‘And could I have a Campari and soda while I wait for my friend?’

‘Fine,’ Leo said, irritated. ‘I’ll get one sent over.’

‘And—’

‘Good God, what else?’

‘Just that it’s Gary’s birthday. So if there’s a special dessert or something …?’

‘Yes. I. Will. Send. Out. A. Special. Dessert. Now, are you all right for socks and undies, or do you need me to get you some of those too?’

‘Actually, I never wear socks.’ Sunshine smiled serenely. ‘And I’m not wearing undies tonight—not under this dress!’

Leo could feel his eyes bug out of his head. ‘Thanks for that mental picture, Sunshine. Anything else you’d care to share?’

‘Well …’

‘Yeah, hold that thought,’ he said, and made a bolt for the kitchen. Where he leaned against the wall and burst out laughing.

His sous chef looked at him as if he’d grown a gigantic unicorn horn.

Clearly it had been a long time since he’d laughed.

Dear Reader

Food is a great passion of mine—in fact I’m in love with about a dozen celebrity chefs. So I wasn’t exactly surprised to find myself becoming fixated on the idea of a chef as a hero … and Leo Quartermaine was born.

My other great passion is shoes. Oh, my goodness, the shoes! So … hello, Sunshine Smart.

And, of course, I’m partial to a nice romantic wedding.

HERE COMES THE BRIDESMAID gave me a chance to combine all three things in a setting always irresistible to me—my hometown, Sydney—as best man Leo and bridesmaid Sunshine are put in charge of planning the perfect wedding for two absent grooms.

Leo is driven, grumpy and serious. Sunshine is quirky, perky and enthusiastic. They have different takes on love, on life, on relationships—not exactly the easiest working combination to plan a wedding reception. Add in an inconvenient sexual attraction, and things get even trickier.

But HERE COMES THE BRIDESMAID is more than a story about opposites attracting—although the clash of personalities in Sunshine and Leo’s case can lead to some eye-popping conversations! It’s also about being jolted out of your comfort zone and opening yourself to everything that’s in you, and finding the one you thought you’d never find—ready-or-not-here-I-come.

And there’s nothing quite as romantic as being taken by surprise by love.

I hope you enjoy HERE COMES THE BRIDESMAID.

Avril Tremayne

XXXX

Here Comes

the Bridesmaid

Avril Tremayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

AVRIL TREMAYNE read Jane Eyre as a teenager and has been hooked on tales of passion and romance ever since. An opportunistic insomniac, she has been a lifelong crazy-mad reader, but she took the scenic route to becoming a writer—via gigs as diverse as shoe salesgirl, hot cross bun packer, teacher, and public relations executive. She has spent a good chunk of her life travelling, and has more favourite destinations than should be strictly allowable.

Avril is happily settled in her hometown of Sydney, Australia, where her husband and daughter try to keep her out of trouble—not always successfully. When she’s not writing or reading she can generally be found eating—although she does not cook!

Check out her website, www.avriltremayne.com, or follow her on Twitter, @AvrilTremayne, and Facebook, www.facebook.com/avril.tremayne

HERE COMES THE BRIDESMAID is Avril Tremayne’s debut book for Modern Tempted™!

This title is also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedicated, with thanks, to my husband and @KdeR for absolutely everything.

To the astute, eagle-eyed Americans, Lisa McNair Palmer and Melinda Wirth, for knowing what’s good and what’s definitely not.

To Lloyd Quartermaine - great guy, great name!

And to each and every one of my marriage-minded friends.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Extract

Copyright

ONE

TO: Jonathan Jones

FROM: Sunshine Smart

SUBJECT: Bridesmaid meets Best Man

Darling Jon

I’ve met Leo and I adore him!

We are on the same page, so fear not—your wedding reception will be everything you ever dreamed of!

Wish we could have the actual marriage in Sydney too, but hooray for enlightened New York!

Hugs and kisses to Caleb.

Sunny xxx

TO: Caleb Quartermaine

FROM: Leo Quartermaine

SUBJECT: WTF??????

Caleb

What are you doing to me?

Sunshine Smart cannot be a real name. And she wants to friend me on Facebook! NOT JOKING!

Despite being dropped in it with the lunatic, I will ensure the dinner doesn’t turn into a three-ring circus.

Can’t wait to meet Jonathan—but please tell me he’s nothing like his bridesmaid.

LQ

Sunshine Smart was looking forward to her second meeting with Leo Quartermaine. Despite their introductory meeting two days ago, lasting just ten minutes and ending with him declining her request to be Facebook friends.

She loved Leo’s restaurants—well, what she’d read about them. Because she’d never actually eaten at one...which she was about to remedy.

She loved him on TV—tough but fair, judging those reality TV would-be chefs, and dreamy as when fronting Cook It Up With Leo.

She was predisposed to love anyone whose brother was smart enough to marry her best friend Jonathan Jones.

And she just—well, loved him. In that Isn’t he adorable? way of loving people who were just so solid and serious and a teensy bit repressed.

But his hair—or lack thereof—was a problem. There was no reason for Leo to shave his head. It wasn’t as if he had a comb-over issue. He could have a full head of hair if he wanted! Lush, thick, wheat-blond. She’d seen the ‘before shaved head’ photos on the internet. And the start of the regrowth at their first meeting. She’d read a comment in an article about it being easier in the kitchen without hair—but she wasn’t asking for a ponytail!

Anyway, that could be fixed. There was time for him to grow it. She would just drop a word in his ear.

Sunshine checked her make-up. Her new red lipstick looked fabulous. Her eyes...well, what could you do? The grey eyeshadow was heavily layered; mascara so thick each lash look like a tarantula leg—make-up intended to distract people from her ocular weirdness. About which there was nothing she could do—unlike Leo Quartermaine’s hair!

She got out of her car—a bright yellow 1970s relic—and walked purposefully towards Q Brasserie.

* * *

Leo Quartermaine heard Sunshine approach before he saw her.

He associated that tap-tapping rhythm on the polished concrete floor with her, despite only having met her once before.

He was betting she was wearing another pair of ankle-breaking high heels.

To be fair, she was a shoe designer. But shoe designers made flats, didn’t they? Like those ballet-slipper things. Not that he could picture Sunshine Smart in ballet slippers. Or trainers—crikey!

‘Leo!’ she called out, as though he were a misplaced winning lottery ticket, suddenly found. He was starting to think ‘ecstatic’ was her default setting.

‘Sunshine,’ he said, managing not to roll his eyes. Sunshine! How had her parents put that on the birth certificate without gagging?

‘So!’

He’d already clocked the fact that she often started her utterances with ‘So!’ As though an amazing revelation would be out of her mouth on the next breath.

‘News!’ she said, tap-tapping towards the window table where he was sitting.

And, yep, six inches of spike on her feet. In electric blue patent leather. God help his eyes.

She stripped off her trench coat as she made her way across the floor, causing her long necklace to swing. He’d noticed the necklace last time. Pretty. Three types of gold—a rose gold chain, with a yellow gold sun and white gold moon dangling from it.

Miraculously, her dress was an understated colour—pale grey-blue. But it fitted her like a second skin and had one of those things—pellums? Peplums? Whatever!—that dragged a man’s eyes to a woman’s waist and hips. She had a hell of a figure, he had to admit. Curvaceous, like the hourglass pin-up girls of the 1950s.

Leo got up to pull out a chair for her on the opposite side of the table. She took the opportunity to kiss him on the cheek, party-girl air-kiss style—except it wasn’t like any air-kiss he’d ever had—and he’d had plenty. It was a smacking, relishing kiss. Not the kind of kiss to slap on a person you barely knew.

Oblivious to his momentary shock, Sunshine tossed her trench coat carelessly onto a nearby chair, sat, and beamed up at him. ‘Did you hear? They’ve set the date. October twentieth. So we’ve got two months. A spring wedding. Yay!’

Yay? Who the hell said ‘yay’? Leo returned to his seat. ‘Not much time, but doable.’

‘Oh, it’s oodles of time,’ Sunshine assured him airily. ‘So! I’ve made a list of everything we need to do, and now we can decide who does what, give each task a deadline, and go from there.’

