“I’m a realist. Moon face, bug eyes, and rubber mouth, but I’m starting to like my body again, and I’m not getting implants.”
He sighed. “Nobody wants you to get implants, especially me. You don’t have a moon face. And when are you going to stop trying to camouflage your mouth and splash it with some red lipstick? I happen to have an intimate acquaintance with that mouth, and I’m here to tell you it’s spectacular.” He slid the palm of his hand along her hip. “A statement of fact, not a compliment.”
This was getting way too hot for her, so she broke the mood with a friendly suggestion. “If you want Rory to think you’re reformed, maybe you should lay off the booze.”
“Iced tea.”
“Yeah, right.”
She headed for the kitchen to check up on Chaz. Cobalt pottery bowls with red pepper chunks, figs and mangoes, curls of sweet onion, and wedges of fresh pineapple covered the counter. “Make sure you turn the chicken on the grill after four minutes,” Chaz told Aaron, who was arranging glasses on a tray. “No more. Understand?”
“I understood the first two times you told me.”
“Those rosemary sprigs go on top of the beef while it’s cooking.” Ignoring Georgie, she pitched a tomato she’d dropped into the sink. “And baste the scallops with the sweet chili sauce. Remember they dry out fast, so don’t keep them on the heat too long.”
“You should be grilling instead of me,” he said.
“Like I don’t have enough to do?”
Chaz seemed as bad-tempered as ever, which was reassuring. Georgie gave her a break and spoke only to Aaron. “What happened to your hair?”
“I got it cut this afternoon.” Chaz snorted, and he glared at her. “It was taking too long to dry in the morning, that’s all.”
Another snort.
“It looks great.” Georgie observed him more closely. The buttons lined up in a neat row down the front of his dark green shirt with no sign of strain, and his khakis no longer stretched so tightly across his stomach. Aaron was losing weight, and she had a feeling she knew who was responsible.
“Thanks for helping Chaz tonight,” she said as she stole a mushroom from a bowl on the counter. “If she gets too dangerous, use some pepper spray on her.”
“He’d squirt himself in the eye,” Chaz retorted. She was all attitude, but she knew Georgie had witnessed her pain, and she wouldn’t look at her.
Georgie squeezed Aaron’s arm. “Remind me to give you hazardous-duty pay when this is over.”
Meg stuck her head in. She wore a very short chartreuse tunic with blue leopard-pattern leggings and orange ankle boots. A narrow, braided jute headband had replaced the
She did, although Georgie knew her well enough to understand that Meg didn’t really believe it. She could wear even the most outrageous outfits with the same authority as her former supermodel mother, but she still insisted on seeing herself as an ugly duckling. Even so, Georgie envied Meg’s relationship with her famous parents. Despite the messy complexities between them, they loved each other unconditionally.
The doorbell rang, and by the time Georgie reached the foyer, Bram had let in Trevor. “Mrs. Shepard, I presume.” He handed over a gift basket piled with expensive spa products. “I didn’t want to add to his drinking problem by bringing alcohol.”
“Thank you.”
Bram took a slug of scotch. “I don’t have a drinking problem.”
Laura arrived immediately afterward, slightly breathless, her pale, flyaway hair disheveled, not exactly the portrait of a high-powered Hollywood agent, but that was why Paul had hired her. She tripped coming into the house and blanched as Bram caught her arm. “Sorry,” she said. “I haven’t used these feet all day, and I’ve forgotten how they work.”
Bram smiled. “A common problem.”
“Great news.” Laura pecked Georgie on the cheek. “You have a meeting with Greenberg on Tuesday.” Georgie’s hackles went up, but Laura had already turned to Bram. “This is a beautiful house. Who decorated it for you?”
“I did it myself. Trev Elliott helped.”
He and Laura disappeared toward the veranda leaving Georgie staring after him. Bram had picked out the Oriental rugs and Tibetan throws? The Mexican folk paintings and Balinese bells? And what about all those well- thumbed books lining the dining room shelves?
Her father showed up before she could process this new information. His lips felt frosty on her cheek. “Dad, I need you to be decent to Bram tonight,” she said as she led him through the foyer. “Rory Keene’s invited, and Bram needs her support on a project. No put-downs. I mean it.”
“Maybe I should come back sometime when you don’t feel like you have to lecture me as soon as I walk in the door.”
“Let’s just have fun tonight. Please. It’s important to me for the two of you to get along.”
“You’re talking to the wrong person.”
As he walked away, a wisp of memory tugged at her…Her mother sitting cross-legged on a blanket and laughing at her father, who was running across a patch of grass with Georgie on his back. Had it really happened, or was it something she’d dreamed?
When she reached the veranda, she saw that Bram and her father had taken up posts as far away from each other as possible. Bram was charming Laura while her father listened to Trev’s description of the comedy he was currently shooting. Meg appointed herself bartender, and eventually Paul drifted her way. He’d always liked Meg, something Georgie had never understood, since he should have hated her undisciplined lifestyle. But unlike Georgie, Meg made him laugh.
Georgie was suppressing a pang of jealousy when Rory came up the path from the back. Laura tipped over her wineglass, and her father stopped talking in midsentence. Only Meg and Trev weren’t thrown off by the new addition to the party. Bram would have jumped to his feet if Georgie hadn’t clamped her fingers around his wrist to slow him down. Fortunately, he took her cue and greeted Rory in a more leisurely fashion. “The roses could use a little pruning while you’re out there.”
“Sorry. Plants die if I even look at them.”
“Then let me get you a drink instead.”
Meg began entertaining them with stories of her recent travels. Before long, she had everyone laughing as she described an ill-advised kayaking trip on the Mangde Chhu River. Aaron brought out trays with the ingredients for the do-it-yourself kebabs, and they all gathered around to assemble their own. Rory surprised everyone by kicking off her shoes and volunteering to help with the grilling. By the time they were seated at the table with their wine- glasses refilled and plates piled with food, everyone except Bram and Georgie had relaxed.
Bram made the first move in his campaign to earn Rory’s good opinion. He raised his glass and locked eyes with Georgie at the opposite end of the table. “I’d like to propose a toast to my funny, smart, wonderful wife.” His words were soft and filled with emotion. “A woman with a loving heart, an ability to see beneath the surface”-his voice caught oh-so-touchingly-“and a willingness to forgive.”
Her father frowned. Meg looked bemused, Laura a bit dreamy-eyed. Trev seemed confused, but Rory was impossible to read. Bram smiled at Georgie with a heart full of love.
A heart full of bullshit.
Georgie choked herself up. “Stop it, you big idiot. You’ll make me cry.”
They drank their toast. Laura smiled. “I know I speak for all of us when I say how great it is to see the two of you so happy.”
“We both had some growing up to do,” Bram said with all kinds of sincerity. “Especially me. We’ll be nice and ignore Georgie’s marriage to Mr. Stupid. But we’re finally where we want to be. Not that we still don’t have a few things to work out…”
Georgie braced herself for whatever was coming.
“Georgie only wants two kids,” he said, “but I want more. We’ve had some fairly big arguments about it.”
The man had no shame.
