“You’re actually going to marry this taco thief?” Michael said,

and shook his head. “Disappointed.”

“Hey, man,” Shane protested. He took the hot sauce when Mi-

chael reached for it, and then tossed it in his direction. Michael

fielded it with almost as much grace as he’d had as a vampire. “So

when’s the do- over?”

“Do- over?”

“What do you call it when you get second- time- fake- married?”

“Excuse me— that’s real married,” Eve said, smacking his hand when he tried to take another taco off her plate. He took it anyway.

“When’s yours?”

“Um . . .” He chewed, swallowed, and shrugged. “Actually, I

was going to talk to you about that. About maybe . . .”

“Doing it together?”

“Are we back to the orgy talk? Because I’m—”

“God, be serious a second,” Eve said, and rolled her eyes.

“Claire?”

“I’d love it if we could have our weddings together,” she said.

“If you’re okay with it.”

“As long as Shane gives me the taco he just straight up snaked

off my plate.”

Shane solemnly put it back. They all looked at each other, and

then Michael took Eve’s hand, and then Shane’s, and Shane took

Claire’s, and Claire took Eve’s . . .

. . . and it was a little like a prayer, and a little like a hug, and a lot like home.

“So,” Shane said after the silence went on just a beat too long.

“Tacos, or orgy?”

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“Tacos,” the rest of them said, all together.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

Somehow Claire hadn’t expected to be quite so scared.

She’d faced down humans, vampires, and draug. She’d regu-

larly done things that most people would go a lifetime without

ever having to deal with even once. And yes, she’d been scared,

even terrified from time to time. . . .

But not like this.

“Breathe,” Eve advised her, and tugged slightly at her dress. It

felt heavy and close around her, and in the warm air of the church’s dressing room, Claire was afraid she might pass out if she tried to move. The person in the mirror was someone else entirely—

someone dressed in a long white gown of satin, with a high- waisted beaded bodice that managed to make her look tall and regal and

still gave her curves. A long fall of sheer fabric cascaded from the back, almost touching the floor. Along with the fancy necklace

and sparkly bracelet (both lent from Amelie’s no doubt vast collec-

tion), and with her hair worn up and fixed with glittering pins, she felt like a princess.

She felt like a woman, and somehow she’d never thought of

herself that way before. She’d never stopped being a girl, had she?

Well, she had, but gradually, so gradually that she hadn’t even no-

ticed.