‘List?’ Leo repeated the word, apprehensive. He liked lists. He worked well with lists. The haphazard approach to life of his wastrel and usually wasted parents had made him a plan-crazy list junkie. But this was a simple dinner he could organise with his eyes closed while he whisked a chocolate soufflé.

For once in his life he didn’t need a list.

‘Yes.’ She reached down beside her to where she’d dumped the silver leather bag she’d been swinging when she walked over and pulled out a dazzling chartreuse folder. She removed some paper, peeled off two pages and held them out to him. ‘Your copy. I’m actually not really into lists,’ she confessed—surprise, surprise. ‘So it may need some work.’

He looked at the first page. At the big, bold heading: The Marriage Celebration of Jonathan and Caleb, October 20th.

Seeing the words was like a punch to the solar plexus. It was real. Happening. Imminent. His baby brother was getting married.

What were the odds? Two Aussie guys who’d never met in their own country moved separately to New York, met at a random party, and—bang!—happy-ever-after.

It didn’t matter that Leo didn’t know Jonathan, because Jonathan made Caleb happy. It didn’t matter that the ceremony was taking place on the other side of the world, because the place was just logistics. It didn’t matter that their marriage was only going to be legally recognised in a handful of countries, because they knew what it meant wherever they were.

Leo wondered if he would have had more luck meeting the love of his life if he were gay. Because it sure wasn’t happening for him on his side of the sexuality fence. The succession of glossy glamour-pusses who seemed to be the only women that came his way were certainly lovely to look at—but they didn’t eat, and they didn’t occupy his thoughts for longer than it took to produce a mutual orgasm.

He wanted what Caleb had. The one. Someone to get into his head, under his skin, to intrigue and dazzle and delight him. Someone who burrowed into his core instead of bouncing off his shell. Someone to belong to. And to belong to him.

He thought back to his last failure—beautiful, talented singing sensation Natalie Clarke. She’d told him on their second date that she loved him. But nobody fell in love in two dates! Nope—what she’d loved was the concept of Leo the celebrity chef. She’d wanted them to be part of ‘the scene’. And who said ‘the scene’ with a straight face? He couldn’t think of anything worse than ‘the scene’...except maybe her predilection for snorting cocaine, because apparently everyone on ‘the scene’ did it.

In any case, she was a relentless salad-with-dressing-on-the-side type. And she liked playing her own cheesy love songs in the bedroom way too much.

With a repressed shudder he brought his mind back to the present and ran his eyes down the list.

Budget

Wedding Party

Master of Ceremonies

Venue

Menu

Alcohol

Guest List

Invitations

Flowers

Lighting

Music

Cake

Clothing

Shoes

Hair and Make-up

What the hell...? Why did that need a subheading?

Gift Registry

Photographer

Videographer

Wedding Favours

Order of Proceedings

Toasts and Speeches

Printing

Seating Plan

Each item was bullet-pointed with a little box that could be ticked, and accompanied by questions, comments and suggestions.

Good thing she wasn’t into lists!

Sunshine must have noticed the stunned look on Leo’s face, because she asked, ‘Have I screwed it up?’

‘This is...’ he started, but words actually failed him.

‘Exciting?’ Sunshine suggested, looking as if she were about to celebrate Christmas, her birthday and the wedding all at once.

‘Comprehensive,’ Leo corrected. He ran a hand across his scalp. Her eyes followed his hand. She was frowning suddenly. He wondered what was going through her mind.

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it. Closed it. Sighed.

Then, ‘So!’ she said. ‘The venue is the first thing. Because it’s bound to be tricky, securing somewhere wonderful with only two months’ notice.’

‘It may have escaped your notice, but I am a restaurateur,’ Leo said. ‘I have venues. I am venues. And menus. And booze.’

Sunshine seemed startled. ‘Oh. I just assumed we’d be too late to get a large group booked into one of your places. That’s why I’ve suggested somewhere like the hotel on—’

‘My brother is not celebrating his marriage in a hotel.’

‘Okay. Well, there’s that lovely place that used to be a stately home in—’

‘Or in an old house.’

‘Then perhaps the new convention space—which is not as tragic as it sounds. In fact it has a—’

He slammed his hand on the table. ‘No!’ He stopped, reined in the spurt of annoyance. ‘No.’ Better. Calmer. ‘We have a perfectly...’ Reaching, reaching... ‘Perfectly perfect...’ hmm, thesaurus required ‘...private room in this restaurant.’

The only sign that Sunshine had noted his ill-tempered hand-banging incoherence was a tiny twitch at one side of her mouth. He feared—he really feared—she was trying not to laugh.

‘Which seats...?’ she asked, her head on one side like a bird, with every indication of deep interest.

‘Seats?’

‘How many people does the private room seat?’

‘Twenty-five.’

Sunshine crossed her arms—seemingly unaware of how she was framing her rather spectacular breasts—and looked at him, apologetic. ‘See? Me and lists! I got the order wrong. “Guest List” should have come before “Venue”. So! Let’s take a step back. I have Jon’s invitation list. Do you have Caleb’s?’

‘It’s coming today some time.’

‘Because there are seventy-five people on our side.’

He stared. ‘You are not serious.’

‘I assure you, I am. And that’s with a savage cull.’ She shuddered theatrically as she uncrossed her arms. ‘Savage.’

‘Caleb wants an intimate dinner.’

‘That’s not my understanding, but I’ll tell you what—you check with Caleb overnight, and we can reconvene tomorrow.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I hate it when people try to soothe me.’

Sunshine bit her lip. ‘Oh, dear, and I was trying to sound like I was keeping an open mind. But...okay. I’ll tell you straight out, if you prefer: there is no way this is going to be a dinner for twenty-five people. And there’s no use getting in a snit about it—it’s just the way it is.’

‘I’m not in a snit.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do. Say so.’

‘All right.’

‘I’m not.’

‘All right.’

Another mouth-twitch. She was definitely trying not to laugh.

And Leo had had enough. ‘I have to go,’ he said, despite not being needed in the kitchen for fifteen minutes.

‘Yes, I can see everything’s getting under way here. I love the buzz of restaurants. Jon and I used to try a new restaurant every other week. I miss him. He’s so...so important to me.’ Her voice wobbled the merest fraction as she added the last bit.

Uh-oh, tears. Leo didn’t do tears. He felt himself shrink back. Wanted to run.

But her face morphed into something tortured, right before his eyes, and he froze. It was as if a layer had been ripped off her in one half-second. Her eyes were strained and yet also vacant, as if she were seeing...emptiness. Her lips trembled. Her skin looked ashen. Every trace of happiness was obliterated. The contrast with her normal exuberance was dramatic—almost painful to see.

All this because her best friend had moved overseas and she missed him?

Huh?

Leo wanted to touch her. Pat her hand or...something. Say...something. He who never touched, never comforted, because he didn’t know how. His hands fisted uselessly.

Then Sunshine blinked. Shook her head—tiny, tiny movement. And in another half-second everything clicked back to normal and Leo breathed a silent sigh of relief.

‘Um...’ he said. Yep, he was super-articulate today.

But she was smiling blindingly, as though that moment had never happened, so he did the sensible thing and shut up.

‘We haven’t got far down the list,’ she said. ‘What about if I shortcircuit a few things? You know, invitations, et cetera.’

‘What do you mean, “shortcircuit”? And “et cetera”?’ he asked, still a little shaken. Everything about her was throwing him off kilter.

‘I’ll get some options together for us to look over tomorrow. Nothing scary!’

She was completely back to normal. Full-strength perky. Better than the tragic facemask she’d freaked him out with—but only marginally. Leo didn’t like perky. And if he were being made to board Sunshine Smart’s good ship Lollipop for this wedding he would be the one at the tiller.

‘I thought we’d be emailing the invitations,’ he said.

She gave him what could only be termed a pitying smile. ‘Did you?’

That was all. She wasn’t even going to bother arguing.

Um...no. That was not how it was going to work. ‘It’s the twenty-first century,’ he said. ‘And time is short. I’ve seen some brilliant cutting-edge online invitations.’

