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‘Oh, it’s a real condition. It’s called heterochromia iridum, and there are various theories about how you get it. Genetics, melanin levels, trauma, chimerism—which is kind of creepy because it means another foetus has merged with you in the womb, which in my case would mean there were initially three of us, because— Well, anyway, I don’t like the idea of absorbing a sibling in the womb—hello, Dr Frankenstein!’ Pause for breath. ‘All that aside, I’m pretty sure they used to burn people like me at the stake as witches back in the day.’
‘Nobody is going to burn you at the stake in modern-day Australia for having one blue and one green eye.’
‘I’ve tried contact lenses, but there is nothing that makes you panic quite like a contact lens that’s slipped up under your eyelid and you think it’s going to be there for eternity unless you race off to the emergency room and have someone stick some implement in there against your poor squishy eyeball. Talk about bloodshot!’ She pursed her lips. ‘But I guess I could try them again—maybe some amber ones.’ She looked into his eyes, considering. ‘Because your eyes really are lovely, and I think I’d look kind of interesting with amber eyes.’
‘You do that and I’m shaving my head.’
Sunshine took another look in the mirror, then snapped the compact shut. ‘All right. Deal. I may need a little make-up on the actual day of the reception, just so I don’t look Plain Janerama, but no camouflage paint in the meantime. I’m keeping the lipstick, though—I can’t go completely naked. So! Where’s the bathroom?’
Plain Janerama? Leo, speechless, pointed.
Sunshine got to her feet. ‘No need to wait,’ she told him.
‘Oh, I’m waiting.’
She squared her shoulders. ‘This is going to be weird,’ she said, and tap-tapped away.
Leo checked that everything was in order in the kitchen, then returned to the table. He went through the checklist again. Swore under his breath. He suspected Sunshine Smart usually got her way in all things. Which meant she was in for a surprise, because just on principle he wasn’t going to let that happen. He hadn’t got where he was today by doing what people told him. His survival instinct told him always to go his own way, to get his own way.
He started jotting down menu ideas—appropriate for a dinner for twenty-five people—but hadn’t got far when he heard the tap-tap of Sunshine’s returning high heels.
She plonked herself into the chair opposite and did an over-the-top eyelash-bat at him.
Leo stared at her. He couldn’t help it. Without the exaggerated eye make-up she looked fresh and clean and sweet as suckable candy. Her dark chocolate hair against the ultra-white skin of her face seemed more dramatic. With the edge of her heavy fringe now damp and misplaced, he could see how fine and dark her eyebrows were, and that they arched intriguingly towards the outer edge. Her eyelashes were thick and black enough to form a fine line around her eyes. And her eyes were simply spectacular. Heavy-lidded, slightly tilted, the colour difference so dramatic without the dark shadow and over-clumped lashes that he couldn’t seem to stop looking at them.
‘Well?’ she asked, batting away.
‘Better,’ Leo said, with impressive understatement. He got to his feet. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then—an hour earlier, if you can make it. But you’ll have to come to Mainefare—it’s in the Pig and Poke pub. Do you know it?’
‘Yes, I know it—and, yes, that’s fine. But before you go can I ask just one more favour?’
Leo eyed her suspiciously.
‘I’m staying for dinner,’ she explained. ‘Don’t worry—I have a booking. It’s just that my date—Gary, his name is—is a massive foodie, and he’d really love to meet you. Perhaps you could just pop out and say hello...?’
‘Oh, sure,’ Leo agreed easily. He’d been expecting something worse—maybe that he have a shot of Botox!—and, anyway, speaking to his customers was part of his routine.
‘And do you think I could have this exact table? It has a lovely view over the park. If it’s reserved I’ll understand, but—’
He caught his impatient sigh before it could erupt. ‘You can have the table, Sunshine.’
‘And could I have a Campari and soda while I wait for Gary?’
‘Fine,’ Leo said, irritated that it made him curious about her—because he would have pegged her for a Cosmopolitan girl. And who the hell cared what she liked to drink? ‘I’ll get one sent over.’
‘And—’
‘Good God, what else?’
‘Just that it’s Gary’s birthday...so if there’s a special dessert or something...?’
‘Yes. I. Will. Send. Out. A. Special. Dessert. Now, are you all right for socks and undies, or do you need me to get you some of those too?’
‘Actually, I never wear socks.’ Sunshine smiled serenely. ‘And I’m not wearing undies tonight—not under this dress!’
