up the cuts on your neck as best I can.”
More interested in the flavorful pork that was turning her mouth into a disco, she shrugged. “Whatever you think, Mom.”
“And where is the photographer? He should be taking pictures of you getting ready.”
The doorbell chimed a shortened version of the wedding march, and she snorted. When had Grey even had time to mess with that?
The sound of Marissa’s footsteps echoed down the stairs and she muttered, “I’ll get it. It’s probably the caterer.”
Morgan relaxed back into the chair while Rachel took the dresses out of the bags and hung them from the door. Mom stopped brushing out her hair. Her mother’s eyebrows arched in a look Morgan knew well from childhood. “Isn’t anyone going to answer the door?”
“Marissa’s getting the door. She said it’s the caterer,” Morgan said, eyes closing as the rhythmic brushing sound picked up again.
“When? I didn’t hear her say anything. Where has she run off to anyway?”
“Well, I heard her and she said she would get the door.”
Mom glowered at her in the mirror and stopped brushing again. Her flustered face said she was ticking off yet another odd thing that had happened since she arrived at the cabin yesterday.
“I’ll go and make sure Marissa got the door,” Rachel said, effectively smoothing the tension.
Hannah had Morgan’s dark hair separated into sections by the time Rachel came back to inform them that it was, in fact, the caterer who was now setting up in the kitchen.
“If you really aren’t pregnant, do you think you and Grey will have more children? I wouldn’t mind more grandbabies.” Mom’s intelligent green eyes studied her in the mirror.
She caught Rachel’s slight shrug from the corner, but tried not to sigh too loudly. “I don’t know, Mom. Grey and I have our hands full right now. I’m satisfied with Lana, and I know Grey would be, too, if it was what I wanted. But I know he would love more children, and I’m warming up to the idea of having a baby who looks like him. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. I’m in no rush.”
Actually, the thought of bringing another child into this mess was terrifying. She was one of a kind and the only chance to give a new beginning to a nearly extinct clan of ancient, super werewolves. The pressure would cause anyone hesitation.
The photographer showed up just as Mom put the finishing touches on her hair. Any wedding vendor who managed to find their house out in the middle of the forest wouldn’t find a negative word from Morgan. Mom, however, wasn’t so lenient.
One more shower of hairspray and Mom stood back, admiring her work. “Done,” she decreed.
“Oh Morgan, it’s beautiful,” Rachel said.
Her hair was curled and gathered under an elaborate rhinestone barrette. To cover the bandage, Mom had gathered her dark, wavy tresses to the injured side, and her hair cascaded down one collarbone. Hair sprayed neatly into place, her hair was a masterpiece made for a fairytale princess.
Mom’s eyes filled and she touched Morgan’s cheek. “Sometimes you look so much like Marianna.”
Morgan pursed her lips and steadied herself. Hopefully, her late sister was watching from wherever she was. Hopefully, she was proud of the way she was raising Lana and of the family she was creating for her. She would have approved of Grey. Her sister had missed meeting him by minutes.
While Mom curled Rachel’s hair, Marissa brought in nude-colored Band-Aids and put them over the white bandage on her neck so it would be less noticeable. Mom was able to up-do Rachel and Marissa’s hair quickly as they only wanted a simple French twist, and they were both finished by the time she was done putting on her makeup. While her mother was fixing her own hair and makeup, Rachel and Marissa left and made sure everything was being set up right. Then it was time for them to get into their dresses.
Morgan clenched her shaking hands together. She wasn’t worried about marrying Grey. Instead, her fears circled the ceremony like a roiling tornado. At the very least, she’d probably fall on her way down the aisle. And the flailing would probably pull her dress down, popping her perky little boobies right out of the top before she sprawled out, legs spread and face down on the aisle runner. Something along those lines. Hopefully the photographer could catch that one in black and white. It would definitely be a framer.
As Rachel