedding. I try to emphasize that she and The Cobra are no longer friends, but somehow I get the impression he's not buying it. I don't blame him, either. I wish I could find a way out of using her.

We discuss the wedding party. I tell him I want my brothers to be ring bearers and he wants his little cousin Amelia to be the flower girl. I only want one bridesmaid, Grace, since I don't talk to my other sorority sisters anymore and, besides Andrés, she's my only good friend. Andrés is going to ask his cousin Cesar to stand up with him. He hints he wants to see my dress, but I think back to what his aunt said about it being bad luck. I'm starting to think this wedding doesn't need any more bad mojo, so I smile coyly and tell him he'll have to wait until the wedding.

As tired as I am, I fall into him and wrap my arms around his neck when he kisses me goodnight. I try to deepen the kiss, but he pulls back and plants a chaste peck on my forehead. What the heck? He doesn't even bother making a move.

"Goodnight, mjia," he says.

When he gets out of bed and pads toward the living room, I bite on my lip and squeeze my eyes shut, trying my best to stifle my tears. A few slip out of the corners of my eyes, anyway. I keep my eyes shut; I don't want to open them and see Andrés is gone. I squeeze my pillow as fatigue overtakes me. It's been a long day, and I fear the time between now and the wedding may prove to be even more demanding.

Chapter Eleven

Christina

"Merry Christmas, mija."

I stretch my arms above me as I slowly open my eyes. Andrés is lying beside me, and even though I know he spent the night in the other room, I try to pretend he was with me all night long.

"Merry Christmas," I say as I inhale the tempting aroma of warm butter and cinnamon. "Something smells good."

"Mmmm," he answers as he massages my lower back. "I made you breakfast."

I roll into him and wrap my arms around his neck, nuzzling that little patch of hair on his chest with my nose. He is warm and inviting, and as I press my ear against his chest, I can hear the steady and reassuring beat of his heart. I sigh into him. He kisses my temple and continues to rub my back. How nice it would be to lie here together all day long, but I know my family is waiting for us in San Antonio. Andrés is supposed to help my stepdad prepare dinner, and my mom and I are going to decorate the dining room. I can't wait to try out my new designer skills today. This is, after all, what I'm supposed to be doing for my new career.

Despite the stress from the wedding and the pregnancy, I have the feeling today will be my best Christmas ever. This holiday has never meant much to me, mainly because I spent most Christmases listening to my adoptive mother and father getting drunk and swearing at each other. But this time is different. This time I'll be surrounded by people I love who love me back. In some ways, it feels like I'll be celebrating my very first Christmas, and the excitement rises in me like effervescent bubbles. I have a lot to be thankful for. I squeeze Andrés's neck tighter, and giggle when he tickles my ribcage. I spring from the bed, feeling like a child anxious to open presents from Santa.

But my excitement is short-lived as I'm hit by a wave of dizziness. I fall back onto the bed and groan.

"Should I bring you breakfast in bed?" he asks, concern lacing each word.

"No, just give me a minute," I say as I close my eyes and will the nausea to subside.

"Your breakfast is ready, mija. I'll go get it."

Andrés rolls out of bed with an ease that makes me jealous and he returns a few minutes later with a tray of food. Mmmm. It smells even better close up. I can't believe the spread he's made: French toast, eggs, hash browns, and real pork bacon (not the fake crap). Best of all is the steaming cup of coffee, which looks to be twice the size of my daily limit, but I'm not complaining.

He props up some pillows behind me and my mouth waters as he sets the tray down. I scoot up against the headboard and reach for my coffee. I frown at the tea bag floating in the liquid.

"Got it at the vitamin store. It's supposed to help with morning sickness," Andrés says, as he puffs up his chest, looking adorably proud of himself. "I sweetened it with honey."

"Thanks," I say, stunned. "I guess it's worth a try." I try not to make a face as I swallow the bitter liquid. I've never been a big fan of tea, but since Andrés went through all the trouble, I know I'll have to finish it. Besides, the sweet honey makes the flavors somewhat bearable, and masks most of the funky aftertaste.

I close my eyes and take several sips, while I tell my morning sickness to piss off. After a few minutes, and nearly half the cup, I feel slightly better, so I open my eyes to see my smiling fiancé holding a forkful of French toast topped with syrup and whipped cream just below my chin. I open my mouth and gladly take a bite, groaning as I bite into cinnamon, warm butter and cream. Damn, he can cook.