Got Your Number

relief, the woman didn't make eye contact. Angora turned her attention to her destination.
    The bridesmaids in pink, and the groomsmen in dark gray fanned out from the altar like the petals of an enormous flower waiting for the center to arrive. Reverberating organ music, white satin curtains draped over the altar, dozens of candles ablaze—it was almost too much to take in. This was her day, the first time in her life when she was in the spotlight instead of playing second fiddle to Dee. If she never did anything else in her life to garner fame, she would always have this lily-scented day.
    And speaking of Dee, she actually looked happy as they passed by her pew. Happy and relieved. As if her job was done, and now she could concentrate her energies elsewhere, such as redecorating Angora's old room.
    At last Angora focused on Trenton, her beloved. Dear, sweet, handsome Trenton, who had picked her among all the still-eligible Baton Rouge belles. He would declare his love for her before this enormous crowd. He would vow to cherish her until death parted them. Her heart swelled at the sight of his shining blue eyes.
    The priest was bent and elderly, with a monotonous voice. Both sets of parents had insisted on a full mass, so the ceremony became an exercise in stooping, kneeling, and standing again. When she had envisioned her wedding, she imagined she would be riveted on each holy word, savoring its meaning before tucking it away in her heart. Instead, her senses were so hyper-stimulated, the words flew by her. Before she knew it, she was saying, "I do." Then the priest was delivering to Trenton his charge as a husband. Her skin tingled in anticipation.
    "I... can't."
    For a full ten seconds, she didn't comprehend Trenton's answer. Behind them, someone guffawed into the stunned silence, and the organist leaned on the keyboard, blasting them with a cacophony of sick notes.
    "Excuse me?" the priest said, cupping a hand behind his big veiny ear.
    Trenton shrugged. "I'm sorry, Angora, I can't go through with this."
    Her jaw loosened, and her mouth moved, but no words came out. She was paralyzed. A murmur surged through the guests like a swarm of bees.
    Dee's best fake laugh rang out. "Everyone, this is just a little misunderstanding. The children are under a great deal of stress." Angora didn't turn around, but she knew her mother was on her feet, directing.
    "Yes," the priest said, recovering. "Perhaps we should take a little break."
    Angora began to shake violently. The single most important day of her life was being shattered because Trenton was stricken with a lousy bout of cold feet? "Why are you doing this to me?" she managed to squeak in his direction.
    "I'm in love with someone else."
    She swallowed hard. Oh, Gawd. "Who?"
    "It doesn't matter—"
    "Who?"
    He sighed. "Darma. When I saw her walk into the church, I knew I couldn't marry you, Angora."
    No one had ever accused her of being smart, but some things were obvious even to her. "Trenton, Darma's already married."
    He shook his head. "Her husband died two weeks ago. Cut himself with a scalpel and gangrene set in."
    Ergo the black dress. Damn, if fate didn't have a fiendish sense of timing. "What are you saying, Trenton?"
    "The wedding is off," he said, his voice loud enough to carry. Silence burst around them. "But feel free to hock the ring."

Chapter Five

    THANKS TO THE MICROPHONES suspended around the altar, Roxann heard the groom's declaration just as clearly as Angora probably had. Feel free to hock the ring? Someone needed to rearrange the man's wedding tackle.
    Old feelings of protectiveness roused in her chest. Despite Angora's silver-spoon upbringing—or maybe because of it—she seemed to always have an emotional bull's-eye painted between her wide baby-blues. During the drive to Baton Rouge, Roxann had divided her time between looking over her shoulder, and wondering how much her cousin had changed over the past decade. But as soon as Angora glided into the church sporting the crown and a nerve rash, Roxann realized Angora was still the insecure daughter of Dreadful Dee. And Roxann's hopes that Angora was marrying a kind, sensitive man with a good bedside manner now seemed far-fetched at best.
    Everyone stood rooted to the spot, as if waiting to be told how to diplomatically dismantle a wedding party. Run , she urged her cousin silently. Get out before the vultures descend.
    But Angora stood frozen, her pink mouth slightly ajar. Sensing that