‘Well, why don’t you bring one of those examples to our meeting tomorrow on your tablet/device/notebook/whatever you’ve got, and I’ll bring some hard copy snail mail samples appropriate for a chic but traditional wedding celebration.’

‘You’re doing the soothe thing again.’

‘Oh, dear, am I? I’ll have to work on that,’ she said.

It was obvious to Leo that she had no intention of doing anything of the sort. But he wasn’t going to waste his breath pointing that out. He was tired enough from just looking at her.

‘We’ll talk tomorrow—after I’ve checked with Caleb,’ he said shortly, and stood abruptly.

‘Just one more thing, Leo, before you rush off.’

He looked down at her and she cleared her throat.

‘What?’ Leo asked, trying not to feel a sense of impending doom.

‘Just...something that’s going to have to start now, like right this second, if it’s going to be ready in two months.’

‘And are you going to share with me exactly what this all-important thing is?’

‘Promise you won’t get mad?’

‘No.’

‘It’s important.’

‘Waiting.’

‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely vital. It’s just...’ She stopped, ran her hand through her long hair, widened her eyes at him as though she were trying to impart something telepathically. Ran her hand through her hair again.

And he—

God! The eyes. Why hadn’t he noticed her eyes before?

She huffed out a breath and pursed her lips. Exasperated because he hadn’t read her chaotic mind, probably.

But all he could think about were her eyes.

‘Hair,’ she explained. ‘It only grows one-point-two-five centimetres a month. One-point-three if you’re lucky.’

‘So?’

‘You have to start growing your hair.’

He had no answer. Might well have been gaping like a hooked fish.

‘Sorry—but if I didn’t raise it now you might have shaved your head tonight and it would be a shame to lose those few millimetres.’

‘I don’t want to grow my hair,’ Leo said. Ultra-reasonable. The way you talked to a person who was certifiably insane.

‘But you will look so much better in the photos. And you have lovely hair.’

‘And you know this...how?’

‘I looked you up online and saw the photos from the launch of this place, when you had hair. Now, I’m not saying you’re not very good-looking even with the shaved head. Tall, but not in a carnival freaky way. Lean—which is amazing, for a chef, if you ask me. Wonderful sharp cheekbones, brilliant smile— All right, I’m guessing the smile bit, since I haven’t actually seen it, but I’m a good guesser. And really lovely eyes—amber is such an unusual colour, you know? Tigerish. But if you look quite delectable now, you will be absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous with hair.’

Leo stood there, gobsmacked. ‘I’ve got to get to work,’ he said when he could trust himself to speak.

‘But you’ll think about the hair, won’t you?’ she asked anxiously. ‘And while you’re thinking, maybe keep the razor off your scalp...just in case you do decide to look absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous at your brother’s wedding.’

He looked at her. Noted her eyes again. Really stunning eyes. She would look absolutely, irresistibly gorgeous herself if she—

Aha.

Leo could have crowed, he was so pleased with himself. ‘Let’s make a deal—you go into the bathroom and wash off that eye-goop right now, and I will not shave my head...unless I see that crap all over your eyes again. The minute I see it, I’m reaching for the razor.’

And, yes! He’d stumped her. She was the gaping fish now.

He watched as she processed what he’d said. She lifted her bag off the floor and rummaged inside, pulled out a compact. Flipped it open, looked in the mirror. Widened her eyes, then squinted. Turned her head to peer sideways, then switched sides and did it again. ‘You know that I have strange eyes, right?’ she asked.

‘Beautiful eyes.’

‘Evil eyes.’

‘Yeah, maybe lay off the sci-fi.’

‘Oh, it’s a real condition. It’s called heterochromia iridum, and there are various theories about how you get it. Genetics, melanin levels, trauma, chimerism—which is kind of creepy because it means another foetus has merged with you in the womb, which in my case would mean there were initially three of us, because— Well, anyway, I don’t like the idea of absorbing a sibling in the womb—hello, Dr Frankenstein!’ Pause for breath. ‘All that aside, I’m pretty sure they used to burn people like me at the stake as witches back in the day.’

‘Nobody is going to burn you at the stake in modern-day Australia for having one blue and one green eye.’

‘I’ve tried contact lenses, but there is nothing that makes you panic quite like a contact lens that’s slipped up under your eyelid and you think it’s going to be there for eternity unless you race off to the emergency room and have someone stick some implement in there against your poor squishy eyeball. Talk about bloodshot!’ She pursed her lips. ‘But I guess I could try them again—maybe some amber ones.’ She looked into his eyes, considering. ‘Because your eyes really are lovely, and I think I’d look kind of interesting with amber eyes.’

‘You do that and I’m shaving my head.’

Sunshine took another look in the mirror, then snapped the compact shut. ‘All right. Deal. I may need a little make-up on the actual day of the reception, just so I don’t look Plain Janerama, but no camouflage paint in the meantime. I’m keeping the lipstick, though—I can’t go completely naked. So! Where’s the bathroom?’

Plain Janerama? Leo, speechless, pointed.

Sunshine got to her feet. ‘No need to wait,’ she told him.

‘Oh, I’m waiting.’

She squared her shoulders. ‘This is going to be weird,’ she said, and tap-tapped away.

Leo checked that everything was in order in the kitchen, then returned to the table. He went through the checklist again. Swore under his breath. He suspected Sunshine Smart usually got her way in all things. Which meant she was in for a surprise, because just on principle he wasn’t going to let that happen. He hadn’t got where he was today by doing what people told him. His survival instinct told him always to go his own way, to get his own way.

He started jotting down menu ideas—appropriate for a dinner for twenty-five people—but hadn’t got far when he heard the tap-tap of Sunshine’s returning high heels.

She plonked herself into the chair opposite and did an over-the-top eyelash-bat at him.

Leo stared at her. He couldn’t help it. Without the exaggerated eye make-up she looked fresh and clean and sweet as suckable candy. Her dark chocolate hair against the ultra-white skin of her face seemed more dramatic. With the edge of her heavy fringe now damp and misplaced, he could see how fine and dark her eyebrows were, and that they arched intriguingly towards the outer edge. Her eyelashes were thick and black enough to form a fine line around her eyes. And her eyes were simply spectacular. Heavy-lidded, slightly tilted, the colour difference so dramatic without the dark shadow and over-clumped lashes that he couldn’t seem to stop looking at them.

‘Well?’ she asked, batting away.

‘Better,’ Leo said, with impressive understatement. He got to his feet. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then—an hour earlier, if you can make it. But you’ll have to come to Mainefare—it’s in the Pig and Poke pub. Do you know it?’

‘Yes, I know it—and, yes, that’s fine. But before you go can I ask just one more favour?’

Leo eyed her suspiciously.

‘I’m staying for dinner,’ she explained. ‘Don’t worry—I have a booking. It’s just that my date—Gary, his name is—is a massive foodie, and he’d really love to meet you. Perhaps you could just pop out and say hello...?’

‘Oh, sure,’ Leo agreed easily. He’d been expecting something worse—maybe that he have a shot of Botox!—and, anyway, speaking to his customers was part of his routine.

‘And do you think I could have this exact table? It has a lovely view over the park. If it’s reserved I’ll understand, but—’

He caught his impatient sigh before it could erupt. ‘You can have the table, Sunshine.’

‘And could I have a Campari and soda while I wait for Gary?’

‘Fine,’ Leo said, irritated that it made him curious about her—because he would have pegged her for a Cosmopolitan girl. And who the hell cared what she liked to drink? ‘I’ll get one sent over.’

‘And—’

‘Good God, what else?’

‘Just that it’s Gary’s birthday...so if there’s a special dessert or something...?’

‘Yes. I. Will. Send. Out. A. Special. Dessert. Now, are you all right for socks and undies, or do you need me to get you some of those too?’

‘Actually, I never wear socks.’ Sunshine smiled serenely. ‘And I’m not wearing undies tonight—not under this dress!’

Leo could feel his eyes bug out of his head. ‘Thanks for that mental picture, Sunshine. Anything else you’d care to share?’

‘Well...’

‘Yeah, hold that thought,’ he said, and made a bolt for the kitchen. Where he leant against the wall and burst out laughing.

