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“You’re a good sister.”
“So how about a small dinner party in a few weeks?”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
With that piece of business out of the way, Kissy surveyed the crowd. “Didn’t you tell me you invited Charlie Kincannon?” The inquiry seemed casual, but Fleur wasn’t fooled.
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you get the impression that he was coming?”
“I’m not sure. Haven’t you talked to him?”
“Not for a couple of weeks.”
“Problems?”
Kissy shrugged. “I guess he’s gay or something.”
“Just because a fabulous man ignores you doesn’t mean he’s gay.”
“He’s hardly fabulous.”
“Christie Brinkley seems to think so. I heard they were dating.” Lying to her best friend was a rotten thing to do, but Kissy refused to take Charlie seriously, and Fleur decided the end justified the means.
“Christie Brinkley! She has to be a foot taller than he is.”
“Charlie’s very self-confident behind his geeky and fabulously rich facade. I don’t think he worries too much about externals.”
“I really don’t care.” Kissy sniffed. “Besides, I’ve never found Christie all that attractive.”
“Yeah. What’s so great about perfect features and a magnificent body?”
“You think I deserve this, don’t you?”
“Oh yes.”
“I haven’t fallen for him, so get that smug look off your face. Charlie’s not interested in me that way. We’re friends.”
Will drew Fleur away to talk to a reporter before she could suggest that Kissy cut the crap. As she finished posing for photographers, she bumped into Shawn Howell, who definitely hadn’t been on her guest list. Shawn’s teen idol face wasn’t nearly as cute at thirty as it had been at twenty-two when Fleur had to endure the dates Belinda had arranged. Since then, his career had tanked, and he reportedly owed the IRS a quarter of a million dollars.
“Hello, gorgeous.” He bypassed her cheek for a direct shot at her mouth. His tongue flicked her bottom lip. “You don’t mind a couple of gate crashers at your party, do you?”
A strobe flashed next to them. “Apparently not.”
“Hey, it’s business, right?” He grinned and rubbed his hand down her spine like a high school boy checking for a bra. “I hear you’re in the market for clients, and I’m looking fo
r a new agent, so maybe I’ll give you a try.”
“I don’t think we’re a good fit.” She started to slip past him, then stopped as a sense of dread swept through her. “What did you mean by ‘a couple of gate crashers’?”
“Belinda’s waiting in your office. She asked me to tell you.”
For a moment Fleur was tempted to leave her own party, but she didn’t run anymore, and this was something she couldn’t put off.
Belinda stood with her back to the door looking at a Louise Nevelson lithograph Fleur had bought with the profits from a delivery of palladium. As Fleur stared at the small, straight line of her mother’s spine, she felt a stab of yearning. She remembered how she used to throw herself into Belinda’s arms when her mother appeared at the front door of the couvent, how she’d bury her face in the crook of her neck. Belinda had been her only champion. She’d defended her against the nuns and told her she was the most wonderful girl in all the world.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Belinda said, still staring at the Nevelson. “I know you don’t want me here.”
