An Improper Deal(62)

“Your mother didn’t RSVP, but your father’s coming, along with his wife.”

He spins around. “I thought I asked you not to send them their invitations until two days before.”

“And that’s what I did. Your father said yes.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Ah, jeez. Okay. Anyone from your side?”

“No.”

“No aunts, uncles, cousins…?”

“My parents are both dead, and they were orphans. And it’s not like I have any friends I want to invite.” The people who called themselves “friends” turned their backs on me so fast they’re probably still spinning. Even Traci kept her distance. I can’t blame her for being aloof—I’m sure her family suffered too—but I no longer feel comfortable with anybody from Lincoln City.

I pull out a pink dress. It’s made entirely of chiffon, and the hem ends an inch above my knees. The bateau neckline is modest but elegant, with tiny pearls and diamantés sewn in. I hold it in front of me. My hair’s pulled up in a French twist, secured with a couple of hair pieces made with pearls and opalescent roses. My makeup is subtle, so I can do the light feminine color.

“You can’t wear that,” Elliot says. “Elizabeth is going to come in something very similar.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know her. Here. Try this.” He picks out a silk ivory dress with gold and diamanté accents. It skims my body like it’s been painted on and the asymmetrical hem ends around my knees and calves in a dramatic sweep.

It’s a stunning outfit, but I won’t be able to wear anything underneath. At least it has a built-in bra.

Turning away from him, I put it on, then chuck my panties. I reach around to zip it.

“Allow me.” Elliot’s warm breath is on the back of my neck. His long, strong fingers skim my skin as he pulls the zipper up, and I prickle with awareness. He fastens the tiny hook to secure the opening. “Perfect,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” I say, my throat suddenly dry.

He reaches over to the closet island where he keeps his cufflinks and pulls out a small velvet box. “Here. These should finish the look.”

Inside the box are diamond earrings. They’re so long they almost skim my shoulders. I put them on, and have to admit Elliot has an amazing eye. “Wow. These are stunning.”

He kisses my temple. “And you look absolutely beautiful.”

A longing deeper than anything sexual pulses through me. It’s perverse as hell, but I want him to look at me…really look at me, rather than the girl he’s trying to recreate.

After I slip on a pair of white stilettos, we go downstairs together. I survey the area with a critical eye. A hundred white orchids perfume the air—I don’t even want to think about how much they cost, but Elliot decided we should have them. The table is set up with a non-alcoholic punch for Nonny—her favorite drink—and decanted bottles of red and white plus scotch since Elliot seems to like it a lot and I remember him saying it’s Ryder’s favorite as well. There are also blocks of gourmet cheese and crackers and warmed nuts to be had before the actual dinner.

Nonny’s already waiting for us in the living room. She’s put on a fitted magenta dress with a scoop neckline and a flirty hem that ends an inch below her mid-thigh. Her earrings are golden hoops, the pair that Dad gave her.

“You look great,” I say.

“Thanks! So do you! And wow, Elliot!”

He hugs her. “You look awesome.” Then he bends until he can do his stage whisper. “I think Ryder’s coming.”

Nonny lets out a squeal. Elliot jerks back, hands over his ears.

“Oh my god! Ryder Reed!” She starts hopping in her heels. “Oh my god! Ohmygod!” She rushes to the bathroom. “Why didn’t you tell me? I have a zit on my forehead!”

I roll my eyes. “Which nobody can see but you.” My sister’s been blessed with our mother’s perfect skin.

“No, it’s huge!” she yells from the bathroom. “I have to put on more concealer.”

“If you turn that area into a cake, he’s definitely going to notice.”

“Shut up!”

Elliot chuckles. “Everyone in the family’s so blasé about him.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. To be fair, we grew up with him, so even though he is an uncommonly good-looking bastard, we’ve become immune to it.”

I consider that with a bit of bemusement. What is it like to be surrounded by so much beauty that you no longer appreciate it the way most people do? I can’t imagine myself becoming inured to anything like that. And I hope it never happens.