‘You will be,’ he said, pulling up two chairs so they could sit. ‘I know you love this old stuff and you’d never take time out to check it out yourself so I’m kidnapping you and that ratbag motley crew you call friends and locking you away in my Mount Macedon place for a week, with Go Retro throwing you a hen’s bash you’ll never forget.’
Dragging her gaze away from the screen, she stared at him with wide eyes.
‘I take it back. You’re not insane. You’re certifiable. How on earth… Where did you get the idea… I don’t believe this…’
He laughed at her lack of words, something his garrulous sister never had a problem with.
‘Consider it my wedding present to you.’
He jerked his thumb at the screen, relieved when she bought his distraction. She’d honed that death glare to a fine art as a kid and it had been perfected with age. ‘You and Hugh have everything, so this is a special something you’d never buy yourself.’
When she didn’t speak, trepidation shot through him. Cari was his only sibling, the only person on the planet he truly cared about and he’d do anything to make her happy.
She’d done so much for him growing up: giving him a home, some semblance of family, when their parents were too busy indoctrinating their students rather than caring for the kids they had waiting futilely for them at home every night.
How many nights had they made macaroni cheese together, studied together, watched Tom and Jerry reruns until sleep had claimed them and their folks still hadn’t made it home from Melbourne University? Too many and their closeness was as much about enforced dependency as blood ties.
‘Come on, sis, say something.’
This time when she looked at him, every muscle in his body relaxed, for those weren’t tears of anger in her eyes. They were tears of joy.
‘This is the most brilliant gift anyone has ever given me and I can’t thank you enough.’
She launched herself into his arms and hugged him until he could barely breathe, the two of them laughing as they disentangled.
‘So I get to play dress ups with all that gorgeous gear for a week?’
‘Yeah, and a whole bunch of other stuff, which I’ll tell you about once I get the itinerary straight with Lola.’
‘Lola?’
He deliberately kept his tone devoid of any emotion; too little too late if Cari’s quirked eyebrow was any indication.
‘Lola Lombard, the owner. She’ll be running your hen’s party.’
Cari’s astute gaze bored into him. ‘Can’t believe a woman who owns a shop like that would take a week out of her schedule to run a private party.’
‘It’s part of her business, running parties.’
Along with her sideline of pilfering phones and distracting men.
‘Uh-huh.’ Cari tapped her bottom lip with a perfectly manicured fingernail. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?’
‘Because you’re naturally suspicious?’
Swivelling the screen back towards him, he shut down the notebook.
‘So now you know the big secret you can head back to your glass office in the sky and sue a few more corporations.’
When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up a finger.
‘But remember, a fortnight from today, get ready to party.’
With a rueful smile, she patted his cheek and sailed out the door, her fingers already glued to her smartphone as she checked for emails from clients.
They were so alike: busy, driven, ambitious, thriving on the challenge of business at a high level.
The lawyer and the CEO; as far removed from their parents, the English Lit professors, as could be.
He often wondered if that was what drove them—the unspoken urge to be nothing like the parents who hadn’t given a toss about them.
It sure had spurred him on, to enter an industry filled with fun and parties and light-heartedness, as far removed from his sterile childhood and his parents’ academic snobbery.
Not that he and Cari ever discussed it. Instead, they paid the obligatory visits at birthdays and Christmases, made perfunctory small talk with the people who were more strangers than family, before escaping for another few months.
Though not a strained visit went by without him wishing they’d show some interest: in his career, his success, his life. Futile wishes, considering his folks continued to be absorbed by their students, their timetables and themselves, in that order.
Whatever the motivation driving himself and Cari he was proud of how far they’d come and, swiping a hand over his face, he flipped up the screen with the other, instantly drawn to Lola’s picture again.
Time to concentrate on more important matters; like seeing what luscious Lola Lombard could come up with for Cari’s hen’s party.
And getting a grip on why she held such an unwanted fascination for him.
CHAPTER FOUR
LOLA clutched her monstrous cerise crushed velvet holdall against her chest as she strode along Collins Street.
While the Dazzle offices might be at the elegant bustling Paris end of the street, walking through the central business district after dark always made her nervous.
The fairy lights strung through tree branches twinkled as commuters rushed past her, heading for the underground train stations, oblivious to their surroundings, caught up in the rat race.
She eased her grip on her bag and tucked it under her arm, her fear receding. Being a business drone like these commuters was far scarier to her than any imagined bogeymen lurking in the shadows.
She hated that lifestyle: the pace, the relentlessness, the frenetic whirlwind to be bigger and better and brighter than everyone else.
She’d tried it once, had been caught up in it against her will. After all, what choice did she have when her mum was a former Miss Australia finalist and her sister a catwalk supermodel?
They’d dragged her along to countless parties and Fashion Weeks and make-up launches, no doubt hoping some of that glamour would rub off on her, the lacklustre fat Lombard of the trio.
While she’d enjoyed the fashion shows and make-up giveaways, she didn’t belong in that world and never would. The fake-ness, the schmoozing, the air kisses while everyone sized up everyone else behind their backs… Nah, she’d leave that to people who thrived on it, like her gorgeous waiflike sister Shareen—yeah, she was that famous she had a single name, like Cher and Madonna—and her mum, Darla, who still graced the glossy magazines every few weeks.
The sad thing was,
