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Tulsi shook her head again, fighting another wave of tears. “I don’t know if I’m good. I don’t know anything anymore. And I don’t know what’s right. I used to know but…I’m so confused.”
“That’s okay,” Marisol said, taking her hand. “But being confused doesn’t make you a bad person. We all make mistakes, but the people who really love us, forgive us. And it’s our job to let them, you know? Robert taught me that, that it’s as great a gift to accept forgiveness as it is to give it.”
“Bubba’s a wonderful guy,” Tulsi said with a hard sniff, refusing to start crying again.
Marisol smiled. “He is, but even he can only do so much on his own. I had to learn to embrace his forgiveness and to forgive myself. And when I did, I was amazed how much better a partner I was to him. Getting rid of all that guilt I’d been carrying around freed up the energy to love him the way he deserves.”
Tulsi nodded and took a deep breath, but didn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say or to think about how this secret was affecting her. At times, it was easy, and she barely thought about it at all. Other times, it crept up behind her like a monster in the dark and had its hands around her throat, choking the life out of her before she could do anything to stop it.
“Want me to shut up and fix your face?” Marisol asked with a crooked smile.
Tulsi laughed softly. “Maybe. I’m not sure this is the kind of thing I can sort through in the bathroom at my best friend’s wedding. It might take some time.”
Marisol patted her leg before standing up to resume digging through her purse. “Okay, then we’ll try to take your mind off of it by making you even more beautiful than you are already. I’ve got blush, eye shadow, and mascara that will work for your coloring, but I’m going to have to use Robert’s powder. Mine is too dark.”
“Robert has powder?” Tulsi asked, giggling. “What have you done to him?”
“It’s only for right before he goes onstage,” Marisol said with a wink. “Or that’s what he makes me tell people.”
Fifteen minutes later, Tulsi was leaning closer to the mirror, shocked by the transformation Marisol had worked. She’d felt pretty this morning in her usual blush, mascara, and lip gloss, but now her blue eyes looked impossibly large, her lips fuller, and her complexion so perfect you would think she’d never spent a day in the sun, let alone years riding horses in the desert.
“You like?” Marisol asked. “Personally, I think you’re going to give all those supermodels Pike used to date a run for their money.”
Tulsi blinked her newly lengthened, thickened lashes. “You’re a miracle worker.”
Marisol laughed. “Am not. It’s just good product and a beautiful face to put it on. I’ll send you a care package with directions and one of everything we used next week. Bubba and I have four days in Los Angeles so I’ll have plenty of time to shop.”
Tulsi turned to Marisol, giving her an impulsive hug. “Thank you. This helped. I feel a hundred times better.”
“Good,” Marisol released her with a final squeeze. “Then let’s go have fun. Trouble will keep for tomorrow. Today we need to drink too much champagne and dance our butts off.”
“Agreed,” Tulsi said, following Marisol out to the party in progress.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Tulsi
Tulsi spottedPike and Clem the moment she started down the gently rolling hill toward the reception tent. They sat at a table for two in the shade near the dance floor, their heads bowed together conspiratorially over an increasingly gigantic pile of discarded wing bones. They were talking like old friends, and when Tulsi stopped beside the table, they looked up at her with matching guilty grins.
“That looks like more than ten wings apiece,” Tulsi said, lifting a critical brow.
“You look…different.” Pike’s eyes widened as he studied her face.
“Like a princess,” Clem said in a reverent tone. “I didn’t know you were that pretty, Mama.”
“Well thanks,” Tulsi said wryly. “I think.”
“Your mama’s the prettiest woman I know,” Pike said in a tone that made Tulsi feel warm all over. “With princess makeup or without it.”
“You’re sweet,” Tulsi said, knowing she was blushing. “But don’t think flattery is going to make me ignore that obscene pile of chicken bones on the table.”
“We may have had a wing eating contest,” Pike said, grimacing. “And Clementine may have won.”
“And Mr. Pike may have told me I didn’t have to wear a bib as long as I told you we just forgot about it,” Clem said, giggling when Pike shot her a betrayed look.
“You little tattle tale,” he said, laughing. “I can’t believe you ratted me out.”
“I can’t lie to Mama,” Clem said. “She’d bust my booty.”