Leo could feel his eyes bug out of his head. ‘Thanks for that mental picture, Sunshine. Anything else you’d care to share?’
‘Well...’
‘Yeah, hold that thought,’ he said, and made a bolt for the kitchen. Where he leant against the wall and burst out laughing.
His sous chef looked at him as if he’d grown a gigantic unicorn horn.
Clearly it had been a long time since he’d laughed.
* * *
Yum.
That was the word that had been popping into Sunshine’s head with monotonous regularity from the moment Leo had sent out a bowl of polenta chips with a gorgonzola dipping sauce to snack on while she drank her Campari.
Q Brasserie had an open kitchen, so she could not only smell but also see the magic being wrought on an array of seafood and meat—and, okay, vegetables too, although they were a lot less interesting if you asked her.
She rubbernecked as a steady stream of mouthwatering dishes was whisked past her en route to other diners, agonised over the menu choices and wished she could eat everything.
Sunshine basically Hoovered up her entrée of six plump, perfectly sautéed scallops, served with a Japanese-style dressing of cucumber, rice vinegar, mirin, and ginger. And it took great willpower not to beg a taste of Gary’s mushrooms with truffle custard. She wouldn’t normally covet a vegetarian dish but, come on, truffle custard? Yum!
The main meals were sublime. She ate every bite of her Angus beef brisket, served with smoked bone marrow and potato confit, and, giving in to her inner piglet on the date-taste issue, was in the process of polishing off one of Gary’s divine king prawns—chargrilled with coriander and lime, yum, yum, yum—when up bowled Leo.
He’d changed from his jeans, T-shirt and way cool brown leather lace-ups into a spotlessly clean, double-breasted chef’s jacket, finely checked pants and classy black slip-ons, and he looked sigh-worthy.
Leo looked at her well-cleaned plate. At Gary’s. At the tiny piece of prawn on the end of her fork. His eyebrows shot up.
Sunshine knew she was presenting as a glutton—but so what? She liked food! Sue her! She calmly finished the last bite of prawn and laid her fork on her plate.
She made the introductions, then retreated as Leo engaged Gary in a conversation about food.
Gary looked a little starstruck. Which was kind of sweet. He was kind of sweet. Not that their relationship was going anywhere. This was their third date and from her perspective he’d settled into purely platonic material. She hadn’t had even one lascivious thought about him.
The conversation moved on from food and Gary was explaining a little about his job. He was an investment banker—which was more interesting than it sounded. Truly!
‘Nice talking to you Gary,’ Leo said eventually. ‘Dessert is on the house. Happy birthday, and enjoy the rest of your evening.
* * *
Leo had been aware of Sunshine beaming her approval all through his talk with Gary. It was irritating, like a tiny pebble stuck in your shoe, to have her there—just there...just...there. Like a hyped-up Miss Congeniality.
In fact the whole evening had been irritating, because that damned table he’d pinched from one of his regulars was in his line of sight from the kitchen, so he’d been in Peeping Tom mode all night. Watching as she ate. And ate and ate. As she made Gary laugh. And laugh and laugh.
Gary was clearly besotted with her. Poor guy. He was handsome—a nice man—but not in Sunshine’s league. Not that Leo knew what Sunshine’s league was, only that Gary wasn’t in it. Which had been underscored by the expression on Sunshine’s face when the Persian nougat glacé had arrived at the table. The way her glowing eyes had closed as she took the first bite, then opened as the taste hit her. How her mouth had oozed over the spoon...
And why hadn’t he noticed the shape of her mouth before? Too much coloured gunk, he supposed. But once the lipstick had worn off she hadn’t bothered reapplying it. Which was odd, wasn’t it? He’d never known a girl not to race off and reapply her lipstick ad nauseam during dinner.
Not that Sunshine’s lipstick habits were any of his business.
Except that now he couldn’t miss her too-heavy top lip, glistening as she darted her tongue over it. The wide and chewable bottom lip. She had a little gap between her two front teeth that was kooky-meets-adorable. And she moved her mouth over her spoon as if she were having a food-induced orgasm.
He wondered if he was thinking in orgasm terms because she was going commando tonight. Not that he was going there. No way! And please, God, get the thought out of my head!
Whatever, she’d clearly appreciated the 2002 Cristal her boyfriend had ordered to go with dessert.
Leo preferred the 1996 vintage.
