I relayed to Cookie all the information I could about the guests showing up to set her at ease. She was nervous enough as it was. I’d assumed her knowing that people were showing up would calm her nerves. Instead it made her even more nervous. Go figure.

“Well,” she said at last, standing behind me.

I turned and was stunned speechless. Cookie looked incredible. Her short, dark locks had been swept back and made to look like she had an intricate French braid. Just like Amber and me, she, too, wore tiny bronze butterflies in her hair to match our cinnamon dresses. But her dress was a creamy ivory wrap sprinkled with pearls. Her makeup was simple yet dramatic. She was breathtaking.

“Cookie,” I said, unable to tear my gaze away from her. “You look magnificent. You look like a movie star from the ’40s. You are utterly elegant.”

She laughed softly, the act easing some of the tension from her shoulders. “Do you think Robert will like it?”

“Please,” I said, astounded she had to ask. “Uncle Bob is going to trip over his own tongue when he gets a load of you.”

She crinkled her nose and giggled like a schoolgirl.

“Mom,” Amber said as she stared in awe. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous.”

Amber dropped her gaze and kicked an invisible layer of dirt bashfully.

“Are we really doing this?” Cookie asked me.

“Hon, if we don’t do this, I think that man of yours is going to kidnap you and take you to Mexico. Or Vegas. Or Romania. You two are getting married one way or another.”

She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry we’re getting married now of all times.”

“What?” I asked, my voice an octave too high. “What are you talking about?”

“I just, I don’t want to take away from the birth of your first child. This is such a special time for you.”

“Cookie Marie Kowalski, how dare you even think such a thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I am that my uncle will disown me if I don’t make certain you walk up that aisle in the next few minutes.”

She laughed and hugged me. Amber joined us in a three-way just as Gemma walked into the room. My sister stood taken aback, a hand placed gently over her mouth for a solid thirty seconds before she shook out of her stupor and waved us forward. Thick droplets glistened between her lashes as she rushed us out of the room and down the stairs. We met Bianca and the kids at the bottom. Ashley’s dress was a smaller version of Amber’s. Her curls were also piled high on her head with tiny bronze butterflies inhabiting the thick mass. Stephen looked dapper in a black tux and bow tie to match the men’s. After Bianca explained their roles again, she went to sit with her husband, Amador, as Gemma escorted us to the back door, where we would step onto the strip of green turf that led to the altar.

Ashley kept twirling in her dress, leaving petals in her wake, while Stephen fidgeted with his tie.

“We’d better do this before we lose them,” I said.

Gemma gave us all quick hugs, then went to join Wyatt.

We all took deep breaths as the wedding music started. We sent Stephen down the aisle first, carrying the pillow with the quintessential promise rings. Ashley was next, dropping amber rose petals as she waved and posed for pictures.

I turned to Cookie, forcing myself not to cry. Not yet. There was a time and a place for tears at a wedding, and this was neither. But I couldn’t help it. I leaned in and gave her one more colossal hug as a tear escaped despite my best efforts. I gave Amber a quick peck on the cheek, turned, and walked down the aisle.

I had it all planned. I was going to stare straight ahead. I was going to concentrate on my breathing. I was going to focus on not tripping. And it was all going according to plan. I looked at my uncle as he stood waiting for his bride. He looked amazing. Hair and mustache neatly trimmed. Black tux. White shirt. Crisp bow tie. The fact that he looked uncomfortable made me crack a minuscule smile, but I managed to keep my composure as I kept walking, kept breathing, and kept the tears at bay.

Then it happened. My eyes landed on Reyes Alexander Farrow. My uncle’s best man, standing in the same black tux, starched white shirt, and black bow tie that my uncle wore. But they seemed worlds apart. Reyes looked like he was born for the finer things in life. His hair had been trimmed since that morning. How any man could look just as sexy in a dirty T-shirt and ragged jeans as he did in a formal tux and bow tie was beyond my immediate comprehension. But the pièce de résistance was simply Reyes himself. His wide shoulders, powerful even beneath the layers of tailored clothing. His face startlingly handsome. His jaw strong, his mouth sculpted to perfection. His thick dark lashes casting minute shadows across his cheeks. And his hair. It was shorter now, but thick dark curls still hung over his forehead. Curled around his ears. He looked like a supermodel. Something exotic and rare. Something not of this world.

One corner of his full mouth tipped up as he watched me watch him. Then the slightest arching of his left brow, and my knees almost gave beneath me. I had never seen anything so beautiful in all my life.

Then I heard a whisper beside me. I looked to my left. Denise sat glaring at me while Gemma’s eyes were wide with panic. My heart sped up. My eyes widened to match hers. I was suddenly panicking, too, only I had no idea why. She nodded toward the front, and I realized I had stopped. The moment my gaze landed on Reyes, I had stopped.

I quickly stared straight ahead, squared my shoulders, and continued down the aisle, wondering if anyone noticed the five-minute pause in the procession. Hopefully not. And if they did, I had a kid fermenting in my belly. I could chalk it up to Beep. But my cheeks burned either way.

I thought Reyes might laugh at me. Or at the very least, find my faux pas amusing, but when I looked over at him again, he was not laughing. He was not even smiling. He had darkened again, his expression almost dangerous as he took me in. He could feel my reaction to him and I, in turn, could feel his reaction to me. How he could have such a reaction with me looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy astonished me. He was kinky. I’d take it.

Once I got to the front, I stepped aside and turned, waiting for the gorgeous bride. The “Wedding March” began to play through the speakers and everyone stood as Cookie and Amber stepped out into the light of the warm fall afternoon. They strolled to the front slowly, taking their time, letting people snap pictures and whisper words of praise.

But my attention had turned to Uncle Bob, and I wished I’d thought to have someone record him, because his reaction to Cookie was worth all the coffee in Albuquerque. No, New Mexico. No! The world!

He sucked in a sharp breath of air at the sight of her, his mouth slightly open, his expression reflecting all the amazement and doubt that was so Uncle Bob. I could tell right then and there he wondered what she saw in him. And I wanted to tell him: That. That humbleness. That appreciation of her. That love for both her and Amber. No, not just love. Respect. He respected her. He respected Amber. He was truly grateful for them both. There was no greater gift.

When they reached the front, the minister raised his hands and gestured for everyone to sit. After the guests settled, he asked, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

Amber spoke, her voice quivering only a little. “I, her daughter, Amber Kowalski.”

She turned to Cookie, her blue eyes shimmering. She gave her a quick hug, then took Cookie’s hand and placed it gently into Uncle Bob’s, giving him permission to marry her mother. There was no higher honor. The happiness ricocheting inside me for my cantankerous uncle knew no bounds.

The minister smiled his approval, and I nodded to Quentin, who was sitting in the front row. He stood, took Amber’s arm into his, and led her to her seat. The whole exchange was formal and sweet and reverent, and once again I fought with every ounce of strength I had to hold back the floodtide threatening to erupt within me.