The music swelled to a thundering crescendo, and Carmen stepped into view. Sam’s face grew soft and dreamy and dopey at the sight of her. I smiled. Too much? Please. Score another one for Fiona Fine Fashions.

My father escorted Carmen down the aisle. She beamed like a neon light. If she got any happier, she’d blow a bulb. A few people tried to catch her gaze, but the only one Carmen acknowledged was her friend Jasper, Bigtime’s resident mad bomber. Then, Carmen turned her attention to Sam, and the rest of the world fell away. She only had eyes for him, and he for her. The two of them couldn’t stop staring at each other. Cold envy frosted over my aching heart. H o t M a m a

15

The music faded away, and the minister stepped forward.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today . . .”

Thirty minutes later, Carmen and Sam professed their true and undying love for each other. They kissed, everyone cheered, and the wedding ended. I half expected to see white doves and fluffy bunnies stampede down the long aisle, but thankfully, people just blew soap bubbles at the happy couple.

The blushing bride, handsome groom, and other members of the wedding party stayed in the garden to pose for the all-important, postceremony pictures. Meanwhile, the rich, distinguished guests drifted out onto the mile-wide lawn where hundreds of tables, gallons of champagne, and thousands of pounds of chicken cordon bleu and other choice foodstuffs waited. Waiters and caterers zipped through the crowd, dishing up food and drinks as fast as they could. I spotted Kyle Quicke among the caterers. I’d gone to Bigtime University with Kyle, and his family owned Quicke’s, one of my favorite restaurants in Bigtime. I watched Kyle cut a slice of chocolate cake and hand it to a waiting guest. My stomach rumbled. I could use some food. A lot of food.

“Come on, Fiona. It’s time for the pictures,” the chief murmured in my ear, dashing my hopes of a stealthy getaway. I rolled my eyes and turned back toward the dais. Forty-five minutes later, I tapped my fingers on my arm. “How many pictures are you going to take?” I snapped at the photographer. Patience was not one of my virtues. In fact, I didn’t think it was any sort of virtue at all. 16

J e n n i f e r E s t e p

The short, fat man wilted under my hot gaze. Most everybody did. My eyes went to his digital camera. One little flare-up, and it would look like something that came out of a kiln. There’d definitely be no more pictures then . . .

“Fiona.” The chief’s blue eyes narrowed in warning. I shot him a sour look and dampened my temper. That was the problem with your father being a psychic superhero. You could never get away with anything.

“Actually, I’m done with the wedding party. I just want to get a few more shots of the bride and groom,” the photographer said.