His sous chef looked at him as if he’d grown a gigantic unicorn horn.

Clearly it had been a long time since he’d laughed.

* * *

Yum.

That was the word that had been popping into Sunshine’s head with monotonous regularity from the moment Leo had sent out a bowl of polenta chips with a gorgonzola dipping sauce to snack on while she drank her Campari.

Q Brasserie had an open kitchen, so she could not only smell but also see the magic being wrought on an array of seafood and meat—and, okay, vegetables too, although they were a lot less interesting if you asked her.

She rubbernecked as a steady stream of mouthwatering dishes was whisked past her en route to other diners, agonised over the menu choices and wished she could eat everything.

Sunshine basically Hoovered up her entrée of six plump, perfectly sautéed scallops, served with a Japanese-style dressing of cucumber, rice vinegar, mirin, and ginger. And it took great willpower not to beg a taste of Gary’s mushrooms with truffle custard. She wouldn’t normally covet a vegetarian dish but, come on, truffle custard? Yum!

The main meals were sublime. She ate every bite of her Angus beef brisket, served with smoked bone marrow and potato confit, and, giving in to her inner piglet on the date-taste issue, was in the process of polishing off one of Gary’s divine king prawns—chargrilled with coriander and lime, yum, yum, yum—when up bowled Leo.

He’d changed from his jeans, T-shirt and way cool brown leather lace-ups into a spotlessly clean, double-breasted chef’s jacket, finely checked pants and classy black slip-ons, and he looked sigh-worthy.

Leo looked at her well-cleaned plate. At Gary’s. At the tiny piece of prawn on the end of her fork. His eyebrows shot up.

Sunshine knew she was presenting as a glutton—but so what? She liked food! Sue her! She calmly finished the last bite of prawn and laid her fork on her plate.

She made the introductions, then retreated as Leo engaged Gary in a conversation about food.

Gary looked a little starstruck. Which was kind of sweet. He was kind of sweet. Not that their relationship was going anywhere. This was their third date and from her perspective he’d settled into purely platonic material. She hadn’t had even one lascivious thought about him.

The conversation moved on from food and Gary was explaining a little about his job. He was an investment banker—which was more interesting than it sounded. Truly!

‘Nice talking to you Gary,’ Leo said eventually. ‘Dessert is on the house. Happy birthday, and enjoy the rest of your evening.

* * *

Leo had been aware of Sunshine beaming her approval all through his talk with Gary. It was irritating, like a tiny pebble stuck in your shoe, to have her there—just there...just...there. Like a hyped-up Miss Congeniality.

In fact the whole evening had been irritating, because that damned table he’d pinched from one of his regulars was in his line of sight from the kitchen, so he’d been in Peeping Tom mode all night. Watching as she ate. And ate and ate. As she made Gary laugh. And laugh and laugh.

Gary was clearly besotted with her. Poor guy. He was handsome—a nice man—but not in Sunshine’s league. Not that Leo knew what Sunshine’s league was, only that Gary wasn’t in it. Which had been underscored by the expression on Sunshine’s face when the Persian nougat glacé had arrived at the table. The way her glowing eyes had closed as she took the first bite, then opened as the taste hit her. How her mouth had oozed over the spoon...

And why hadn’t he noticed the shape of her mouth before? Too much coloured gunk, he supposed. But once the lipstick had worn off she hadn’t bothered reapplying it. Which was odd, wasn’t it? He’d never known a girl not to race off and reapply her lipstick ad nauseam during dinner.

Not that Sunshine’s lipstick habits were any of his business.

Except that now he couldn’t miss her too-heavy top lip, glistening as she darted her tongue over it. The wide and chewable bottom lip. She had a little gap between her two front teeth that was kooky-meets-adorable. And she moved her mouth over her spoon as if she were having a food-induced orgasm.

He wondered if he was thinking in orgasm terms because she was going commando tonight. Not that he was going there. No way! And please, God, get the thought out of my head!

Whatever, she’d clearly appreciated the 2002 Cristal her boyfriend had ordered to go with dessert.

Leo preferred the 1996 vintage.

Talk about splitting hairs. What the hell was wrong with him?

He sighed. Stretched. It had been a long night, that was all. He just needed to get to bed. Right after he emailed Caleb. He was going to get the dinner party back under control at their meeting tomorrow. Put Sunshine the Bulldozer back in the shed.

Sunshine. Groan! She was like a six-inch electric blue thorn in his side.

So it didn’t make sense that he would be humming as he thought about that manifesto-sized checklist of hers.

And damn if it wasn’t that cheesy Natalie Clarke number about love biting you in the ass.

The most diabolically awful song of the century.

Clearly, he needed a drink.

TWO

TO: Caleb Quartermaine

FROM: Leo Quartermaine

SUBJECT: Seriously?

Caleb, mate

What’s the deal? Where’s your invitation list? Are we really talking 150 guests? I thought it was an intimate dinner.

Sunshine is descending on me tomorrow to kick off the invitation process, so it would be nice to know who’s got what expectations. So I don’t end up looking like a completely clueless moron.

LQ

TO: Jonathan Jones

FROM: Sunshine Smart

SUBJECT: Wedding of the century

Hello, darling

Had dinner at Q Brasserie tonight—fabulous. We’re meeting again at one of Leo’s other places, Mainefare, tomorrow. Can’t wait!

I’ve worked out that Mainefare is a play on words. Mayfair as in London (it’s in a British-style pub) but with Maine as in Quartermaine and fare as in food. Leo is so clever!

Invitation samples attached: (1) ultra-modern, cream and charcoal; (2) dreamy romantic in mauve and violet; (3) Art Deco—blue and teal with yellow, brown, and grey accents.

PLEASE like the Art Deco one, which I know sounds ghastly, but open it and you’ll see!

All else is on track. Party of the year, I’m telling you!

Sunny xxx

PS—and, no, in answer to your repeat question—I have not done it yet. You’re getting as bad as Mum and Dad.

Tap-tap-tap. Same sound effect, just on floorboards.

Leo saw her scan the room. Mainefare wasn’t as open as Q Brasserie and it was harder to spot people—so he stood, waved.

His eyes went automatically to Sunshine’s feet. Coral suede. Maybe four inches high—he figured the missing inches equalled casual for her. Oddly, no polish on her toenails; now that he thought of it, he hadn’t seen colour on her toenails at their previous two meetings. Fingernails either.

Hello, Mr Estee Lauder—since when do you start noticing nail polish?

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. But she just looked like the kind of girl who wouldn’t be seen dead with unpainted nails.

Then again, she didn’t look like the kind of girl who would eat like Henry VIII either.

Sunshine gave him her usual beaming smile as she reached him. She was wearing a pair of skintight pants in dark green, with a 1960s-style tunic. The tunic was cream, with a psychedelic red and black swirl on the front that should have looked like crap but didn’t. She had on the same sun/moon necklace, but no other jewellery. And that was kind of strange too, wasn’t it? Where was the bling?

She kissed him on the cheek, same as yesterday, before he could step out of reach, and sat as though exhausted, thumping an oversized tote—rust-coloured canvas—on the floor beside her chair.

‘Whew,’ she said. ‘I’ve got lots of samples with me, so that bag is heavy.’

Leo couldn’t work out how she could wear colours that didn’t match—her shoes, her outfits, her bags always seemed to be different shades and tones—and yet everything looked I’m-not-even-trying perfect. He’d been out with models and fashion PR types who didn’t make it look that easy.

‘Did you sort out the guest list with Caleb?’ she asked, and had the nerve to twinkle at him.

‘Yes,’ Leo said unenthusiastically.

‘So! A hundred and fifty, right?’

Gritted teeth. ‘Yes, a hundred and fifty. But you can still forget every one of the venues you listed as options.’ He sounded grumpy, and that made him grumpier—because there was really nothing to be grumpy about. It wasn’t his damned wedding. But it was just...galling!

Sunshine observed him, head tilted to one side in her curious bird guise. ‘Does that mean you have somewhere fantastic in mind to fit one hundred and fifty people? Somewhere that will be available with only two months’ notice?’

