Page 32 of Don't Say a Word

Tess shook her head. “It was me, not you. Well, you were wrong—I can’t have bridesmaids wear burgundy in the spring—but I took out my frustration on you. I know you’re not comfortable with the trimmings of a big wedding.” She bit her lip and didn’t look me in the eye.

“What? You’re not telling me something.”

She glanced toward the door, which she’d closed, and then said quietly, “We have only six and a half months and I’m nervous.”

“About?”

“Everything.”

“Tess,” I said, a warning in my voice to spill it or else.

“Youknow.”

I did know. “Say it.”

She shook her head.

“Gabriel is not an asshole,” I said. “That’s all you need to know.”

“You didn’t like him when you first met him,” she said quickly and quietly. “Maybe you sensed something no one else does.”

Two broken engagements had really messed with Tess’s self-confidence.

“I don’t like most people when I first meet them,” I said. “Tess, you trust everyone until they prove they’reuntrustworthy; I trust no oneuntilthey prove they’re trustworthy. Two sides, same coin.”

Tess laughed. “And to think we were raised by the same parents.”

It was odd that I had always been closest to our dad, who was more like Tess in personality and temperament, while Tess had always been closest to our mom who, I was loath to admit, was a lot like me.

Maybe that was why Mom and I butted heads so often. It was like arguing with myself.

Tess sat there as if waiting for something.

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“I want to know why,” she said. “Please.”

“Because I love you,” I said simply. “Gabriel just seemed... too smooth, too handsome, tooperfect. He’s a pediatric surgeonwho saves little kids. I thought there had to be something in his past, something he was hiding, because no one is that...good.” I couldn’t think of another word. “Just an all-around good guy.”

“Pop and Abuela are great.”

“They are rare,” I said.

Our grandparents—Mom’s parents—were two of the most remarkable people I’ve ever known. Pop is a retired judge, a true patriarch, whose wisdom is unmatched. Abuela raised seven kids while running her own business, often with one or more kids by her side. Her sharp business acumen was a key factor in their substantial wealth, which was build more on her entrepreneurial skill than Pop’s steady income.

“Gabriel loves you,” I said. “He shows it. I think he’s arrogant and has a stick up his ass sometimes, but he makes you happy. That’s all I care about, Tess. You deserve to be happy.”

Tess’s face melted into a warm, sappy smile. “Aw, Margo, thank you. And so do you.”

“I’m happy.”

“You know what I mean.”

I shrugged. “Let’s get you married first, then we’ll worry about me.”

“I have something to show you. I want your gut impression—just give it to me.”

Before I could object, she jumped up and ran from the room. A minute later she came back with a thick binder that was decorated with lace and roses. I had seen that binder too many times to count and wanted to bolt.