Dalton, Cal, and Tristan stilled. Then slowly turned. Cal was the one who finally spoke. Why did they look a touch panicked? “Umm, princess. Maybe you can talk to Raven tomorrow about girl stuff. I need some help putting out the pie.”

“You know how to put out pie, Cal. I won’t be long.”

“But—”

Her stony glare halted the words on his lips. He finally nodded, looking a bit miserable, and turned back to the dishes. What the hell was going on?

She followed Morgan, noting the vaulted ceilings and the intricate marble sculpture in the foyer. Like the dining room, the formal living room boasted a French vintage-style decor, with lots of glass, antiques, and uncomfortable, stiff furniture she was afraid to sit on. My goodness, how did three boys manage to not trash the place?

The majority of the house was decorated with expert precision to show off expensive furniture, rich tapestries, and striking patterns all meant to impress and woo visitors. Yet the kitchen was pure warmth and simplicity, as if a different decorator had stepped in and claimed it as someone else’s space. What type of woman had she been, really? Raven’s father never would have felt comfortable in this stuffy living room, but would have sought out the kitchen and claimed his spot right at the marble kitchen island. Maybe even the deck.

Morgan picked up a thick, fabric-covered book that resembled a wedding album on crack. She sat down on the blinding-white claw-footed velvet couch and faced Raven. “Are you ready?”

Oh, God, what was in there? Proof about Raven’s father? A biography of her? She couldn’t stand it any longer. “Yes, please, Morgan, just show me.”

Morgan dragged in a breath and slowly opened the book.

An array of fabrics fell from the pages. Raven blinked.

“I can’t decide on the curtains for the master bedroom. They need to have an intimate, quiet feel, with a touch of femininity, but not so feminine Cal won’t want to sleep there.” Her voice was strained, and a frown creased her brow. “I’ve lost my touch, Raven. It’s gone. I’m a high-priced, custom design artist and I can’t make a decision about my own curtains. Cal refuses to listen to me and said the house and the wedding have begun to make me a bit bitchy. But he’s not helping me at all. No one is. I need help.”

Pure relief sagged her shoulders, softening the urge to strangle her new friend. “Are you kidding me right now? Just because I have a vagina, you assume I give a crap about curtains?”

Morgan sniffed in misery. “I know, but even Tristan won’t deal with me any longer, and I swore I’d pick out the final choice myself.” She tapped a finger against a sketch. “I’m going with a mix of silver and purple, matching various tones, but the crushed velvet curtains seem too heavy, and the sheers seem too feminine, and I don’t like that color but I think it suits the room better, and I really, really need to make a decision.”

Oh, hell no. She was not about to watch this strong, independent woman lose it over curtains. No. Way.

She grabbed the book, slammed it shut, and faced her. “Listen up. You will not fall apart on me and become one of those ridiculous women who gets so stressed about planning a wedding and building a house she collapses in tears, becomes Bridezilla, and loses her friends and fiancé. Not on my watch.”

Morgan’s eyes widened in shock. Good, she had her attention.

“When we get too caught up in our heads, we lose our gut instincts. When you design for other people, it’s easier to follow your training, but this has become too important to you. You’ve lost your balls.”

Morgan nodded. “Yes, yes, I have,” she agreed. “I’ve lost my balls.”

“Close your eyes. Think about each of the fabrics in the book and anything else that you’ve seen. Picture you and Cal in your bed, opening your eyes in the morning. The light is pouring through the windows, you’re warm and happy, and you look at these damn curtains. What do you see?”

Morgan scrunched up her face. Seconds ticked by. Raven waited.

Her eyes flew open. “Hell and damnation. It’s the sheers with an underlay of the storm-gray linen!”

“Umm, okay. Sounds perfect to me. Done.”

Morgan threw herself at Raven, clasping her arms around her neck in a strangling hug. “Thank you! Oh, thank you, I think I know how to get my balls back!”

Raven laughed, hugging her in return, and felt something inside her shift, strengthen, connect. Dalton’s family wasn’t her enemy. No matter what had happened with his mother, he was a separate person, and he deserved to be given a chance without her chaining him to her past experience. Especially one seen from the view of a devastated young girl who had no concrete answers.

It was time to truly let go.

She pulled back from Morgan. Her chest loosened. Lightness flooded her body.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” Morgan said with a smile. “Besides enjoying your company, I’ve never seen Dalton so happy.” Raven caught the curiosity gleaming in her blue eyes, but her friend seemed to respect her privacy. “I hope I get to see more of you.”

“I’m happy, too,” she offered. Damned if a flush didn’t heat her cheeks. “But we have some important things to talk about first.”

Morgan nodded. “I know how that is. Cal and I had some obstacles to get through before we could really be together. I kept a secret from him for a while because I really wasn’t ready to acknowledge our relationship could be anything more than a short affair.”

Her heart galloped. “But you were able to work through it?” The hope in her voice must have given her away. Morgan reached over and patted her hand.

“Yes, we were. He needed some time, though. Facing the truth about love is harder than most think. It’s raw and vulnerable and feels terrifying.”

Raven sighed. “Yeah, it’s sure not all roses and chocolates and heartfelt confessions, is it?”

Morgan laughed. “Nope. That stuff’s not for us anyway. Way too easy. I’d rather have great sex, messy emotions, and real depth.”

Raven laughed with her. “Damn, I like you.”

“So do I,” a familiar voice drawled from the doorway. Dalton strode over and swung Morgan up in his arms for a big hug, ignoring her squeal as her petite five-foot-three frame lifted easily in the air. “But it’s dessert time, and I need some help.”