‘As a matter of fact I do,’ Leo said. ‘I have a new place opening next month. But it’s not in Sydney. It’s an hour and a half’s drive south. Actually, it’s called South.’

He was a bit ashamed of himself for sounding so smug about it—what was he? Fifteen years old?—but his smugness went sailing right by Sunshine, who simply clapped her hands, delighted.

Which made him feel like a complete churl.

Sunshine Smart was not good for his mental health.

‘Oh, I’ve read about it!’ she exclaimed. ‘Perched on the edge of the escarpment, sweeping views of the ocean. Right?’

‘Yep.’

Another enthusiastic hand-clap. ‘Perfectamundo. When can we go and see it?’

Perfectamundo? Good Lord! ‘Not necessary,’ he said repressively. ‘I’ve personally handpicked the staff for South, and they know what they’re doing. We can just give them instructions and leave them to it. But I can send you photos of the space.’

Sunshine was staring at him as though he’d taken leave of his senses. ‘Of course it’s necessary. Your staff may be excellent, but Jon is trusting me to make sure everything is perfect. I know exactly what he likes, you see, and I can’t let him down.’

Leo sighed inwardly.

‘We have to think about how the tables are going to be arranged,’ she went on. ‘The best place for speeches, where we’ll do welcoming cocktails—I mean, is there an outdoor area for that?’ Her hands came up, clasped her head at the temples as if she were about to have a meltdown. ‘A thousand things.’

Leo felt a throb at the base of his skull. ‘Let me think about it,’ he said, just to staunch the flow of words. He wasn’t really going to think about taking her to see the damned restaurant.

‘Thank you, Leo!’ She was back to twinkling, clearly nowhere near a meltdown.

Two months! Two months of this manipulative, mendacious wretch.

‘So!’ she said. ‘Let’s talk invitations. I have three designs to show you—and I won’t tell you which is my favourite because I don’t want to influence your opinion.’

‘You won’t.’

‘Well, I wonder if, subliminally, knowing what I like best might sway you.’ Little knowing smile. ‘Maybe to deliberately pick something that is not my favourite! And that would never do.’

He caught his half-laugh before it could surface. Laughing would only encourage her.

‘And since we haven’t discounted the email, I’ve got something to show you too,’ he put in smoothly, because he’d be damned if his version was going to be dead in the water without a demo at least. ‘It’s something we did for the Q Brasserie launch.’

Half an hour later Leo was amazed to find that he’d agreed to a printed Art Deco-style invitation in blue and teal, with yellow, brown, and grey accents.

But he’d had a win too! Sunshine was so impressed with his electronic idea she’d insisted they send something like it as a save-the-date notice, linking to some artsy teaser footage of South’s surroundings.

‘But we’ll keep the venue secret,’ she added conspiratorially, ‘because it will be fun to have everyone guessing, and they’ll be so excited to find out it’s South when the printed invitations arrive.’

He hoped—he really hoped—he hadn’t just been soothed.

Sunshine took on the responsibility for getting the invitations printed and addressed, with names handwritten by a calligrapher she’d dated in the past. She would show Leo—who actually didn’t give a damn—the final design before it went to print, along with handwriting samples. Leo was in charge of getting the save-the-date done for Sunshine’s approval—and she most certainly did give a damn.

He was on the verge of disappearing to the kitchen when Sunshine circled back to South and her need to see it.

‘It’s not going to happen,’ Leo said. ‘You can’t go on site without me. And the only time I have free is...is...daytime Monday.’ Ha! ‘Shop hours for you, right?’

Sunshine pulled out a clunky-looking diary.

He did a double-take. ‘You’re on Facebook but you use a paper diary?’

‘My mother made it for me so I have to—and, anyway, I like it,’ she said. ‘Hemp and handmade paper. Jon and Caleb have them too. Play your cards right and you’ll get one next year. And, yes! I can do Monday. Yay!’

Again with the yay. And the twinkle.

And that throb at the base of his skull.

Sunshine put her diary away. ‘My hours are super-flexible. I mostly work from home, and usually at night, when I seem to be more creative—not during the day, and never in the shop unless I’m doing a particular display. Because I have a superb manager who would not take kindly to my interfering.’

‘I like the sound of your manager.’

‘Oh, I can introduce— Ah, I see, sarcasm.’ She regarded him with a hint of amused exasperation. ‘You know, I’m not generally regarded as an interfering person.’

He couldn’t keep the snort in.

‘Sarcasm and a snort! Better not debate that, then. So! Shall I drive us down?’

‘I’m going to take my bike.’

Her face went blank. ‘Bike?’

‘As in motor,’ he clarified.

‘You have a car as well, though?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Because we could get so much done if we drove down the coast together.’

‘Except that I don’t have a car.’

‘But I have a car. You can come with me.’

‘Sunshine, I’d better put this out there right now: you are not going to control me. I don’t have a car. I have a bike. I am going to ride down the coast, because that is what I want to do. Why don’t you just ride down with me?’

Mental slap of his own head! Why the hell had he suggested that? Sunshine Smart plastered against his back for an hour and a half? No, thank you!

Although at least she wouldn’t be able to talk to him.

Still, she would annoy him just by being there. In her skintight pants...full breasts pressed into his back...breathing against the back of his neck...arms around him...hands sliding up under his leather jacket...

What? No. No! Why the hell would her hands need to be sliding up there?

‘Thanks, but, no,’ she said—and it took Leo a moment to realise she was talking about riding on the bike as opposed to sliding her hands under his jacket. Thanks, but, no. Sharp and cool—and not open for discussion, apparently.

And it...stung! Dammit.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘Because I don’t like motorbikes.’

Don’t like motorbikes! Well, good. Fine. Who cared if Sunshine Smart didn’t like motorbikes? Every other woman he dated couldn’t wait to hop on the back of his Ducati!

Not that he was dating Sunshine Smart. Argh. Horrible, horrible thought.

Just let it go. Let it go, Leo.

‘Why? Because you can’t wear ten-inch heels on one?’ That was letting it go, was it?

‘I don’t wear ten-inch heels anywhere—I’m not a stilt-walker. It’s not about shoes. Or clothes. Or even what those helmets do to your hair.’ She tossed said hair. ‘It’s just...’ She shrugged one shoulder, looking suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Just an antiquated little notion I have about staying alive.’

‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘You drive, I’ll ride, and we’ll meet there.’

And then she sort of slumped...without actually slumping. He had an absurd desire to reach over and touch her damned hair, and tell her...what? Tell her what?

That he would drive down the coast with her? Hell, no! Not happening. And he was not touching her hair. He didn’t touch anyone’s hair. Ever.

Leo all but leapt to his feet. ‘I’d better get into the kitchen.’

‘Right now? But—’ Sunshine checked her watch. ‘Oh. That took longer than I thought.’

She gave her head a tiny shake. Shaking off the non-slumping slump, he guessed, because the perk zoomed back, full-strength.

‘I have other samples in my bag—you know, pictures of floral arrangements and cakes. And I was going to talk to you about shoes. I’m arranging some custom-made shoes for you for the big day.’

‘Flowers can’t be that urgent. I have a superb baker on staff, so don’t get carried away on the cake. And I don’t need shoes.’

‘The shoes are a gift. From me. I’m doing them for Caleb and Jon too. And I promise it will not be an identical shoe gig—nothing like those ancient wedding parties with six groomsmen all wearing pale blue tuxes with dark blue lapel trim!’ Dramatic shudder. ‘Oh, please say yes, Leo.’

Leo looked down at his feet, at his well-worn brown leather shoes. Scuffed, but as comfortable as wearing a tub of softened butter. And he had other shoes. Good shoes. Italian shoes. He didn’t need more. He didn’t want her goddamned shoes.

But her hypnotically beautiful mismatched eyes were wide and pleading as he looked back up, and he found himself saying instead, ‘I’ll think about it.’

