hue would have freckles, sunburn, or broken capillaries, but Richard was like a marble statue. Impulsively she reached up and touched his cheek. His skin was cold to the touch, but soft and smooth as silk.
Richard must have interpreted her touch as an invitation, because he kissed her. As soon as his soft, cold lips touched hers Sunni felt that something was very, very wrong. She pulled back as abruptly as if she’d been stung by a bee.
He sat up straight, contemplating Sunni. He didn’t look angry, just confounded and a bit disappointed, as if she was a jigsaw puzzle that he’d worked on for days, only to find one piece missing.
“You didn’t want me to kiss you?” he asked.
Sunni lurched to her feet and smoothed her hair. “No, it’s not that, well, it’s just, I feel …” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I feel.”
And she didn’t. The sensation she’d experienced when his lips touched hers was a powerful one, and it had come from deep inside her, but she couldn’t readily identify it. Was it guilt because of Isabel? Guilt because of Jacob? Or something that had to do with Richard himself?
She picked up the strawberry hulls and tossed them into the bushes. Richard folded the plaid blanket into a neat square.
“I guess I just wasn’t ready for that,” Sunni said.
“That’s all right,” he replied with a small smile. “I have all the time in the world.”
Chapter 8
Isabel gave a high-pitched wail of despair. “I don’t have anything to wear!”
Given that they were standing in the middle of Isabel’s walk-in closet, which contained what seemed like acres of clothing—folded on shelves, hanging on rods and even packed in shopping bags still wrapped in tissue paper—Sunni had to laugh.
Isabel glared at her.
“I’m sorry, Izzy. It’s just that you have so many clothes here. There must be something that you really like.”
“Nothing’s good enough. I want to look elegant, classy, and beautiful.” Isabel’s lower lip trembled. “I want to look like someone else.”
Isabel had long ago realized that people were going to stare at her, so she had decided to give them something to look at. She favored the designer Lilly Pulitzer’s Palm Beach collections, so most of her clothes looked like the hallucinations of an acid-dropping 1950s housewife. Sunni wouldn’t wear any of them unless she lived in the center of a highway, but she appreciated the bright insouciance that her friend projected. Now it appeared that Richard Lazarus was causing Isabel to question her own fashion sense.
Sunni sighed. “What do you want me to do, sweetie?”
“Find me something!”
“Well, where are you going?” Sunni stepped into the vast cavern of Isabel’s closet.
“The symphony.”
“Okay, so you need a nice dress.” After ten minutes of digging Sunni pulled out a Diane Von Furstenberg dress made of stretchy jersey. It was purple, but eggplant purple, not Barney the Dinosaur purple.
“How about this?” she asked.
“Is that sexy enough?” Isabel asked.
Sunni was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She didn’t want Isabel to look sexy for Richard Lazarus, but she’d been helping Isabel for sixteen years, and she wasn’t about to stop now.
“It’s classy, elegant, and beautiful, Izzy. Adjust the neckline a little bit and it’ll be sexy, too.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“Put it on. I’ll find you some shoes.”
Sunni chose a pair of black suede pumps with sensible short heels and brought them over. “What about these?”
Isabel was standing in front of a tri-paneled mirror. Having put her arm crutches to the side, she was having difficulty maintaining her balance while wiggling into the tight sheath of stretchyjersey. She finally managed to get the dress on, but it was stuck in her panties in the back. Sunni put her hand on her friend’s shoulder as she pulled the skirt free and straightened it all around. Leaning on Sunni’s arm, Isabel slipped on the shoes
Richard must have interpreted her touch as an invitation, because he kissed her. As soon as his soft, cold lips touched hers Sunni felt that something was very, very wrong. She pulled back as abruptly as if she’d been stung by a bee.
He sat up straight, contemplating Sunni. He didn’t look angry, just confounded and a bit disappointed, as if she was a jigsaw puzzle that he’d worked on for days, only to find one piece missing.
“You didn’t want me to kiss you?” he asked.
Sunni lurched to her feet and smoothed her hair. “No, it’s not that, well, it’s just, I feel …” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I feel.”
And she didn’t. The sensation she’d experienced when his lips touched hers was a powerful one, and it had come from deep inside her, but she couldn’t readily identify it. Was it guilt because of Isabel? Guilt because of Jacob? Or something that had to do with Richard himself?
She picked up the strawberry hulls and tossed them into the bushes. Richard folded the plaid blanket into a neat square.
“I guess I just wasn’t ready for that,” Sunni said.
“That’s all right,” he replied with a small smile. “I have all the time in the world.”
Chapter 8
Isabel gave a high-pitched wail of despair. “I don’t have anything to wear!”
Given that they were standing in the middle of Isabel’s walk-in closet, which contained what seemed like acres of clothing—folded on shelves, hanging on rods and even packed in shopping bags still wrapped in tissue paper—Sunni had to laugh.
Isabel glared at her.
“I’m sorry, Izzy. It’s just that you have so many clothes here. There must be something that you really like.”
“Nothing’s good enough. I want to look elegant, classy, and beautiful.” Isabel’s lower lip trembled. “I want to look like someone else.”
Isabel had long ago realized that people were going to stare at her, so she had decided to give them something to look at. She favored the designer Lilly Pulitzer’s Palm Beach collections, so most of her clothes looked like the hallucinations of an acid-dropping 1950s housewife. Sunni wouldn’t wear any of them unless she lived in the center of a highway, but she appreciated the bright insouciance that her friend projected. Now it appeared that Richard Lazarus was causing Isabel to question her own fashion sense.
Sunni sighed. “What do you want me to do, sweetie?”
“Find me something!”
“Well, where are you going?” Sunni stepped into the vast cavern of Isabel’s closet.
“The symphony.”
“Okay, so you need a nice dress.” After ten minutes of digging Sunni pulled out a Diane Von Furstenberg dress made of stretchy jersey. It was purple, but eggplant purple, not Barney the Dinosaur purple.
“How about this?” she asked.
“Is that sexy enough?” Isabel asked.
Sunni was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She didn’t want Isabel to look sexy for Richard Lazarus, but she’d been helping Isabel for sixteen years, and she wasn’t about to stop now.
“It’s classy, elegant, and beautiful, Izzy. Adjust the neckline a little bit and it’ll be sexy, too.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“Put it on. I’ll find you some shoes.”
Sunni chose a pair of black suede pumps with sensible short heels and brought them over. “What about these?”
Isabel was standing in front of a tri-paneled mirror. Having put her arm crutches to the side, she was having difficulty maintaining her balance while wiggling into the tight sheath of stretchyjersey. She finally managed to get the dress on, but it was stuck in her panties in the back. Sunni put her hand on her friend’s shoulder as she pulled the skirt free and straightened it all around. Leaning on Sunni’s arm, Isabel slipped on the shoes
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