Talk about splitting hairs. What the hell was wrong with him?
He sighed. Stretched. It had been a long night, that was all. He just needed to get to bed. Right after he emailed Caleb. He was going to get the dinner party back under control at their meeting tomorrow. Put Sunshine the Bulldozer back in the shed.
Sunshine. Groan! She was like a six-inch electric blue thorn in his side.
So it didn’t make sense that he would be humming as he thought about that manifesto-sized checklist of hers.
And damn if it wasn’t that cheesy Natalie Clarke number about love biting you in the ass.
The most diabolically awful song of the century.
Clearly, he needed a drink.
TWO
TO: Caleb Quartermaine
FROM: Leo Quartermaine
SUBJECT: Seriously?
Caleb, mate
What’s the deal? Where’s your invitation list? Are we really talking 150 guests? I thought it was an intimate dinner.
Sunshine is descending on me tomorrow to kick off the invitation process, so it would be nice to know who’s got what expectations. So I don’t end up looking like a completely clueless moron.
LQ
TO: Jonathan Jones
FROM: Sunshine Smart
SUBJECT: Wedding of the century
Hello, darling
Had dinner at Q Brasserie tonight—fabulous. We’re meeting again at one of Leo’s other places, Mainefare, tomorrow. Can’t wait!
I’ve worked out that Mainefare is a play on words. Mayfair as in London (it’s in a British-style pub) but with Maine as in Quartermaine and fare as in food. Leo is so clever!
Invitation samples attached: (1) ultra-modern, cream and charcoal; (2) dreamy romantic in mauve and violet; (3) Art Deco—blue and teal with yellow, brown, and grey accents.
PLEASE like the Art Deco one, which I know sounds ghastly, but open it and you’ll see!
All else is on track. Party of the year, I’m telling you!
Sunny xxx
PS—and, no, in answer to your repeat question—I have not done it yet. You’re getting as bad as Mum and Dad.
Tap-tap-tap. Same sound effect, just on floorboards.
Leo saw her scan the room. Mainefare wasn’t as open as Q Brasserie and it was harder to spot people—so he stood, waved.
His eyes went automatically to Sunshine’s feet. Coral suede. Maybe four inches high—he figured the missing inches equalled casual for her. Oddly, no polish on her toenails; now that he thought of it, he hadn’t seen colour on her toenails at their previous two meetings. Fingernails either.
Hello, Mr Estee Lauder—since when do you start noticing nail polish?
He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. But she just looked like the kind of girl who wouldn’t be seen dead with unpainted nails.
Then again, she didn’t look like the kind of girl who would eat like Henry VIII either.
Sunshine gave him her usual beaming smile as she reached him. She was wearing a pair of skintight pants in dark green, with a 1960s-style tunic. The tunic was cream, with a psychedelic red and black swirl on the front that should have looked like crap but didn’t. She had on the same sun/moon necklace, but no other jewellery. And that was kind of strange too, wasn’t it? Where was the bling?
She kissed him on the cheek, same as yesterday, before he could step out of reach, and sat as though exhausted, thumping an oversized tote—rust-coloured canvas—on the floor beside her chair.
‘Whew,’ she said. ‘I’ve got lots of samples with me, so that bag is heavy.’
Leo couldn’t work out how she could wear colours that didn’t match—her shoes, her outfits, her bags always seemed to be different shades and tones—and yet everything looked I’m-not-even-trying perfect. He’d been out with models and fashion PR types who didn’t make it look that easy.
‘Did you sort out the guest list with Caleb?’ she asked, and had the nerve to twinkle at him.
‘Yes,’ Leo said unenthusiastically.
‘So! A hundred and fifty, right?’
Gritted teeth. ‘Yes, a hundred and fifty. But you can still forget every one of the venues you listed as options.’ He sounded grumpy, and that made him grumpier—because there was really nothing to be grumpy about. It wasn’t his damned wedding. But it was just...galling!
Sunshine observed him, head tilted to one side in her curious bird guise. ‘Does that mean you have somewhere fantastic in mind to fit one hundred and fifty people? Somewhere that will be available with only two months’ notice?’
‘As a matter of fact I do,’ Leo said. ‘I have a new place opening next month. But it’s not in Sydney. It’s an hour and a half’s drive south. Actually, it’s called South.’
He was a bit ashamed of himself for sounding so smug about it—what was he? Fifteen years old?—but his smugness went sailing right by Sunshine, who simply clapped her hands, delighted.
