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.
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