She smiled. ‘Thank you. There’s a ton of stuff still to talk about, but I understand you’re on a tight leash tonight, so you get going. And before we meet on Monday I’ll do some legwork on the flowers front. And music... No, I won’t do any legwork on that, because I know you used to go out with that gorgeous singer Natalie Clarke, and she would be perfect. I hope—’ She stopped, bit her lip. ‘Oh, dear, enough about the music. I’m sensing a teensy bit of animosity—that little tic next to your mouth gives it away, you know. But we still have clothes to talk about. Yours and mine, since we’re the closest thing they’ll have to an official wedding party. We don’t want to look too matchy-matchy, but there’s so much we can do to look part of the overall theme.’

Leo stared. He was doing a lot of that. ‘You mean there’s a theme?’

‘I’m not talking about those horrifying Elvis or Medieval or Viking themes. Or Halloween—it’s been done! I’ve seen pictures—with pumpkins! I mean just a touch of complementary colour, a certain style...things like that.’

‘You’re scaring me.’

‘I promise you’ll love—’

‘Really scaring me. Later, okay? Much later.’

Sunshine wrinkled up her nose—and Leo had now twigged that this meant she was about to put a new argument, so he held up a ‘stop’ hand.

‘I’ll see you Monday, Sunshine. And in the meantime try and remember that the marriage will have already happened. This is just a celebratory dinner.’

‘But—’

‘Monday.’

She made a muted explosive sound, redolent of frustration. ‘All right! Monday! But I’m staying here for dinner—not running away like a good little girl.’ She tossed her hair again. Flick. Over her shoulder. ‘I have a date.’

Leo kind of liked that huffy hair-flick—it made him feel as if she were the one off kilter for a change.

‘Then I’ll send over a Campari for you while you wait.’ Calm. Reasonable. Charming, even.

‘Lovely, thank you,’ she responded. Calm, reasonable, charming.

‘I won’t be able to come out and speak to Gary tonight, though.’

‘That’s okay—Gary’s not coming.’

Frown. ‘But I thought you said...?’

‘Oh, I see.’ Little laugh. Annoying little laugh. ‘No, tonight I’m having dinner with Ben.’

‘Another investment banker?’

‘No. Ben’s an embalmer.’

Leo did the stare thing again. ‘You’re joking, right?’

‘No.’ Puzzled. Actually, seriously puzzled. ‘Why would that be a joke?’

‘An embalmer? How did you even get to meet an embalmer? Are you making shoes for corpses?’

‘Not that I wouldn’t make shoes for corpses, but no.’ Pause. He saw the tiny swallow. ‘It—it was a subject I needed to—to research. Two years ago. For my...sister.’

‘I didn’t know you had a sister.’ He thought back...something about her eyes? In the womb... Triplets...?

Twins!

Oh. Embalmer. Sister. Her twin sister was dead. And he was such a freaking idiot!

Because—oh, God. no—the face-morph. It was happening again. Emptiness. Ashy skin. Trembling lips. What the hell was that?

‘Sunshine...?’

No response.

‘Sunshine!’

Alarmed.

She shook her head and the look was gone. But her eyes were filling and she was blinking, blinking, blinking, trying to stop the tears falling.

Crap! He reached over to the next table, snagged a napkin, held it out to her with a gruff, ‘Here.’

She took the napkin but just stared at it. Another blink.

He watched, holding his breath... Just one tear, one drop, and he would have to...to... No, he couldn’t...could he? Hovering, hovering... His heart was starting to pound...

And then she took a long, slow breath and the tears receded.

Leo took his own long, slow breath, feeling as though disaster had just been averted, and slid into the chair beside her.

‘Sorry,’ Sunshine said. ‘My sister died two years ago. The anniversary is coming up so I’m feeling kind of...emotional about it. I should be over it by now, but every now and then...’ That tiny head-shake, then she looked at Leo and smiled. ‘Anyway, let’s get back to—’

‘What was her name? Your sister?’ Leo asked, because he was not getting back to anything quite that easily.

Sunshine paused, but only for a few seconds—and her smile didn’t waver at all. ‘Are you ready for this, Leo? It’s not for the fainthearted.’

Leo didn’t know if he was ready, not ready, or why he had to be ready.

In fact he didn’t know squat.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t let her change the subject as she’d clearly wanted to do. Why her unwavering smile was bothering him. Why he wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she let those jammed-up tears fall.

He didn’t know a damned thing—least of all why he should be interested in Sunshine Smart’s dead sister.

But he said, ‘Worse than Sunshine?’

‘Ouch! But, yes—at least Moonbeam thought so.’

‘Moonbeam?’ He winced. ‘Seriously? I mean...seriously?’

Little gurgle of laughter. ‘Yep.’

‘Good God. Moonbeam. And Sunshine.’

She was playing with the hem on the napkin he’d given her, picking at it with her fingernails.

‘So what happened?’ Leo asked.

She looked down at the napkin. Pick, pick. ‘Hippie parents.’

‘No, I mean what hap—?’

‘Oh, dear, I’ve snagged the hem,’ Sunshine said, and put the napkin on the table. ‘Sorry, Leo.’

‘I don’t care about the napkin, Sunshine.’

‘Actually, table napkins have an interesting history. Did you know that they started out as lumps of dough, rolled and kneaded at the table? Which led, in turn, to using sliced bread to wipe your hands.’

What the hell? ‘Er—no, I didn’t know that.’ Thrown. Completely thrown.

Extra-bright smile. ‘But you were asking about Moonbeam. Actually, it’s because of her that I’m sitting here with you. She and Jonathan dated as teenagers.’

He was staring again—couldn’t help it. ‘No way!’

‘Yes way! But Moon realised pretty quickly that she’d need to swap an X for a Y chromosome if their relationship was going to get to the next level, even though Jon adored her. So—long story short—she encouraged Jon to leap out of the closet, with me hooked in for moral support, and the three of us became super-close—like a ménage à trois minus the sex. And voilà—here I am, planning Jon’s wedding to your brother.’ Her brilliant smile slipped. ‘One of the reasons I miss Jon so much is because he’s a link to my sister.’

Jon dating a girl. Ménage à trois minus the sex. Bread as table napkins? Leo didn’t know what to say.

‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I don’t have to explain that to you. I know you miss your brother too.’

‘It can’t compare.’

‘Yeah, I guess...I guess you can jump on a plane if you need to see Caleb.’

‘That’s more likely to happen in reverse.’

‘You mean him jumping on a plane? Oh, no, I see—him needing to see you.’ She looked him over. ‘I get that. You’re the dominant one, you’re the one doling out the goods, and you don’t need to see anyone.’

The perceptiveness startled him.

‘So no emotional combustions! It’s a good way to be,’ she went on. ‘In fact my approach to relationships is based on achieving a similar core of aloofness, of control. Of mastery over my emotions.’

He was a little awed. ‘Your approach to relationships?’

‘Yes. Separating sex from love, for example—you know, like that ménage à trois with me, Jon, and Moon. You have to agree that it makes life easier.’

‘Easier, maybe. Not better.’

‘Of course it’s easiest to leave the love out altogether. That’s what I do now.’

‘What? Why?’

She tapped her chest lightly, over her heart. ‘No room in here.’

‘You’re not that type of person.’

‘Well, I do have to work hard at it,’ she conceded.

‘What? Why?’ God, he was repeating himself!

‘Because my natural inclination is to care too much about people. I have to take precautions to guard against that.’

‘What? Why?’ Nope—he was not doing another repeat! ‘I mean, what are you scared of?’

‘Pain,’ she said simply. ‘Because it hurts. To care deeply. It hurts.’

Leo wanted to tell her the whole argument was ridiculous, but the words wouldn’t come. What did he know? He was living proof that sex was usually loveless, no matter how much you wished otherwise.

At least Sunshine could actually touch a person without having a panic attack, so she was way ahead of him. For sure Gary and Ben wouldn’t have let Sunshine have those mini-meltdowns and sat there like blockheads, handing her restaurant napkins. How was he supposed to find what Caleb had when he couldn’t put his arms around a tearful woman? Did he even deserve to, stunted as he was?

‘But we were talking about embalming,’ Sunshine said, and she was twinkling again. ‘Which is much more interesting. A very technical and responsible job. And it does make you think, doesn’t it?’

Leo, reeling from the various changes in conversation he’d been subjected to for the past few minutes—shoes, pumpkins, napkins, sex, love, embalming, napkins—could only repeat stupidly, ‘Think...?’