Which made him feel like a complete churl.
Sunshine Smart was not good for his mental health.
‘Oh, I’ve read about it!’ she exclaimed. ‘Perched on the edge of the escarpment, sweeping views of the ocean. Right?’
‘Yep.’
Another enthusiastic hand-clap. ‘Perfectamundo. When can we go and see it?’
Perfectamundo? Good Lord! ‘Not necessary,’ he said repressively. ‘I’ve personally handpicked the staff for South, and they know what they’re doing. We can just give them instructions and leave them to it. But I can send you photos of the space.’
Sunshine was staring at him as though he’d taken leave of his senses. ‘Of course it’s necessary. Your staff may be excellent, but Jon is trusting me to make sure everything is perfect. I know exactly what he likes, you see, and I can’t let him down.’
Leo sighed inwardly.
‘We have to think about how the tables are going to be arranged,’ she went on. ‘The best place for speeches, where we’ll do welcoming cocktails—I mean, is there an outdoor area for that?’ Her hands came up, clasped her head at the temples as if she were about to have a meltdown. ‘A thousand things.’
Leo felt a throb at the base of his skull. ‘Let me think about it,’ he said, just to staunch the flow of words. He wasn’t really going to think about taking her to see the damned restaurant.
‘Thank you, Leo!’ She was back to twinkling, clearly nowhere near a meltdown.
Two months! Two months of this manipulative, mendacious wretch.
‘So!’ she said. ‘Let’s talk invitations. I have three designs to show you—and I won’t tell you which is my favourite because I don’t want to influence your opinion.’
‘You won’t.’
‘Well, I wonder if, subliminally, knowing what I like best might sway you.’ Little knowing smile. ‘Maybe to deliberately pick something that is not my favourite! And that would never do.’
He caught his half-laugh before it could surface. Laughing would only encourage her.
‘And since we haven’t discounted the email, I’ve got something to show you too,’ he put in smoothly, because he’d be damned if his version was going to be dead in the water without a demo at least. ‘It’s something we did for the Q Brasserie launch.’
Half an hour later Leo was amazed to find that he’d agreed to a printed Art Deco-style invitation in blue and teal, with yellow, brown, and grey accents.
But he’d had a win too! Sunshine was so impressed with his electronic idea she’d insisted they send something like it as a save-the-date notice, linking to some artsy teaser footage of South’s surroundings.
‘But we’ll keep the venue secret,’ she added conspiratorially, ‘because it will be fun to have everyone guessing, and they’ll be so excited to find out it’s South when the printed invitations arrive.’
He hoped—he really hoped—he hadn’t just been soothed.
Sunshine took on the responsibility for getting the invitations printed and addressed, with names handwritten by a calligrapher she’d dated in the past. She would show Leo—who actually didn’t give a damn—the final design before it went to print, along with handwriting samples. Leo was in charge of getting the save-the-date done for Sunshine’s approval—and she most certainly did give a damn.
He was on the verge of disappearing to the kitchen when Sunshine circled back to South and her need to see it.
‘It’s not going to happen,’ Leo said. ‘You can’t go on site without me. And the only time I have free is...is...daytime Monday.’ Ha! ‘Shop hours for you, right?’
Sunshine pulled out a clunky-looking diary.
He did a double-take. ‘You’re on Facebook but you use a paper diary?’
‘My mother made it for me so I have to—and, anyway, I like it,’ she said. ‘Hemp and handmade paper. Jon and Caleb have them too. Play your cards right and you’ll get one next year. And, yes! I can do Monday. Yay!’
Again with the yay. And the twinkle.
And that throb at the base of his skull.
Sunshine put her diary away. ‘My hours are super-flexible. I mostly work from home, and usually at night, when I seem to be more creative—not during the day, and never in the shop unless I’m doing a particular display. Because I have a superb manager who would not take kindly to my interfering.’
‘I like the sound of your manager.’
‘Oh, I can introduce— Ah, I see, sarcasm.’ She regarded him with a hint of amused exasperation. ‘You know, I’m not generally regarded as an interfering person.’
He couldn’t keep the snort in.
‘Sarcasm and a snort! Better not debate that, then. So! Shall I drive us down?’
‘I’m going to take my bike.’
Her face went blank. ‘Bike?’
‘As in motor,’ he clarified.
