The Scandal (Billionaire's Beach Book 4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,47
require sitting back and shutting up and letting the siblings run the show. Which shouldn’t be a problem if she could only suppress the disconcerting habit her mouth had recently taken up of saying things that appalled her as they slid between her lips!
I thought it a shame you didn’t have any covering. Where had the double-entendre come from? Somewhere deep, deep in her subconscious she supposed, sighing.
Essie emitted a short crow of delight and pounced on a hanger, pulling free from the other clothes a dress that Sara remembered Emmaline had passed on to her.
“Turns out it’s too short for me,” her friend had said.
It looked too short for Sara as well, who had several inches less height. “Um, I don’t know—”
“Nonsense, it’s perfect,” Essie said with that same bulldozer-ish attitude her brother had used to insist on the socializing “practice.” Turning them both toward the free-standing mirror in the corner, the girl hooked the hanger over Sara’s head so the dress draped against her body. “It’s so cute!”
Sara held out the sides of the swing hemline, examining her reflection. The bottom six inches of the garment were aqua, then a band of cream about half that width. The body of the dress was a peachy-melon color and sleeveless, with a vee neckline. The spaghetti straps and the trim around the bodice were more of the aqua. It was summery and definitely good colors on her, but…
“It doesn’t look like a nightgown?” she asked Essie.
The girl rolled her eyes. “Not if you leave your fuzzy slippers in the closet.” She whirled around to pluck out a pair of cream sandals with a block heel, a wide strap across the toes and a narrower one that went around the ankles. “These. And I’ll do your make-up.”
Sara put herself in the teen’s hands. Essie seemed to be enjoying herself immensely, and without the company of Lulu and RJ she’d seemed a bit down in the dumps until now. Instead of allowing Sara to watch, the girl insisted she turn away from the mirror.
Essie had brought her own bag of tricks from her room and used the items inside to swipe, dust, smooth, and blot.
“How are things going with Zachary?” Sara asked, her eyes obediently closed as mascara was applied.
The wand hitched. “Darn,” Essie muttered, and then dabbed at Sara’s eyelid. “It’s going fine,” she said. “Fab. Fab. U. Lous.”
Maybe it was her imagination, but that last syllable might have come out more like “louse.” Sara hoped the girl’s relationship with the boy wasn’t going wobbly.
“There,” Essie said. “You can look now, Sara.”
Seated on the edge of the mattress, she turned toward the mirror. “Oh.”
Her face looked like her face, but with a slight bloom of peachy-pink on her cheeks. A neutral shadow dusted her eyelids, but the tiniest, skinniest line of shimmering aqua—as thin as a fine hair—edged her upper lash line. A liberal amount of mascara had been added, but not enough to appear too sticky.
“Just this to finish up,” Essie said, handing over a tube. “It’s a light gloss the same color as your blush.”
Sara complied, then stood to give herself an all-over inspection. The dress didn’t cling, the hemline wasn’t so short she feared a breeze, and the make-up was tasteful. Wonderful, actually.
“You did such a great job,” she told the girl, tucking one side of her hair behind her ear. Essie had lent her turquoise teardrop earrings in a gold setting. They swung as she moved to check herself from all angles. Thin gold, bronze, and silver bangles chattered at her wrist.
The teenager beamed behind her, then cast a pointed look at the clock on the bedside table. “Time for you to head downstairs.”
Sara frowned. “We didn’t leave enough time for you to get ready.”
“No worries. Go wow Big Brother, and I’ll join you in a minute.”
Wow Big Brother? Sara slanted her a suspicious look, but Essie shooed her off with her hands, her expression all innocence.
With worry niggling at the back of her mind, Sara scooped up her purse and light sweater and made her way out of her room.
Don’t mess this up, she reminded herself. Don’t make a fool of yourself with word, deed, or thought.
Joaquin, in buff-colored chinos and a linen sports jacket, stood with his back to her at the glass doors that looked out over the deck and ocean. Though she didn’t make a sound, he must have sensed her presence, and turned.
They stared at each other. Beneath the jacket he wore