Faith gave her a small smile.
Christine took that as permission to go to work. She moved behind Faith, freed all that long black hair, brushed it into an updo, with a few intricate twists and the ends sticking into the air like a rooster comb. Every once in a while she got a whiff of eau de skunk.
Grace craned her neck to examine Christine’s work and then cleared her throat.
Slade butted in. “Grace, can’t you ask like a—”
“Like Princess Grace.” Christine cut Slade off before he could add like a normal person to the man-at-the-end-of-his-patience-with-silent-girls lament. “She conquered Hollywood, but left to marry the Prince of Monaco.”
Christine then quickly produced a French braid from above one of Grace’s ears to above the other, combining the extra length in a ponytail on the other side. She didn’t notice Faith’s surprised expression until she was through. “There. Two girls ready to party. Go put on another dress.” She shooed them out of the bedroom.
The girls took turns admiring each other’s hair and studying themselves in the bathroom mirror.
“Their hair’s different.” Slade frowned.
“They’re twins, not clones.”
“But we’ve always dressed them alike.”
“That’s a new form of torture.” When Slade’s gaze cut to her as if she’d accused him of wrongdoing—which she essentially had—she tried to remember he was her boss. And failed. “How would you like it if you had to dress like your brother every day?”
“A. I’m an only child. And B. They don’t have to dress alike.”
Faith and Grace were looking at him from across the hall, holding themselves very still.
Christine had a sickening thought. “Does your ex-wife agree with B?”
“She wouldn’t be that—”
“Girls, time for a costume change.” Christine waited for the bathroom door to close.
Slade held up a hand before she could say anything. “Don’t. It’s bad enough I’m an absentee father without pointing out the faults of the woman raising my children.”
“What do you say we strike a deal? I don’t question what’s going on with them—” she gestured toward the bathroom “—and you don’t question my love of shoes.” She thrust out her hand. “Deal?”
“Deal.” His grip didn’t feel as coolly perfect as it had in the past. It was the warm handshake of a real man, one whose life wasn’t perfect.
“You’re right about my organizational system. I’m not going to put up the shelves, since I’m not going to wear the shoes.” Christine chuckled when Slade looked relieved. “How about we sit down and watch the rest of the fashion show? After which you can go do something fun with the girls and I’ll finish my purchasing proposal for you to review.” She sat on the bed and patted a spot next to her.
Only to pop off her mattress a moment later. “Hold up. Hold up. I keep forgetting that you’re my boss—”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He grinned wryly.