‘You have a car as well, though?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Because we could get so much done if we drove down the coast together.’
‘Except that I don’t have a car.’
‘But I have a car. You can come with me.’
‘Sunshine, I’d better put this out there right now: you are not going to control me. I don’t have a car. I have a bike. I am going to ride down the coast, because that is what I want to do. Why don’t you just ride down with me?’
Mental slap of his own head! Why the hell had he suggested that? Sunshine Smart plastered against his back for an hour and a half? No, thank you!
Although at least she wouldn’t be able to talk to him.
Still, she would annoy him just by being there. In her skintight pants...full breasts pressed into his back...breathing against the back of his neck...arms around him...hands sliding up under his leather jacket...
What? No. No! Why the hell would her hands need to be sliding up there?
‘Thanks, but, no,’ she said—and it took Leo a moment to realise she was talking about riding on the bike as opposed to sliding her hands under his jacket. Thanks, but, no. Sharp and cool—and not open for discussion, apparently.
And it...stung! Dammit.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘Because I don’t like motorbikes.’
Don’t like motorbikes! Well, good. Fine. Who cared if Sunshine Smart didn’t like motorbikes? Every other woman he dated couldn’t wait to hop on the back of his Ducati!
Not that he was dating Sunshine Smart. Argh. Horrible, horrible thought.
Just let it go. Let it go, Leo.
‘Why? Because you can’t wear ten-inch heels on one?’ That was letting it go, was it?
‘I don’t wear ten-inch heels anywhere—I’m not a stilt-walker. It’s not about shoes. Or clothes. Or even what those helmets do to your hair.’ She tossed said hair. ‘It’s just...’ She shrugged one shoulder, looking suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Just an antiquated little notion I have about staying alive.’
‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘You drive, I’ll ride, and we’ll meet there.’
And then she sort of slumped...without actually slumping. He had an absurd desire to reach over and touch her damned hair, and tell her...what? Tell her what?
That he would drive down the coast with her? Hell, no! Not happening. And he was not touching her hair. He didn’t touch anyone’s hair. Ever.
Leo all but leapt to his feet. ‘I’d better get into the kitchen.’
‘Right now? But—’ Sunshine checked her watch. ‘Oh. That took longer than I thought.’
She gave her head a tiny shake. Shaking off the non-slumping slump, he guessed, because the perk zoomed back, full-strength.
‘I have other samples in my bag—you know, pictures of floral arrangements and cakes. And I was going to talk to you about shoes. I’m arranging some custom-made shoes for you for the big day.’
‘Flowers can’t be that urgent. I have a superb baker on staff, so don’t get carried away on the cake. And I don’t need shoes.’
‘The shoes are a gift. From me. I’m doing them for Caleb and Jon too. And I promise it will not be an identical shoe gig—nothing like those ancient wedding parties with six groomsmen all wearing pale blue tuxes with dark blue lapel trim!’ Dramatic shudder. ‘Oh, please say yes, Leo.’
Leo looked down at his feet, at his well-worn brown leather shoes. Scuffed, but as comfortable as wearing a tub of softened butter. And he had other shoes. Good shoes. Italian shoes. He didn’t need more. He didn’t want her goddamned shoes.
But her hypnotically beautiful mismatched eyes were wide and pleading as he looked back up, and he found himself saying instead, ‘I’ll think about it.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you. There’s a ton of stuff still to talk about, but I understand you’re on a tight leash tonight, so you get going. And before we meet on Monday I’ll do some legwork on the flowers front. And music... No, I won’t do any legwork on that, because I know you used to go out with that gorgeous singer Natalie Clarke, and she would be perfect. I hope—’ She stopped, bit her lip. ‘Oh, dear, enough about the music. I’m sensing a teensy bit of animosity—that little tic next to your mouth gives it away, you know. But we still have clothes to talk about. Yours and mine, since we’re the closest thing they’ll have to an official wedding party. We don’t want to look too matchy-matchy, but there’s so much we can do to look part of the overall theme.’
Leo stared. He was doing a lot of that. ‘You mean there’s a theme?’
‘I’m not talking about those horrifying Elvis or Medieval or Viking themes. Or Halloween—it’s been done! I’ve seen pictures—with pumpkins! I mean just a touch of complementary colour, a certain style...things like that.’
‘You’re scaring me.’
‘I promise you’ll love—’
‘Really scaring me. Later, okay? Much later.’