‘Well, cremation or burial? It’s something we all need to plan for. If you’re interested—as you should be, if you ride a motorbike—I’m sure Ben would be happy to—’

‘Er, no—that’s fine, thanks.’ Leo got to his feet with alacrity. ‘I’ll send over that drink.’

* * *

Halfway through the night, Leo poked his head out of the kitchen. Ostensibly to gauge how the place was humming along, but really—he was honest enough to admit it—to check out Sunshine’s date.

And Ben the embalmer was handsome enough to give Alexander Skarsgard a run for his money. Like a freaking Viking!

They’d ordered the roast leg of lamb—a sharing dish that came with crispy roast potatoes, crusty bread rolls and assorted side dishes and condiments. Enough food to feed the entire cast of The Hobbit, including the trolls.

Twice more Leo peered out at them. Both times Ben was laughing and Sunshine was about to shove a laden fork in her mouth. Leo was starting to think Sunshine could single-handedly have eating classified as a championship sport.

Since he thought dining with a woman who actually ate would make a nice change, he didn’t know why the sight of Sunshine chomping up a storm with Ben was so annoying.

But it was. Very, very annoying.

Another laugh floated through the restaurant and into his straining ears.

Right! He ripped off his apron. He was going to find out what the hell was so funny.

He washed his hands, changed into a clean chef’s jacket and headed out.

Sunshine looked up, startled. ‘Leo! This is a surprise.’

She quickly performed introductions as one of the waiting staff rushed to find a spare chair for Leo, who was examining the almost demolished lamb leg.

Leo raised his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t like it, huh?’ he said, settling into the quickly produced chair.

Sunshine groaned. ‘Not funny. I’ll have to start dieting tomorrow.’

‘That will be a one-day wonder,’ Ben said, and winked at Sunshine.

Winked! Who the hell winked at people?

Sunshine laughed. ‘Or you could kiss me instead, Ben, because—interestingly—kissing burns six and half calories per minute. As long as it’s passionate.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I guess passion supersizes the metabolic effect.’

Ben, in the process of sipping his wine, choked. ‘Where do you get all these facts?’

‘The internet.’

Ben grinned. ‘Better brush up on your arithmetic, Sunny, because if I kiss you for, say, fifteen minutes—and any longer is just asking for chapped lips—it’s going to net you a hundred calories max. Basically, we’ll burn off two thirds of a bread roll.’

‘Are you talking yourself out of a kiss?’ Sunshine asked.

She was doing the eyelash-bat thing, and Leo decided it made her look like a vacuous twit. He only just stopped himself from telling her so.

Ben smiled at Sunshine. A very intimate smile, by Leo’s reckoning. ‘You know I’m up for it,’ he said. ‘But we’re going to have to make it a marathon and buy a truckload of lip balm if you keep that up.’ He nodded at her fingers, which were hovering over the food.

Sunshine snatched up a small piece of crispy potato and popped it into her mouth. ‘It’s a vegetable,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t count.’

‘Oh, that’s a vegetable!’ Ben laughed. ‘And you’re a nut, Sunshine.’

Sunshine smiled serenely. ‘If that’s the analogy we’re going with, you’re a piece of meat.’

Ben gave her a faux mournful look. ‘Oh, I know I’m just a piece of meat to you. We all are.’

A phone trilled.

‘Mine,’ Ben said, reaching into his shirt pocket. He checked the caller ID. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’

‘All?’ Leo asked as Ben left the table.

Sunshine laughed. ‘Just a “poor me” thing with my exes. They get a bit club-like.’

‘What? There’s like a legion of them?’

Another laugh. ‘Not quite.’

Leo leant forward, fixed her with a steady gaze. ‘Are you sleeping with both of them? Gary and Ben?’

She stopped laughing. ‘And you’re interested because...?’

‘Just wondering where everyone fits in relation to that guff about sex and love you were spouting earlier and the whole pieces of meat thing.’

‘It’s not guff.’

‘Total guff.’

She considered him for a moment. ‘Well—I’ve never been in love, but I have had sex. And I’ll bet you’ve had enough sex to write Fifty Shades of Leo—but no wife. No steady girlfriend, even, right? No...love...perhaps?’

He felt his jaw clamp. God, he’d love to show her fifty shades of Leo. She wouldn’t be looking at him in that curious bird way at the end. ‘That’s not the point,’ he ground out.

‘That’s exactly the point. What’s wrong, Leo? Not enough room in there?’ She leant over and tapped her fingers on his chest, right over his heart. Into his heart, it felt like. ‘I don’t think you should be lecturing me just because I have sex without love the same as you do.’

‘You’re supposed to want them both.’

She tossed her head. ‘Well, I don’t. I won’t. Ever. And glowering at me isn’t going to change that.’

‘I’m not glowering. I don’t glower.’

‘Oh, you so do. It’s kind of cute.’

‘I’m not cute.’

‘Sure you are—in that I’m-a-typical-male-hypocrite kind of way.’

‘I’m not a hypocrite either.’

‘Go and get yourself nicely monogamised and I’ll believe you.’

‘Monogamised isn’t a real word.’

That twitch at the side of her mouth.

Leo felt his temper surge. ‘And I am monogamous.’

‘Yeah—but one-after-the-other monogamy doesn’t count if there’s a hundred in the pipeline.’

He wanted to haul her out of her chair and... And what?

And nothing, that was what. Nothing.

‘Ben’s coming back so I’ll leave you to it,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some dessert coming out for you.’

She bit her bottom lip. ‘Oh, dear—I really will need to start a diet tomorrow.’

Leo got to his feet. ‘Just get Ben to kiss you twice.’

Sunshine grabbed his hand to keep him where he was.

His fingers curled around hers before he could stop them—and then his fingers stiffened. He pulled his hand free, flexed his fingers.

Sunshine’s eyes flickered from his hand to his face. There was doubt in her eyes. And concern. And a tenderness that enraged him. He didn’t need it. Didn’t need Sunshine-bloody-Smart messing with his head or his goddamned hand.

‘Why are you upset with me, Leo?’ she asked softly.

He was unbearably conscious of the scent of her. Jonquils. A woman who’d just stuffed herself silly with meat shouldn’t smell like flowers, so why did she?

‘I’m not upset with you,’ he said flatly. Liar. ‘I’ll email you a map for Monday.’

He strode back to the kitchen, furious with himself because he was upset with her.

But that was the ‘what’ of the equation. What he couldn’t work out was the ‘why’.

What? Why?

Oh, for God’s sake!

THREE

TO: Jonathan Jones

FROM: Sunshine Smart

SUBJECT: Wedding of the century

Quick update, darling...

Invitations are underway—wording attached. We’re going with smart/cocktail as the dress code, although obviously I will be wearing a long dress as befits my bridesmaid status.

Off to check the venue in the morning. It shows every indication of being divine.

Next we’ll be working on the menu, but having now eaten at two of Leo’s establishments I have no doubt it will be magnificent.

I wish I could meet a chef. Well, obviously I HAVE met one now, but I mean one with jumpable bones!

Sunny xxx

PS—Leo rides a motorbike! And, no, I still haven’t done it, but soon.

TO: Caleb Quartermaine

FROM: Leo Quartermaine

SUBJECT: Coming along

Sunshine has the invitations under control and I’m attaching the save-the-date we’ve decided on. If I don’t hear from you in the next day or so I’ll go ahead and get this out as per the War and Peace-sized invitation list.

Meeting Sunshine at South in the morning. And if she raises any concerns you’ll have to arrange bail for me because I’ll kill her.

I’m growing my hair—hope you’re happy. And I am apparently having a pair of shoes custom-made for me. Was that your idea? Because I WILL get you back.

LQ

‘Wow,’ Sunshine said out loud.

South had to have the best position of any restaurant in the whole world.

Well, all right, she hadn’t been everywhere in the whole world, and she was sure there must be oodles of well-situated restaurants all over the planet—in fact she would look up ‘most scenic restaurants in the world’—but it was spectacular.

