I blinked, passing a gaze over her perfectly lined eyes and flawless lips, down to the classic low chignon gathered at her nape. “Adriana—”
“I’m losing it, Eden. Fucking losing it. Look.”
Oh, I looked, and then did my best not to laugh as she flung a trembling hand in my face while glaring daggers at me. The contradiction was too much. She looked like an over-caffeinated pit bull swaddled in satin and lace.
When her nostrils flared, I bit my lip and nearly choked on a snort.
When she narrowed her eyes, I cleared my throat and shut that shit down.
Adriana and I had mended fences, but she was still quite volatile, and to be honest, I wasn’t a hundred percent positive familial homicide was off the table. If the Carrera temper was poisonous, Adriana’s was laced with arsenic.
I offered what I hoped was a comforting smile. “It’s normal to be nervous.”
“Nervous?” she screeched. “I’m not nervous. I’m pissed. Everything’s falling apart, and the one thing I ask my asshole matron of honor to do, she...” Her words trailed off as she cocked her head to the side. “What’s this?”
“What’s what?”
“This.” Balling her fist, she flipped out her index finger and shoved it in my face. “Disheveled hair. Smeared lipstick. Glazed eyes.” Narrowing her gaze, she dipped her face in the crook of my neck and inhaled. Pulling back with a huff, she folded her arms across her chest. “You smell like sex! Ay Dios mío, I’m in here breaking down, and you’re down the hall getting dicked down.”
My cheeks flamed at the vivid memory of being bent over Val’s desk.
“I knew it,” she hissed. “Could you two seriously not go one day without fucking? Shit like this is exactly why you’re going to have twelve kids and tits down to your feet by the time you’re thirty.”
Well, okay then…
I’d seen many versions of Adriana Carrera: the heartless killer, hateful bitch, the selfless heroine, the remorseful sister, and the loving fiancée, but this… I wasn’t sure who the hell this out-of-control whack job was.
While she continued ranting, I reached under my arm and held up the bottle of tequila I swiped from the kitchen. “I might make detours, but I still deliver.”
Adriana’s eyes widened. “Is that Gran Patrón Burdeos Añejo?”
“Yep.”
She cocked her chin. “From Val’s personal stash?”
“Yep.”
She stared at me a beat longer before the tension between her eyebrows relaxed. “You’re forgiven,” she announced, grabbing it out of my hand and spinning around.
I wasn’t looking for absolution, but if it took Bridezilla down a couple of notches, who was I to argue? Val would have my ass if he knew I was supplying his post-transplant, diabetic sister with five-hundred-dollar tequila, but I was her matron of honor. It was my job to ensure she had everything she needed, and if she needed eighty-proof zen to calm her tits and wedding day jitters, then her big brother could get the fuck over it.
However, we were way past zen and this was more than just jitters.
I cocked my chin, watching Adriana stumble toward my bed, cursing as her feet tangled in the long train of her gown. Swiping an empty glass off the nightstand, she poured a timid shot and collapsed onto the mattress.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, wincing as she took a timid sip. “You’re not an asshole.”
“And you’re not a homicidal lunatic.”
“You didn’t call me one.”
I smirked. “Maybe not out loud.” Adriana rolled her eyes as I closed the door and leaned against it. “What’s really going on? You were somewhat sane an hour ago.”
“Well, back then sun was still shining, and I wasn’t an hour and fifty-eight...” Her voice trailed off as she glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. Palming her forehead, she let out a ragged breath. “I mean fifty-four minutes away from a matrimonial clusterfuck.”
We weren’t the touchy-feely kind of women, but I couldn’t just stand there and watch her unravel. Plus, if anyone would know what Val had been up to, it would be his sister.
Approaching slowly, I paused beside the mattress. When she didn’t growl at me, I sat beside her. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
That earned me a sharp glare. “Eden, I really don’t need you on my back when I have the world on my shoulders and a trigger-happy Colombian under my feet.” She motioned toward the window, where three floors below in the courtyard, guests were still being seated.
We both sucked in a sharp breath at her slip.
Colombian.
I was right. She fucking knew.
“Dante Santiago,” I whispered.
Adriana scowled. “I’m sorry, do you happen to fucking know another trigger-happy Colombian coming here?”
I didn’t fault her for snapping. She wasn’t angry with me. I was just an available spinning wheel at which to throw knives. I had no doubt the real place she wanted to aim them was at her brother’s face.
I didn’t know all the details, but from what I could tell, Val had coated her wedding day in such a thick layer of upper echelon bullshit, it was eating her alive. Unfortunately, so was my anxiety, ever since being fed a steady stream of half-truths.
The queen was cracking, an opportunity which left me with two options: stick with my original plan to needle the truth out of Mateo after the wedding or go in for the kill now while her defenses were down.
Like there was even a question…
“I thought Val said you were okay with all of this?” I had no clue what all of this was, but she didn’t know that.
“Okay? I wouldn’t call any of this okay, Eden.” She snorted, waving the glass in the air. “It’s not like he gave me a choice in the—” Stopping mid-sentence, she whipped her head around, her tone sharp. “Wait, he told you?”
No, but you’re going to.
“Uh-huh.”
Being held captive in a dirty stash house, I learned that controlling one’s fate hinged directly on controlling the narrative. Fight dirty then get ahead of the curve and stay there because the upper hand wielded the real power, not a gun.
“Told you what exactly?” Before I could open my mouth, she added, “And when?”
I almost smiled. There it was. The infamous Carrera backtrack. She knew she’d stepped on a landmine. One wrong move, even one minor misstep, would blow everything to hell. Adriana had no idea if Val had really confided in me or if I was baiting her, waiting patiently for her to lift a toe and watch her incinerate.
I considered being vague, then decided, fuck it. There was no better lie than the truth.
“He told me that he invited Dante Santiago and his wife because of Brody.”
A horizontal line sank in between her eyes. “Brody?”
Shit. That didn’t seem to register so I skipped over Val’s weak Colombian access excuse and skipped to the end of our conversation, hoping something struck a chord. “You and Brody, of course. The both of you. Because of the wedding, I mean.” When I saw a small flicker in her eyes, I pushed forward. “Santiago wanted him to meet at his island in the Pacific, but he didn’t want to leave me.” I motioned toward my swollen belly. “For obvious reasons.”