Frey is quiet a moment. The muscles in his jaw tremble, then clench. He swallows hard and draws a deep breath. Finally he says simply, “I love you because it’s all I’m capable of doing.”
My heart leaps. I lean over and kiss his cheek. “That’s the nicest declaration of love I’ve ever heard,” I whisper.
DAVID AND TRACEY ARE SUITABLY IMPRESSED BY THE JET, by Cannes, by the drive to my folks’. They grill Frey and me about the details of the wedding, how we’ve been spending our time since we arrived (that gets a raised eyebrow from Frey), how John-John likes France. The subject that doesn’t come up is Mom. I can tell David is hesitant to ask about her condition. I bring it up myself before we get to the estate. I assure him she’s determined to play the mother of the bride to the hilt and that he’ll be surprised at how good she looks. I also tell them not to treat her any differently than they have before. David is skeptical that he can pull it off.
But he needn’t have worried. As soon as we stop in the driveway, the family is out the door to greet us. While my folks have never been big fans of David (bounty hunting was not their job of choice for their only child), Mom’s greeting is so warm and welcoming, her demeanor so relaxed, any qualms David had about how to act around her are quickly forgotten.
Mom shepherds everyone inside, to a feast waiting for us in the dining room. Frey, John-John and I sit on one side of the table, David, Tracey and Trish on the other, Mom and Dad at opposite ends. Everyone I love is here. Except one.
I bump Frey’s arm and whisper, “We didn’t invite Culebra.” Guilt that I hadn’t thought of inviting him before now floods my heart. He’s been as constant in my life as Frey and I didn’t think of him before right now.
David hears my comment and pauses, a forkful of coq au vin halfway to his lips. “Oh, I invited him,” he says. “Figured you’d want him here since you spent so much time in Mexico. You know, with Max . . .” His voice falters. Mentioning Max reminds us both that he is gone—killed in Mexico by a drug lord we helped put away.
The wound is raw. Still, I skewer David with a look. “How’d you know where to reach Culebra?”
“Searched your phone records.”
“What?”
“Hey, it’s what we do, right?”
I give him a mocking evil eye. “So. What did Culebra say?”
“Congratulations. And he sends his apologies. His niece is in her first drama production at her school and he has to attend. He said you’d understand.”
That makes me grin. His “niece” is a girl we rescued on that same trip. One of the few bright points in an otherwise nightmarish experience. She must be doing well. Couple that with Culebra’s reluctance to leave the confines of his supernatural kingdom in Beso de la Muerte, it isn’t surprising that he’d elect not to come. And perfectly understandable.
I sigh and give David a grudging smile. “Thanks for taking care of that for me. But stay out of my phone records from now on, okay?”
Tracey shakes her head at David. “I told you she wouldn’t be happy with your snooping.”
“Yeah, but look at her face now. She’s glad I did, aren’t you, Anna?”
“Don’t press your luck, David.”
It’s what I say, but I have to admit it, I am glad.
With the crowd at the table it’s easy to pretend I, too, am enjoying a meal that has every face beaming. Between John-John and Frey subtly helping themselves to nibbles from my plate and Mom spiriting away a napkin full of food to replace it with a clean one, neither David nor Tracey, my Dad nor Trish notices that I haven’t eaten a morsel.
After dinner Frey and I offer to clean up so David and Tracey can visit with my folks. We make short work of clearing the table, storing away leftovers and loading the dishwasher. As the machine cycles on, I lean against it, pulling Frey close.
“Just a few more hours of freedom. How do you want to spend them?”
At that moment, David appears in the doorway, Dad by his side. “We’ve been discussing that,” David says. “You need a bachelor party. Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Frey’s tone is as surprised as his expression.
“I know just the place,” Dad says. “In the village. Come on. It’s your last night of freedom.”
Frey glances at me. I lift my shoulders. “Sounds like the menfolk have it all thought out.” I stand on tiptoe, peck his cheek, give David a hard look over Frey’s shoulder. “No strippers.” Then I whisper in Frey’s ear, “And no shifters.”
Dad and David take Frey by each arm before he can resist and hustle him toward the door. “No promises,” David says.
“Don’t wait up,” Dad adds, winking at me.
“Good luck,” I call to Frey as the door slams behind them.
MOM MUST BE TELLING TRACEY SOMETHING ABOUT TOMORROW SHE WANTS TO BE A SURPRISE BECAUSE WHEN I join them in the living room, conversation comes to a halt.
“Well. Should I leave and come back?”
Mom laughs and pats the seat beside her on the couch. “Course not. I was just giving Tracey a hint about what to expect tomorrow.”
Tracey’s eyes sparkle. “It’s going to be beautiful, Anna. I’m so jealous.”
Trish and John-John are sitting across from us, and John-John says, “Aren’t you and David going to get married, too?”
Trish gives him an elbow nudge. “That’s not a polite question.”
He turns wide innocent eyes her way. “Why?”
Tracey interjects before Trish can reply. “No. It’s an honest question and, John-John, I wish I could answer it. David and I care about each other very much, but I’m not sure David is ready for marriage.”
She sounds wistful and a little frustrated. I can’t help thinking one of the reasons David is reluctant to commit is a bombshell bitch named Gloria.
But it’s not my place to offer an opinion.
Mom deftly steers the conversation to another topic. “I hope you can stay on after the ceremony. It’s so beautiful in Provence this time of year.”
“We can stay a day or two,” Tracey replies. “But I’m afraid we have work waiting for us. And we don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality.”
And so the discussion turns to how best to make the most of a short trip, what to see, where to go. I watch Mom closely for any sign of fatigue, any indication that she’s not feeling well. All I see are bright eyes and a luminous smile, an erect bearing radiating happiness.
Maybe the doctors are wrong. Maybe Chael doesn’t know what he’s talking about. This glowing woman cannot be dying.
It has to be a mistake.
CHAPTER 30
I SPEND THE NIGHT DOZING, WAKING, CHECKING THE clock, impatiently waiting for Frey.
After the night we had last night, he must be exhausted. Of course, no one else knows about that.
Finally, at three a.m., I get up. I go to my parents’ room and listen at the door. I hear Dad snoring softly. At David’s door, I hear him and Tracey doing something other than sleeping. Where the hell is Frey?
I tiptoe downstairs and look outside. The car is parked in front. I take a quick trip through the house and finally find him.
Stretched out on the couch. His clothes are in a pile on the floor, a quilt has been thrown over his hips.