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“Yes,” I say, “why don’t you explain?”
“If you want me to,” he replies, amused.
I glare at him. His gaze dips down, and his smile widens. I follow it and discover that my dress is plastered to my body. It’s now very obvious that I’m not wearing a bra.
“Jesus.” I clutch the towel to me.
He chuckles, comes over, and gives me a hug. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “That was a bit mean.”
“You’re an arsehole.”
“Yeah, I know.” He kisses my forehead, then lets me go. “I’m going to play with the girls for a bit.” He heads off toward the pool.
I blow out a breath and turn my glare on my father, who’s chuckling away as he drinks his beer. “Thanks for leaping to my defense,” I say irritably.
“You’ve never needed a white knight before,” he says. “You’re perfectly capable of defending yourself.”
“Not against a six-foot-two maniac. He’s stronger than the Hulk.”
“Don’t give me that,” Dad says, “you learned years ago that women fight with their heads, not their muscles. Something tells me you’re enjoying this, so stop pretending to be mad.”
I poke my tongue out at him. He crosses his eyes at me.
Brandy laughs. “I’ve got a spare summer dress in my room, Elizabeth, if you want to get changed.”
“Yes, please, I’d appreciate that.”
“Come on.” She gets up, and I follow her into the house.
We walk along the wide corridor with its light-gray carpets and high windows, pass the tall urn with its Greek figures, and go up the stairs, holding on to the white banister. At the top, she turns toward the bedrooms, counts three doors, then goes inside.
The same carpet that runs through the house makes this room feel big and spacious. The king-size bed in the middle has a pretty pink-and-purple duvet, and Helene has coordinated that with some of her gorgeous abstract artwork.
“Lovely room,” I say, trying to towel-dry myself so I don’t drip on the carpet.
“It is. I’m very lucky.” Brandy goes over to the wardrobe and extracts a long red maxi dress. “Here you go. Although it might be a bit long for you.”
“It’s okay, it’s better than nothing, thank you.”
“Want some spare underwear?” She opens a drawer and offers a pair of white cotton knickers.
“If that’s okay, thanks.” I take them from her.
She chuckles and closes the drawer. “I can’t believe he did that.”
“Yeah, well, I did provoke him.”
“What did you say?” I hesitate, and she smiles. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. I know what the two of you are like.”
My face warms. “There’s nothing going on between us,” I protest.
“I know,” she says. “I don’t know why. You obviously like each other.”
We study each other for a moment. Her smile spreads. Her eyes are astute. I think I’ve underestimated her. She’s smarter than I thought.
“Brandy…” I say softly, “you’re the mother of his child. I wouldn’t—”
“We’re not an item,” she says. “I don’t have any claim on him.”