The restaurant was perched on the edge of the cliff. But in some mind-blowing engineering feat the entrance to it was positioned actually over the cliff and doubled as a small viewing platform. The floor was transparent, so looking down you could see a landscape of trees curving steeply to the beach. Looking directly forward, you could see the deep blue of the ocean; looking to the side and backwards gave you a view into the restaurant. No tables and chairs in there yet, but the space was sharp and clean, with a seemingly endless use of glass to take advantage of the view.

She breathed in the ultra-fresh air. It was windy, and her hair was flying everywhere, but she didn’t care. This venue was perfectly...perfect for a wedding celebration.

Perfectly perfect. That had been Leo’s description of the private room at Q Brasserie. He’d been annoyed with himself over the way he’d described it, which had made her want to hug him, because it was just not something to be annoyed about.

Not that he was the cuddly teddy-bear type you could pat and jolly out of the sullens. He was impatient and standoffish and most of the time just plain monosyllabic cranky. There was no reason at all to feel that he needed to be hugged more often.

And yet...she wanted to put her arms around him right now.

Wanted to be close to him, held by him. Comforting. Comforted.

Dangerous, debilitating thought.

It had to be the proximity of the ocean messing with her head. For which she should have prepared herself before her arrival. Instead here she was, not knowing when or how hard the jolt would hit her—only knowing that it would.

So she would force it—get it done, dealt with, before she saw Leo. She didn’t want to slip up in front of him again.

She took a breath in. Out. Looked out and down, focusing her thoughts... And even though she was expecting it to hit, the pain tore her heart. The memory of Moonbeam was so vivid she gasped.

Moonbeam had believed she belonged to the ocean—and Sunshine had always felt invaded, overrun, by the truth of that when she was near the coast, even when she was far above the water, like now.

One of her most poignant memories was of their last time at the beach. Darkness, rain, and Moonbeam exulting as she raced naked into the waves. ‘This is where I’m me!’ Moon had yelled, and Sunshine, laughing but alarmed as she tried to coax her out of the freezing, dangerous, roiling surf, had called her a crazy Poseidon-worshipping hippie.

Three days later Moonbeam was dead.

Sunshine touched her sun and moon charms. She longed so keenly for her sister just then she couldn’t move, could barely breathe. The loneliness, the hunger to be so close to someone that you were like two sides of the same coin, was like a knife wound. But not a sharp wound; it was a festering wound that wouldn’t close, wouldn’t heal.

‘Sunshine?’

She took a moment, forcing the depression to the back of her consciousness with a shake of her head as she’d trained herself to do in public. Defences securely in place, she turned, smiling, to face Leo, who was standing at the doors leading into the restaurant.

‘Hi, Leo,’ she said.

Leo pushed the heavy doors further open, inviting her to enter. She started to lean up to kiss him as she crossed the threshold, but he jerked away before she could connect and she stumbled. He grabbed her elbow. Released it the nanosecond she regained her balance.

Ah, okay! She got it. He didn’t want her to kiss him.

In fact...thinking back over their few meetings...she would go so far as to say he didn’t want her to touch him in any way, ever.

And she’d just been daydreaming about putting her arms around him. Way to give the man a heart attack!

Was it just her, or did he have a problem touching all women? And if it was a problem with women generally, how did the man manage to have sex with a human?

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he had a blow-up doll.

Maybe it wasn’t just women.

Maybe he had a problem touching men and women. Maybe he had a problem touching pets. And blow-up dolls.

Maybe he had an obsessive-compulsive disorder, hand-washing thing going on.

Hmm. She’d read something that might help in that case—about systematic desensitisation...or was it exposure therapy...?

In Leo’s case it would mean touching him often, to get him to see that nothing diabolical would happen to him just because of a bit of skin contact.

She could do that.

It would be a public service, almost.

A favour to a man who was going to be family—well, kind of family.

What was more, it would be fun.

‘Oh, dear. I’m sorry, Leo. I took you by surprise, didn’t I?’ She bit her lip. ‘I should have learned by now not to launch myself at people when they aren’t ready! I once ended up in an embarrassing half-kiss, half-handshake, nose-bumping, chokehold situation. Has that ever happened to you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, just to make sure it never does I’ll give you an indicator before I kiss you in future—say...puckering up my lips like a trout, so you’ll know it’s coming.’ She stopped and thought about that. ‘Actually, I wonder why they call it a trout pout when women overdo the lip-filler? Trout don’t seem to have excessively large lips to me.’

He was looking at her lips now.

‘Not that my own lips are artificially inflated, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ she assured him, moving further into the restaurant. ‘They’re just naturally troutish. If trout really do have thick lips, that is. I definitely need to have another look at a photo of a trout.’

Leo’s gaze had moved on to her hair. In fact he was looking at it with a moroseness that bordered on the psychotic.

What the hell was going on in his head?

‘Is something wrong with my hair?’ she asked, and flicked a hand at it. ‘Do I look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket? Because it’s windy out there.’ She reached into her bag—an orange leather tote—and pulled out an elastic band. Bundling the tousled mess of it into a bunch at the back of her head, she tucked the ends under and roughly contained it. ‘There—fixed,’ she said. ‘I need a haircut, but I’m not sure how to style it for the wedding so it has to wait. I have a great hairdresser—actually, I used to date him.’

‘Another one?’

‘Another...? Oh, you mean someone else I used to date? Well, yes. Anyway, Iain—that’s my hairdresser—says he needs to see the dress first. Some people might say that’s a little neurotic, but he’s a genius so I’m not arguing. And, of course, if I did argue it would be a pot-kettle-black thing, because I’m just as neurotic. I can’t design your shoes, for example, until I know what you’re wearing.’

He looked a heartbeat away from one of those glowers he supposedly didn’t do. It was his only response.

‘That was a hint, by the way, to let me know what you’re wearing.’

‘Yep, I got that.’

Silence.

‘So!’ she said. ‘What do you think? About my hair? Should I keep the fringe? It won’t grow out completely in two months, but it should be long enough to style differently—say, like...’ She pushed the fringe to one side, smoothing it across her temple.

‘I like the fringe,’ Leo said.

Words! Yay! But he was still frowning.

And now he was looking at her dress.

Okay, so it was a little tight—hello! After two nights in a row at his restaurants, never mind yesterday’s two-minute noodles, sugar donuts, and family block of chocolate, what did he expect? But nothing that remarkable. Kind of conservative. Just a nude-coloured woollen sheath. V-neck, knee-length, three-quarter sleeves, no fussy trim.

His eyes kept going, down her legs to her shoes. Five-inch-high nude pumps.

‘Problem?’ she asked, when his eyes started travelling back up, and she must have sounded exasperated because that stopped him.

At last he looked in her eyes. ‘You look good—as usual.’

Oh. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and actually felt like preening.

‘But I don’t want you to break your neck wriggling around in that dress and tottering on those heels. The building is finished but there’s still some debris around that you could trip over.’

And we’re back!

This was going to be a long day. A long, fun day. He was just so irresistibly grumpy!

She stepped towards the windows. ‘This is just brilliant!’ Turned to shoot him a broad smile. ‘Are you going to give me a tour, Leo?’

He nodded—and looked so uninviting that Sunshine almost laughed. Well, there was no time like the present to commence his therapy and start touch, touch, touching!

Brace yourself, Leo darling.

‘Yes, but be careful,’ Leo was saying, oblivious. ‘And leave your bag—it looks heavy.’

Sunshine dropped the bag on the spot. ‘Tell you what,’ she said, walking back to him, ‘I’m just going to hold on to you so you don’t have to worry about the state of my fragile limbs.’ She took his arm before he could back away. His arm felt hard and unyielding, like a piece of marble. Or petrified wood. Petrified! Perfect. She beamed up at him. ‘Lead on, Leo.’

His jaw was shut so tightly she thought he might crack a tooth.

Oh, dear...oh, deary me! This was going to be good.

* * *

This was bad, Leo realised.

Actually, he’d realised it the moment he saw her standing on the viewing platform outside, looking glamorous and yet earthy. And wistful. And...sad.

So she was sad—so what? She recovered like lightning, didn’t she? Like the other times. There was no reason for him to want to... Well, no reason for anything.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.