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wedding.”
    And, almost as if they were coached—which at least a dozen people later assured me was not the case—they all shouted, “Surprise!”
    In the brief silence that followed, one of the helium balloons popped and its remains, including a silk butterfly, fell down to the floor behind the minister. If it was an omen, I had absolutely no idea what it meant.

    THERE WAS AN IMPRESSIVE ARRAY OF FOOD AND drink in the church basement, and I took the opportunity to corner my little sister Nan.
    “How come you got to elope, and I get a surprise wedding?” I asked her.
    She grinned at me. “You have cake on your chin.” She reached over and wiped it off—looked around for a napkin, then stuck her finger in her mouth to clean it off.
    “Ick,” I told her.
    She shrugged. “Hey, at least I didn’t lick my fingers first. Besides, it’s good frosting, a pity to waste it. And, in answer to your question, I eloped before Mom and my new mother-in-law killed each other. A surprise wedding like this would have left bodies on the ground. You got a surprise wedding because Mom, Bran, and ... a few others were feeling guilty.”
    “Guilty,” I said. “You have to have a conscience to feel guilt. I don’t think Mom is capable of it.”
    Nan giggled. “You might be right. The bet thing wasn’t our fault anyway; it’s yours.”
    I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. “My fault?”
    “It started when we all noticed that you would get this—this deer-in-the-headlights look on your face as we discussed the wedding, and we started to play you a little because it was pretty much impossible to resist.”
    There had been a few commiserating phone calls from my sister. I narrowed my eyes at her, and she flushed guiltily.
    “The bet just sort of happened,” she continued. “One day, Dad said, ‘Ten to one she bolts with Adam before you get to the wedding date.’ ”
    “ Dad was in on it?” I seldom called my stepfather “Dad.” Not that I didn’t adore him—but I’d been sixteen when I first met him, though he and Mom had been married for almost twelve years at that point. I started calling Curt by his first name and never got in the habit of calling him anything else.
    “Of course not.” My youngest sister, Ruthie, trotted up with a cookie in one hand. Nan, tall and soft-featured, took after her father; Ruthie was a miniature of Mom. Which meant she was tiny, gorgeous, and pushy. “Dad was appalled at what he’d started. Nan, Mom, and I all were the first to bet, but Bran got in on it pretty early on.”
    She casually snagged a glass of punch off the table, and I snagged it out of her hands and put it back.
    “Not twenty-one yet,” I told her.
    “Next month,” she whined.
    I smirked at her. “You bet on my wedding. You don’t get any favors.” I straightened up. I had a sudden, delightful idea. “Wolves,” I said, and reinforced my call with a touch on the pack bonds I was only just getting the hang of. I didn’t have to speak loud, either. All over the church the wolves, all wearing their human faces, perked up and turned toward me. “My sister Ruthie isn’t twenty-one yet. No alcohol for her.” Then, in case she didn’t get it, I told her, “You go anywhere near that punch or any other alcohol today, my wolves are going to interfere.”
    Ruthie stamped her foot and looked at Nan. “You just wait. You bet, too. She’ll get back at you, and I’m going to be the one smirking.” She stalked off with an offended air while Nan and I watched.
    Nan shook her head. “Some poor man is going to end up with her.”
    I laughed. “He’ll never know what he’s gotten himself into. Curt still thinks our mother is a sweet thing who needs his protection, and he’s perfectly happy about it.” I remembered belatedly that I was supposed to be mad at her. I frowned. “Enough about Mom and Ruthie. You were going to tell me how you went from bet to surprise wedding.”
    “Well,” she said, “like I said, it