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Flora had never taken a Becca’s Body class. She had neither the budget nor the motivation. And she definitely didn’t have the right body.
Staring at those photographs, she felt like a small, ungainly elephant. She had a feeling Becca wouldn’t have been impressed by her.
Flora knew she was good at many things, but she was the first to admit they weren’t particularly impressive things. She could restore a flagging plant to health, create a stunning bouquet, dance the tango, perform a perfect cartwheel, paint in watercolor and pastels, and turn random pieces of fabric into clothes. What she couldn’t do was keep her living space neat and tidy, throw away a book, or stomach an oyster. And not in a million years would she want to run a business.
She straightened her shoulders and sucked her tummy in. “Your mommy was very beautiful.”
“She was perfect in every way.” The cool voice came from the doorway to the kitchen and Flora turned and saw a girl studying her. She wore skinny jeans, ripped at the knees, and a top that left most of her smooth, flat stomach exposed. Her eyes were green like her father’s, her skin a perfect ivory with hardly a blemish. She was older than Molly, a teenager, so presumably this had to be Izzy.
Flora had imagined some wounded, bruised, uncertain creature. She’d pictured a fractured family that she could somehow he
lp to heal. This girl didn’t look broken. She was frighteningly cool and the fierceness in her eyes suggested that help was not only unnecessary, it was unwelcome.
She stood in a relaxed dancer’s pose, one foot resting against the other. Her hair, the same dark shade as her father’s, fell straight and shiny over one shoulder, smooth and well behaved. Instinctively Flora brushed away one of the curls that bounced happily out of whichever style she’d attempted that morning. Never, in a million years, would she look as cool as this girl.
“Izzy.” Jack reached out his hand. “Come and meet Flora. Flora, this is my Izzy.” There was no missing the pride in his voice or the love in his eyes. His daughter flashed him a brief smile, before turning back to Flora.
“Isabella.” She extended a hand, the formality reminding Flora of a job interview.
Molly chewed her finger. “You hate being called Isabella.”
“By the people close to me, yes, but I prefer people I don’t know to use my full name.” Izzy played affectionately with her sister’s hair and then pulled her close. “Don’t bite your fingers. Did you get your reading book ready?”
“It’s on the bed.”
“Good girl. We’ll read it together later.”
It was clear to Flora that Izzy was sending a message.
We’re a unit. A team. No outsiders allowed.
Her nerves multiplied, increasing from a few butterflies to an entire flock. She’d expected two children who were lost and a little bereft. She’d imagined being able to help. How could she have been so naive? They didn’t want her here. She stood for a moment, frozen, suppressing the instinct to run.
She thought about Izzy’s description of her mother.
Perfect in every way.
They might as well have said there is no way you can ever match her, so don’t even try.
Flora took a breath. She wasn’t trying to replace. She wasn’t trying to match. And she wasn’t going to pretend to be something she wasn’t. Not this time. Not with Jack.
She decided to focus on the younger sister, who was probably the less scary of the two. “Do you dance, Molly?”
Molly shrank against her sister.
“Molly is a beautiful dancer,” Jack said. “But she hasn’t danced in a while.”
Flora hadn’t danced after her mother died, either. “I’d love to see you dance sometime.”
Molly buried her face in Izzy’s chest.
“Hey.” Izzy gently shifted her away. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But there’s no need to hide. We face the things that scare us, right? Come and help me while I finish fixing dinner.”
Flora felt uncomfortable. Was she the thing that scared them?
Molly took her sister’s hand and scuffled with her into the kitchen.
Flora followed them into the room. “What a beautiful kitchen.”
