Until that day.

I looked at Roxie.

She was wearing an ivory satin gown, snug-fitting at chest, midriff, waist and hips, its full skirt was cut on the bias, there was a deep V at her cle**age, material coming up and gathering in points into tiny, spaghetti straps at her shoulders which went up and over and draped down her back, I swear, holding up the material of the dress at her bottom by a miracle. Her back, if seen from afar, looked totally exposed. The dress managed to be both refined and uber-sexy. It was, put simply, breathtaking. The most unusual and fantastic wedding gown I’d ever seen in my life. Her hair was in an elaborate up-do of twists and there were diamonds that were her “something borrowed” (from me) at her neck and ears.

It was a night wedding, starting at five thirty, the ceremony held at Cheesman Park Pavilions amidst huge bouquets of bulging cream pom pom chrysanthemums and thousands upon thousands of twinkling, white Christmas lights.

It was freezing so we all had velvet capes but Roxie walked through the standing crowd toward Hank wearing only her dress, her shoes, my diamonds, carrying her mums, Herb on her arm.

Then she started walking faster, Herb (shorter than his daughter) struggling to keep up.

Then faster.

Then she was (no other way to put it) jogging on her high heels toward Hank, dragging her father with her.

Hank was standing at the front, shaking his head and laughing and by the time she got to him, she was laughing too, out loud.

She kissed him the minute she got close enough to touch him.

“Jesus. You think I could give you away before you kiss him? Shit,” Herb had muttered (loudly). Then he turned to Trish. “Trish, this proves it. She’s your daughter.”

The Rock Chicks all stood to the side giggling our behinds off.

Roxie wasn’t embarrassed at all. She just leaned in, kissed her father’s cheek, turned and linked arms with Hank.

I watched as she rested all her weight into his side like they were standing waiting in line to get into a movie with no one looking, not standing in front of a crowd of family and friends, waiting to get married.

“The Hot Bunch knows but they aren’t talking,” Stella filled in Roxie, taking me out of my trip down Recent Memory Lane.

Roxie turned to Hank. “Do you know?”

“No idea,” Hank returned.

“You’re not lying to me on our wedding day?” Roxie asked but it was more of a warning.

“Sorry, Sunshine, Ally doesn’t keep in touch with me about her love life. She’s my sister. I don’t wanna know. Never did. Never will,” Hank replied.

Roxie’s eyes went round. “Love life? Ren and Ally? Whisky, you do know something!”

Hank’s eyes slid to Lee then he said, “Shit.”

Vance burst out laughing.

Jules hit him in the shoulder.

That’s when I burst out laughing.

Hector put pressure at my hip and curled me into his front.

I tilted my head back to look at him, still laughing.

He watched me, his handsome grin in place, until I was done.

Then he bent forward and his mouth touched mine.

“Do you know?” I asked softly, my arms sliding around his waist.

He didn’t hesitate in answering. “The men talk, I don’t listen much. I know Ally’s got some business. Zano’s involved. They got history. That’s all I know.”

I looked at the place where Ally and Ren disappeared and mumbled, “She’s a dark horse. She makes everyone spill their secrets but keeps her own.”

“I’ve known Ally Nightingale since I was six. She’s the second most complicated woman I’ve ever met,” Hector replied. “One thing about Ally that’s always been the way, mamita, you do not get what you see.”

I cuddled closer, my elbows cocking, my hands going up his back to his shoulder blades. “Now, I’m intrigued.”

He shook his head. “You’re just gonna have to watch it play out like the rest of us.” Then he added, “And hope to God no one gets hurt.”

Before I could say anything, Tex (wearing a tux, and not happy about it) boomed from across the room, “Roxanne Giselle Lo… I mean, Nightingale! When are those f**kin’ harpists gonna shut the f**k up and so we can get some rock ‘n’ roll?”

* * * * *

I rested my head against the window of the Bronco and watched Denver slide by as Hector took us home from the wedding.

I was pleasantly drunk from champagne and totally exhausted from a day of bridesmaids duties (if I never saw another Christmas light again, I would not care, until tomorrow, that was) and the last two hours of dancing like a wild woman (mostly with Ava and Daisy) to rock ‘n’ roll.

My hand was taken from my lap, Hector’s fingers linked through mine and he set the back of my hand high up on his hard thigh.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked quietly

“It was great. The wedding was beautiful. But I’m tired and my feet are killing me.”

“We’ll be home soon, mi corazón.”

“I know.”

“I told you after Eddie and Jet’s wedding not to wear those f**kin’ shoes,” he reminded me. “You complained then, I knew you’d complain again.”

“I’m not going to wear ugly shoes with a bridesmaid’s dress, Hector.”

“Isn’t there such a thing as not ugly shoes that are comfortable?”

“No,” I said shortly (and honestly).

He chuckled.

I rolled my eyes.

Hector, even after months together, still thought I was funny.

I still didn’t get it.

“Jet’s pregnant,” he said suddenly.

My hand tensed in his.

“What?”

“Eddie told me tonight. It’s early. They’re keepin’ it to themselves for a little while. Whatever you do, do not tell Mamá.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Are they happy about it?”

His hand squeezed mine. “Don’t know about Jet but Eddie’s over the f**kin’ moon.”

If that was the case then I knew about Jet. She was sure as certain over the moon too.

“That’s great,” I said softly.

“Yeah,” he replied, just as softly.

It was my turn to squeeze his hand. “Uncle Hector.”

Silence.

Then, “Shit.”

Then it was my turn to laugh.

* * * * *

We walked up to the house, hand-in-hand.

Hector let us in.

I flipped the switches and the lights came on.