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Chelsea stood and moved in front of him. “Let me,” she said, and pushed his hands aside. The backs of her knuckles brushed against the thick broadcloth of his shirt as she adjusted the length.
“You’ve done this before?”
She nodded and concentrated on the silk fabric in her hands instead of on his mouth just inches from her forehead. “A million times.” She crossed the wide end over the narrow and wrapped it twice. “Half Windsor or full?”
He shook his head. “Whatever.”
“I like the half. It’s less bulky.” He smelled wonderful, and she wondered what he would do if she tilted her face up just a bit. Her fingers brushed his chest and he
r thumb touched his throat and she thought about rising onto her toes and kissing his warm skin. If she undid all those buttons and slid her hands all over his bare chest…Of course she would never do it.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said just above a whisper. “Or I swear I’ll push you against the wall and have sex with you right here.”
She raised her gaze up his throat and mouth to the stormy anger in his eyes. “What?”
He knocked her hands away. “Forget it.” He grabbed one end of the tie and pulled it from his neck.
He was clearly mad about something she’d done. Wisely, she moved away and waited for him at the counter, where he dropped more than three thousand dollars on a suit, two dress shirts, and a tie.
On the ride to Mark’s house, an awkward silence filled the car. At least it was awkward for Chelsea, and she left work early. When Bo got home that night, the sisters looked in Chelsea’s closet for dresses to wear to the Stanley Cup party. Chelsea didn’t have three thousand dollars to blow on clothes, but she did own a small but impressive selection of designers.
After thirty minutes of indecision, Bo reached for the black Donna Karan stretch taffeta. It had a bow sash and a deep V in the back, and Chelsea had worn it to an Oscar party in Holmby Hills three years ago. Of course it fit Bo perfectly, and she looked wonderful in it.
Chelsea didn’t have to think about which dress she’d wear. Last year she’d found a Herve Leger beige sheath at a consignment store. It was made of rayon and spandex, with gold jeweled straps. She’d never had the chance to wear it, until now.
The day of the cup party, the twins pampered themselves. Chelsea had the hot reddish-pink low-lights taken out and her hair dyed a nice summer blond. She had her hair straightened while Bo got hers curled. Together they got their fingers and toes done at a local day spa. Chelsea had learned a long time ago that one of the best and most inexpensive places to get her makeup professionally applied was at a makeup counter. The twins ser.drove to the mall in Bellevue, and Chelsea got her face done at MAC while Bo chose Bobbi Brown.
The last time Chelsea had had so much fun with Bo had been the night of their senior prom. The dance had ended in disaster with their dates deciding that they wanted to switch twins, but she and Bo had had a great time until that point.
“Your boobs look huge in that dress,” Bo said as she slid her feet into a pair of red pumps and sat on the bed.
“My boobs are huge. So are yours.” Chelsea turned sideways and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. The dress wasn’t her usual style. It hugged her like a second skin, and the color was very sedate.
“Can you sit down in that thing?”
“Of course.” She slipped her feet into a pair of jeweled sandals with five-inch heels and sat next to Bo to buckle the straps around her ankles. That morning she’d called a plastic surgeon and made an appointment to talk to him. She’d been waiting for the right moment to tell Bo. They’d been having such a good time, she figured now was as good a time as any. “I’m going to use the money I get from the Chinook organization to have breast reduction surgery,” she blurted.
“Shut up.”
She looked up, then returned her attention to her shoes. “I’m serious.”
“Why would you do something so horrible to your body?”
“It’s not like I’m cutting them off. Haven’t you ever wanted smaller breasts?”
Bo shook her head. “Not enough to mutilate myself.”
“It’s not mutilation.”
Bo stood. “Why do you always have to be different?”
“I’m not doing it to be different. I want to do it so that...
“I won’t support you this time.” Bo shook her head. “I don’t even want to talk about it.”
Chelsea grabbed her beaded clutch off the dresser. The one person in the world who should understand and support her decision, didn’t. The only other person in the world who’d seemed to understand, currently wasn’t talking to her at all.
The Sycamore Room inside the Four Seasons glowed with golden candlelight. Gold tablecloths and fine white china adorned round tables with centerpieces made of exotic flowers. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sparkled, and scattered lights shone like diamonds on Elliot Bay.
